Productivity: A Tramp

Productivity: a Tramp (Listen to it here: Productivity: A Tramp)

So Productivity was there for a moment, and for some reason I think that’s my goal day in and day out. To produce. But now, it eludes me as if I never really held it in my hands at all. As if it allowed me to think I knew its name and held its leash; that my commands were its desire. What a rascally, wily thing it is lulling me into a sleepy sense of submission to its whims instead of my own.

Out it goes 

across the path 

into the woods. 

I saw its tail 

brush the bark 

of that tree there 

in the shade. 

The warm comfort 

of my seat 

feels pricked 

with unease 

as I move 

from it and 

out the door. 

My shoes are wrong. 

Slippers. 

The common footwear 

of the writer 

in winter. 

Goulashes are wetter

and much better 

fitted for the task at hand. 

Oh, but the time it takes 

to prepare 

for such a hunt 

is miserably gargantuan 

with all the stuff 

of proper suiting goes. 

But hang it on 

and don it well 

for into the woods 

the chase will go. 

It always goes in there.

Like the time it found a hole. 

How droll

it thought itself to hide 

and obfuscate 

in leaves 

and mud 

and shadow 

of the deep parts of my mind, 

chuckling 

in its rhythmic breathing 

all the while believing 

I never go there anymore. 

But that’s exactly 

where I chose

to look 

this lucky time 

of mine. 

It was 

in that crouching 

and sneaking 

under the low branches

of memories 

dusty and damp 

that I first knew 

I was on the right track. 

That tramp. 

There in the corner 

of the eye 

of that thought 

was the slightest glint

of shimmer. 

And too, 

embedded 

in the soggy breeze

was a scent 

I knew full well

and so out I reached

my hand 

and yanked 

and grabbed. 

My fist was bound 

around the tail

I said I saw today

and so I pulled 

and loaded 

up my arms 

with all the fluff 

and snarls 

and charms of it. 

I brought it home with me 

and cooked it up for supper. 

Ha!       Productivity,    I     am     thy     master!

That’s the song I sang

that day 

in a nasally sort of rhyme

and slanky beat

of nothing more 

than captured thoughts 

boiled up and served. 

It has a way of creeping 

out of the pot 

and sliding 

across the floor 

out the door 

to its place 

of freedom once more. 

It does that. 

That tramp. 

So on the path again 

to seek and find, 

to hope and hop 

along the hidden trails 

of inner thoughts. 

All of its usual places 

of shaded spaces 

it isn’t 

or it wasn’t. 

Today it must have 

reinvigorated energies 

that give it gusto 

and cover its tracks. 

The search is long 

        and long 

                  and lengthy 

and the footprints 

I see 

are all my own. 

In circles 

I spin 

and sit down again, 

but not in my chair this time, 

in mud.

Cold 

and slippery 

dark soil 

and leaves 

and goes 

the light 

from my thoughts. 

Where else to look? 

Down 

and on the ground 

is where my eyes 

turn around 

and peer up to see 

the filtering of the day 

falling through the tumbles 

of limbs and layers: 

light. 

Suctioned up 

to higher elevations 

I stand; 

my feet 

find 

their footing 

underneath. 

And in my muddy hand 

I feel a soft 

and furry friend 

holding tight… 

to me. 

So home 

we go together 

this time 

through the paths 

of thoughts and mind 

to find my chair 

and write the story 

of finding Productivity, 

my tramp.