Message Exchange

It's just happened to me - and so I encourage you to do the same. 

I will explain.

I was in the midsts of trying to choose the right text for the English specialisation group, reading E. A. Poe (not my favourite, but matching our latest attemps at Big Ben), William Blake's Tyger roaring behind my back, and D. H. Lawrence's Snake hissing, "it'ssss time you took me into the classsssroom...". Oh, and there there was Padraig O'Tuama's newsletter nestling Edward Lear's runcible spoon (now, what on Earth is this? And will they want to know?).

The phone ting'tinged. It was a message from one of the students saying he won't be coming to the class today as he's caught a cold. I started clicking a usual response when - out of a sudden - it gained a life of its own and turned itself into a poem.

And what it has to do with you, you wonder? 

Well, next time you're reading something a n d get a text message, try to answer it in the rhythm and melody, mood and tone of what it is you have been reading. Or, if you weren't reading at all, pause, choose a piece, read through it (it can be the lyrics of your favourite song, or news lines) and follow with your message back to the sender, letting it turn into whatever it feels like turning.

You don't need to share your writing with that original person but you definitely can - and are welcome to - share that with me as I'll share with you in a moment.

Thx, N. It came just in time :).

Message Exchange

Thanks for the 

message. Hope 

it'll pass soon - this

cold. But take

your time.

        It's autumn, after 

all; the time so apt, so

suitable

to feel one's way 

into the rains. the 

chills will try

their best to chase 

away from us the 

remnants of 

the summer suns 

that we

had gained

when it was time - when

summer seemed

untouchable by death;

some time will pass

until we lose

the very last

of rays.

There is no need to 

rush -

- it just takes time

to get back

to oneself, recovering

from too much

sunshine,

yielding the joys

and happiness

to moistures, letting in

howls      and    gusts

  of wind               of rain

to hush

oneself

at last, and have

some rest

before 

another spring