Untitled, Church Stretton. 2014
Severance Pay: an ode to moving on
In an amazing week, when I’ve had help from the universe and other unexpected quarters, it seems apposite to pen an ode to the joys of moving on. And, where necessary, deleting history. If for no other reason than as a offering to the gods of new helpers and supporters. I bet it’s what the Celts did, though perhaps in their case involving the slaughtering of an animal at dawn. I wrote a poem at dawn instead.
The poem, Severance Pay, with an epigraph by John O’Donohue:
The Celtic world was not a world of stolid fixation. It was a wild, rhythmic world where the unexpected and the unknown were constantly flowing on human presence and enlarging them. When perception and culture are open to the possibility of surprise and visitation, it is more difficult for individuals to lock themselves away in mental prisons of forsaken thought and feeling. John O’Donohue, from Eternal Echoes: exploring our hunger to belong
Sometimes
there comes a day
when after lots of thought
(but no further delay)
the time has come
the future is wrought:
time to take your severance pay.
Sometimes
its quick- a flash of light
others after a dream
on a sleepless night.
But always, in the end,
it comes to this:
someone out there
is taking the piss.
Sometimes
its slow- a live glow-worm
half charged. Others
even slower – think 1905
vintage Delage. But always,
after thinking, reading,
knowing aloud: you have to bin em
get going,
and make yourself proud.
Sometimes
its random, a car wreck,
cancer or ailments. Others
in tandem – think failures,
plus new life – post certain
derailments. But always
after agonising, the future is clear:
you need to bin it,
bugger off.
Then have a cold beer.
Sometimes
its fun, like love in
the sun. Others its dreary
makes you heart-sad,
bone weary. But always
after trying, to make it all work:
it comes down to pay-offs,
(and dealing with jerks).
Sometimes
its cheery, like a wave
to a friend. Others its a relief
from being driven round
the bend. But always
if you’re suffering, they need
to know- you’ve had it,
please buggeroffski:
time for me to go.
Sometimes
its joyful, a seal playing
in the sea. Others, more tearful –
apart, you and me?
But always
when the game is no
longer worth the candle:
Best to can it, with gusto-
pull the old ejection handle.
Sometimes
its inevitable, sure as night
follows day. Others, more regrettable
as souls make their way. But always
in the end, it comes down to this:
if they’re driving you round the bend,
(or just taking the piss):
Blow em out
fuck em off
or get em to do one.
Make your way
without delay
and find some new unions.
Because
staying, ain’t an option
(and they don’t really expect it).
So move on
to where you’re wanted:
and your soul
is respected.
PS 13.12.14
Readings:
Kaplan A. Development practitioners and social process: Artists of the invisible. London: Pluto Press, 2002.
O’Donohue J. Eternal echoes: exploring the hunger to belong. London: Bantam Press, 2000.
Peripheries: 