Monday Mope

For whom *do* the bells toll?

One of my favourite books is This is All by Aidan Chambers. It is about many things and does its aboutness in a variety of different mediums and narrative techniques, but chiefly it is, as the subtitle reveals, The Pillow Book of Cordelia Kenn. I could go on about it for a long time (and at no doubt some point I will), but today I want to borrow one of Cordelia’s (Chambers’?) ideas and write “a mope.”

Maybe it will become a thing. The alliteration appeals to me; ‘Monday Musing’ is far too blog-cliché and ‘Monday Meditation/ Mindfulness’ is not very me at the moment. So Monday Mope it is.

For those who haven’t read This is All, a mope is a not-good-enough poem. Not good enough for whom, one might ask? It’s a mystery. All I know is that ‘A Shitty Monday Poem’ didn’t have quite the same alliterative effect. Then again, perhaps more compelling to read? Though as I recall, Cordelia wasn’t all that keen on people actually reading her mopes…

Incidentally, I named my laptop Cordelia. Because things that are important should have names. My then-partner R. nicknamed Cordelia ‘Cordless’, presumably an ironic reference to the fact that the battery was so shot that five seconds without a mains connection would leave it dead. I look after my tech better now.

But, anyway, I’m digressing massively. And using A-game displacement tactics to avoid writing what I came here to write. Nothing for it. Here goes.

You took hold of something inside me. 
Spiritual string, sun-rope, that strung me, a Damoclean body, to the ceiling of the cosmos.

You took hold of something inside me and pulled down.

I fell through worlds as my knees gave way to the ground that no longer could support the weight of what I know.

You took hold of something inside me and tugged downwards.

And I toll like a boat's big bell as you lead me to safe passage.