Poems by Deirdre Bigley
Joy
Joy does not arrive on fanfare
No guilt-edged invitation announces its arrival
It does not wait on a standing ovation
nor limit its visits for fear of outstaying its welcome
It has no expectation of hushed tones
nor your best China
or smells of fresh paint
or indeed a fresh baked sponge cake
Trumpets need not sound
nor children shushed to be quiet
It does not wait till the crowd has gathered
and never expects a rooftop bus
Rather
It’s there without you even knowing
leaking into your everyday
It’s In the song of the dawn chorus
and the cool comfort of a summer duvet
It’s the smell of a fresh morning brew
and on the piece of toast that for once does not fall butter side down
It tip-toes in on a freshly ironed shirt
and floats on the melody of your favourite song playing on the radio
It’s in the scent of freshly cut grass
and in the colourful blaze of blossoms at the bottom of the garden
It’s green lights the whole way to work
and in the kind welcome words of a friend,
In fact, joy does not arrive on fanfare for it actually never leaves
it just wait for you to notice it!
Maths is so rude
Maths is so rude, it arrives without knocking,
carrying a ruler like it’s going to be needed not to mention a set square and a protractor! Whatever the hell for? Beats me!
While Old Maths sits skulking in the corner,
wearing chalk dust and confidence,
saying, “We just did the sums. No one asked why.”
Just then New Maths slides in with a beaming grin carrying over a luminating slideshow,
asking me to explain my feelings around the numbers,
while wanting three different strategies and a diagram that looks suspiciously like a Picasso masterpiece
The circumference of my patience is measured testily yet carefully,
using a formula I once knew
before a calculator replaced my memory
along with my self-esteem.
Arithmetic on the other hand starts simple,
then quietly invites its friends along
Multiplication shows up early,
insisting everything is repeated
whether you like it or not while Division, along with its twin - the long type leaves us all in pieces.
All the while Compound interest lurks in the background,
smiling politely,
turning small mistakes into lifelong commitments,
like a loan that never forgets your birthday and where rather than getting a present you end up paying for everything.
Old Maths suddenly shouts up “You got it wrong.”
New Maths sneers, “Interesting approach", they just argue about the tone however horrifyingly both agree the answer is still wrong! Duh!
In the end, Maths closes its notebook,
leaving me with a headache,
and somehow manages to keep the score knowing exactly
how many of them I deserve.
Deirdre Bigley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am in the Annebrook House Hotel. Mullingar. Aspiring writers welcome – where maths is few and joy is much.