Not now, she said.
Not now, and not really ever.
No, not now.
Never.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Being: A Savvy Poem
To be a being, to be a me that is a being, I must not be
benign.
To be benign is to be immobile, immoveable, to be a sign of being
just so.
But being a being, that is a being that is me, I find myself
not
a being to be a something that is a nothing of a being and absolutely not
a being
that is a was a being and a being that is now
in this
sense of whatever it is to be a being, a being to be
ignored.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2019
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
200: A Silly Poem
Today, by midnight, I’ll score two hundred hits.
This day, two hundred days on, I’ll be a something
that is older than the something that I am today.
And then?
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Tilted: A Silly Haiku
Tilted, my left side dips,
as my right side soars.
Digging in, I take off.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
P.S. Being a sillier than silly, Jay Cool absolutely does not have to stick to a 5-7-5 tradition.
Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay
2: MOT
The Dacia’s almost made it. It’s stalled and choked its way through another year, and is now being put through its paces by Chilton’s most-trusty Treadfirst engineer. I’m hoping it will pass. If my Dacia can pass muster, then I can make it too.
For although I’ve just signed on the dotted line for my imminent release from the day job, I haven’t quite made it to the starting point of my new life yet. I still have some weeks of employment to work through, before I can pop my bottle of champagne open .
And, if the Dacia fails it’s MOT, and my redundancy funds will only stretch to a bottle of Tesco’s Value carbonated water, will the Dacia, too, have to be replaced by an alternative, i.e. my feet?
Not that my feet are to be dissed. By foot, I can see the world, the unexpectedly beautiful world along the edges of Church Field Road. I pause to Motorola a couple of dandelion clocks. Perhaps, I think, I ought to pick one of them, hold it to the air, and make my wish. My wish for a first commission, for a starting point – for a kick off!
Instead, I leave my wish to chance, and make do with its image.
For cruel it would be indeed, to blow away the wishes of others. The wishes of all who work on the other side the mesh fencing, of all who are confined within the corrugated walls of industrial buildings, of all who fear the unknown alternative.
Instead the workers blow their wishes out as far as their puffs will carry them. And, here, in the grass verges and hedgerows, they accumulate and settle.
I have made my own decision to step out of the boundaries of employment; and I’m certain it’s not for me to step out for others.
Sure of myself, I leave the dandelion clock’s to nature.
At home, in my cave, I check out my snaps. Is it just my imagination, or is there a face, an orange sun of a theatrical mask, staring me out from the centre?
Does it mock?
My phone rings – the trusty engineer speaks! That dastardly Dacia. It’s failed the MOT and there’s no way of it stop-starting its way out of this one! Time for the credit card to take over …
Copyright of diary and photograph owned by Jay Cool, 11th May 2019
P.S. If you are enjoying my diaries, why not send a writing commission my way, and help me along with the first step towards ditching my credit card as well as my day job? Love you! XXXXX
P.P.S. If you skipped my first diary entry, go back and read Giving Up the Day Job 1: A Diary
1: A Diary
I’ve done it!
Volunteered myself for redundancy and signed on the dotted line.
Redundancy seems a poor choice of word, and totally inadequate for a process that involves stepping into my new life; a life in which I will be anything but redundant, anything but a spare. In this life, I will be working for me, in total control of my own life and actions; at nobody else’s bidding but my own.
“Mum, mum! Dad, where’s mum?”
Okay, so I’m not quite at no-one else’s bidding. But at least that particular aspect of my old life, being one of the positive outcomes of my own choices, will be a welcome part of the new!
Is it possible? Is it possible to earn an adequate living, to survive as a freelance writer and eccentric? Will I end up by signing myself up for the formal once again? Signing away my ability to think, process and act upon my own ideas? Signing away all that is myself?
Thinking about doing the same thing yourself? Follow me, Jay Cool – The Silly-Savvy Salopian – and find out whether I make it!
Join me as I venture into my new life.
And, whilst you are here, if you have any writing commissions, get in touch – and I, Jay Cool, will get onto it!
Or, for that matter, if you have any commissions at all (rude things excluded), i.e. dog-walking, bad-singing, litter-picking or snot-wiping. All with the added bonus that whatever it is, Jay Cool, tries her hand, feet or melodic voice at, she will also be blogging about it!
Follow …..
Copyright of ‘Giving Up the Day Job’ diaries, owned by Jay Cool.
If you enjoyed this post (and even if you didn’t), read Giving up the Day Job 2: A Diary
Deblobbed: A Silly Poem
All roughed up inside a Marks and Spencer’s cardigan, I decide that its time.
Time for a clean-up.
I purchase a roll of sticky-tap that promises to be the best of all deblobblers.
And, I prepare myself – for the deblobbing.
I roll out the tape, determined to tough it out – to do away with the rough bits, to deblob
my covering … for ever.
I take hold of the ends and let rip.
But I’m not ready.
I’m not ready and the blobs know it.
They know it and are ready. Ready to kill.
Blobheads hold onto the tape, arms extending, stretching, winding their way over and
around me.
All wrapped up, enveloped in rolls and rolls of tape and tentacles, I know that this is it.
This is the tape that I’ve always feared.
The tape that you’ve always feared.
This is the tape that loses its end.
It’s smooth and it’s slick and
I’m already stuck tight
and right – in the
thick of
it.
Copyright of text and photograph owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
Full Coverage: A Savvy Poem
Cover me up, he says
Nothing short, nothing cropped, and nothing tight.
Wanting to please, and wanting to cover up, to reserve myself – just for him,
I buy it big and wear it baggy.
Hold it in, he says.
I told you, didn’t I? I told you not to show; to show – nothing.
See the men – see them looking.
See them looking up the gap, see them seeing your boobs, up the gap of your bagginess.
I see. I see the men all bent up – all bent up and looking up. All looking up the gap of my
own bagginess.
All admiring my beauty.
Being about as beautiful as a bag lady can be, I bag him up and sling him.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
Image by F. Muhammad from Pixabay
Formalisation: A Savvy Poem
To be on form is to be sensationalised.
To be on form is not to be real.
To be on form makes no
sense of any kind of
nonsensical
nonsense
and is – in a sense –
completely and utterly
senseless. And, no, I am not just
a someone – a someone striving to be a
something of a sensation. I am, simply – the sought-
after sum of my senses.
Scented, sensible –
and, sensual.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
Image by Efes Kitap from Pixabay
More: A Savvy Poem
No more.
No more do I want any more.
More would be less, from my mooring point.
Take me out. Untie me. Unleash me.
Let me be more of
nothing more
than the
more
of
me.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019
Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 