7 Uplifting Poems That Will Have You Feeling The Friday Spirit In No Time At All
This just in, honest-to-goodness, breaking, not-at-all fake news: Friday is the best day of the week. Hands down. 100%. Backwards and forwards. Whether you grew up in the '90s and watched TGIF shows (c'mon, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Boy Meets World) or not. Whether you work a traditional Monday through Friday kinda schedule or a fly-by-night gig thing or a freelance-round-the-clock set-up ... it just doesn't matter. Fridays rule. But why? What makes Friday so irresistible? Is it because it's the only day that begins with the letter F? Are we just always living with that shivery fear that it could be... Friday the 13th? Because The Cure makes it sound so gushy? Are we thinking about Ice Cube and DJ Pooh?
Godchecker.com tells us about the Germanic goddess, Frige, "presumed Anglo-Saxon forerunner of Norse FRIGG. Because she was best friends with VENUS, the Saxons decided to borrow Venus’s day and turn it into FRIGE’s day. So thank FRIGE it’s Friday." Uh huh.
So maybe people have been getting their party on since the seventh century--awesome! Just because Fridays have been cool forever doesn't mean they can't still be cool-er now. If you're ready to be in that "day before Saturday" mood, turn up these seven poems.
'Life' by Charlotte Brontë
Life’s sunny hours flit by,
Enjoy them as they fly!
'Run Every Race as if It's Your Last' by Lisa Olstein
as you round the bend
keep the steel and mouse-skinned
rabbit front left center
and the track and the crowd
and its cries are a blurred ovation
'Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.' by Noah Eli Gordon
Poems shouldn’t make you wait for them to finish.
Like love, they should finish making you wait.
'Sexual Object Permanence' by N. Goth
Baby I want
Baby I want to be made entirely of wildflowers.
I want to be made entirely of rusted nails.
'The Hypno-Domme Speaks, and Speaks and Speaks' by Patricia Lockwood
What do I have, I have absolute
power, and what I want is your money, your drool,
and your mind, and the sense of myself as a snake,
and a garter in the grass. Every bone in the snake
is the hipbone, every part of the snake is the hips.
'Abacus' by Emily Corwin
I remember we enjoyed getting down
low in the bull thistle, downloading each other.
'Completely Friday' by Luis García Montero
When the front door opens
the icebox divines what my body knew
and suggests other titles for this poem:
morning of the return, good love,