i fall to your spring
sifting over words once again... white type on black walls...
explosions of verse that pull and sort memories ....
each like a bottle of vintage wine... dated.. each with it's own flavor and
quality.
the verse maker doesn't need to sip the wine..
it's all there with or without it and
in health's name and sanity's acknowledgement, he knows better than to
climb back on that downward hill.
i've sipped all of it... some more often than others..
each glass filled me
and i sense a peace that very few could hold.
in fade and brightness.. the 19 and 61 are in there every time..
vintage glasses of verse that i fall into
and intoxicate once again.
hey, old man
fumbling with his watch
shuffling in small circles
as they watch, shaking their heads.
a sadness that he feels
even in his confusion....
"didn't i used to be young?... what time is it again?... "
slow moving tired feet slide into slippers worn
with years that moved too fast.
.
he moves around the room unsure
of who he was and what he's become.
white hair and brittle bones in legs that were strong and weathered.
.
fumbling with his watch...
"it's stopped ticking.... what time is it again?"
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hhmmm, having been put in the position of "trying" to be clever with the content of this bio, i find myself at a loss. i'm better at the impromptu i believe. anyway, i write "poetry" which my family and friends patronizingly say is fine. however, the professor at our local college, (Bucks County, Pa. Poet Laureate for several years) seemed to have quite a different and less complimentary opinion. (smile).. i write for therapy which is more than any person should expect. it seems to be safer than medication and a lot less expensive.
i'm not an artist, a photographer, a musician, or a math teacher. i do APPRECIATE art, film, music and i like math. (smile).. i travel the highway and i have 13 earrings in my left ear. that's all i can think of that's "clever". |
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