Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Sunday morning scribbles

Poetry is all around
It is a way of being

I live my life
in metaphor
from early stories
woven for me
pictures images
with which to understand
my world

They have no idea
their words conjure images

A glance says it all

I fear for you
not knowing
the import of every gesture
speaking volumes

I pity
and envy
those of you
who don't have ears
wishing you could
see feel intuit

Wishing I could
turn down the volume
shutting out the cacophony


I had to go see him
Even though I heard
second hand
"He's OK"

I had to lay eyes
upon this man
I'm not ready 
to part with

So I paid for
my parking - overpriced
(and you can be sure he would comment about it)
just to lay hands
on this man I call

He was OK

the emergency visit
a bit of an overreaction
a cautionary action
for one who realizes
he's been given more than 
his allotted threescore and ten

You can't go yet

I hold his hand 
during the 30 minutes
for which I paid a 
small ransom

Fingers still thick
and strong
although strangers 
to hard labour

I examine line upon line
etched and chiseled
in brow and bridge
as his lips continue 
to shape and form
even more tales for me to enjoy

I think of old age
yours and mine
some years on

And I look forward to the day
when you will hold
my hand
and we will read
in our lines 
and crinkles
the stories we
have witnessed
and written 

My own private hell

Dark and dank
lonely it is, here
as I try to figure me
figure you

Here everything is wrong
everything I do
and think and say

Add to that 
you say

It's all pointed
at making me feel

Shitty because
I devalue myself
because I let you
devalue me
because I let you see the real me
let you see how I see
what I don't want to see
or be

I'm poor
neglected dejected
and outcast

I am at the same time
sick of my wallowing in this
pity pit
Can someone rescue
redeem me

Dare I ask for more that that

Dare I ask to be the cherished jewel

Feeling - somehow
the cosmic forces
will put me in my place
for daring to aspire