“There Are Times”
There are times when rocks are all I need,
A shelter, something solid, something half complete.
No eternal covering, nothing dreamed. I just can’t sleep
Right now, and all I want to do is sit a spell, and see
Myself through what it is I ought to feel.
There is so much to think about at times,
(The lunar bride’s not called as yet) my mind’s not clear, but I’m
Not sure I care to do a thing nor move about those eels
I see that make so many close to me so utterly confused.
You know I rarely miss my ride, so, if
You don’t mind, I’ll sit and stare, and sift
Through things I shouldn’t think about, and muse
About myself till dusk. And if you please, I’ll shift
From time to time to let you know I haven’t died,
Abide a while, and let the moon bring in the tide.
Posted in Age, Aging, Biding time, Contemplation, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sea turtles, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Sea turtles, Sonnet, Sonnets
“How Many Times?”
How many times must he shave before he dies?
Alarms; no need of them, he’s awake.
He sees an opal there among the numerals, stakes
A claim on what he is, and turns his eyes
To base reality: a simple twist; he’s beat
The clock again. What follows—once up—
Is what he’s done to predicate this morning’s cup:
The machine is on, the light’s still red; he defeats
The kitchen and deftly sallies to the bathroom to drain
The swamps of all the night before and address the mirror―pain,
A serious reconnoitring, gazing, remembering what he’s gained,
Enthusiasm―so who was that man late last night? The same,
Perhaps, but more. He does not flinch before a silvered mask
That greets him in the glass: he’ll simply shave and let it pass.