Cedar Waxwings just outside our backdoor.

 

My Anthem

Having neither reference nor degree

I’m untethered to roam, to render free,

my taste, my smell, my guts in poetry or prose:

iambs so sweet or sugary rhyme,

or esoteric muddle out of time.

The choice is mine as is the reward:

to grin, to whisper, “Yes! Yes!” at rare

sweet morsels of insight—- of pithy delight.

Too modest (shy) to claim the honor “Poet”,

I’ll wait for it to be bestowed, or not,

and labor quiet, content, secure, alone.

If when I’m gone, melted but for bone,

a soul, naïve or informed, should say,

“He was a poet you know”, I’ll bone clack

in my eternal sleep and hiss through dust

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

I ran across this little poem, if you can call it that, a few weeks ago.  It was stuffed in an old folder along with other things I had written and saved over the past fifteen years or so.  Things written prior to that have disappeared, most destroyed by me in those moments of realization that I was not going to be a ‘Writer’.  Apparently the passion wasn’t strong enough; the required discipline, none existent. Writing is hard work if you are serious about it.  Regrets? Some, but I don’t dwell in the past.  I live for today and today was gray with drizzle and a cold wind but when Fuzz and I returned from our afternoon walk he jumped up to lick my nose, thanking me for the attention, and my wife, out of the blue, said she wanted to thank me for all that I do for her.  The day was beautiful.

So I’m going to post my favorites of what I have saved along with new short stories and poems and…who knows what else.  At least, here it will have some semblance of order.