Pugilist

He dipped and he ducked
He threw and he took
He weaved and he bobbed
He jabbed and he lobbed
He danced and he preened
He was all that he seemed
He fought true and well
He went to the bell
He took his last breath
He didn’t fear death
He was the salt of the earth
He’d been as good as his word

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The World In A Vase

There’s a clear glass vase
on a windowsill in my kitchen,
belled like a trombone,
no more than twelve inches high,
but in that vase,
filled with emerald
and white translucent
glass pebbles,
I see the world.

In one, I see the clouds
scurrying along, above the
skylight in the roof.

In another, the golden glow
of the midday sun;
in another, the television
reflecting world events.

In another, a distorted depiction
of an old man sitting in a chair,
writing in a Waterstones notebook

Myriad worlds;

Condensed, captured
in a twelve inch vase
on a windowsill,
in a kitchen,
in a small apartment,
in a green and pleasant corner
of England;

My world.

Waiting For Inspiration

 

Waiting for inspiration to strike
Requires a lot of patience and immobility
In place of actual work, or so it seems
To me. For
If writing depends on that flash of genius,
Nothing is happening here. I
Guess it’s more a matter of perspiration that
Success arises from, not the often mis-
Understood flash of brilliance that
Comes upon a person like lightning, but rather the
Knowledge that no work equals no writing equals no
Success. Simple, eh?

For Poets United – Poetry Pantry #336

 

I Took A Walk

I took a walk down memory lane,
never thought I’d go that way again,
down the path around the bend;
thought my trip would never end.
Along the way I met a man
who said to me,
“I think I can.”
“You think you can?”
I said to him.
“Yes, but I don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, walk with me a little way,
maybe you’ll find your path this day.”
As we walked he shared his fears,
a field of pain watered with tears.
Then I was on the road alone
looking toward my childhood home,
but I didn’t want to go that far,
things past have passed, are what they are;
so I turned around, cast off the pain
and walked away from memory lane.