Are the memories
Of a tired poet
Like crushed butts
In the dying embers
Of an ashtray?
Or
like poor diminishing
Disable souls lined up
In wheelchairs
Along corridors of time
Within nursing homes
Because lounges
Are fill to the hilt
With dying Embers
A SAD REFLECTION...DYING EMBERS? I DISAGREE. THERE IS ALWAYS A CHOICE, WILLIAM; AS TO HOW WE 'LOOK' AT IT - 'SEEING' THE 'EVIDENCE OF THINGS NOT SEEN'. THERE...WE 'SEE' THE WARM GLOW OF AN ETERNAL FIRE, STILL BURNING BRIGHT AND ALIVE, ONLY TO BE EXTINGUISHED BY THE ONE WHO STARTED IT. BUT OVER THERE...WE SEE 'EMBERS' OF WHAT USE TO BE, NO LONGER HOPING AND GIVING WARMTH NO MORE, REFUSING EVEN THE CRACKLING THAT WOULD REIGNITE IT. ONCE A POET, ALWAYS A POET...POETS ARE BORN NOT MANUFACTURED, MY FRIEND. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
If you would ask some of them they would say, "Hurry up, let me burn out."
My uncle, reaching, 101 and having to leave his little assisted living apartment for a nursing hospital, told my cousin what he asked the nurses… "Nurse… Give me a bucket. I want to kick it!"
Somewhere our words go on through time. MAYBE someone down the road finds your writes and starts to read them and thinks they're cool! ........on the flip side.
To be able to share their poetry to the world, perchance finding readers who can relate to their words is every poets' dream. Thanks to the Internet that is easier to accomplish.
the poor old poet, he is battered every which way with very little satisfaction, only the inspiration that sits on his fingertips, beauty that lingers on his/her lips. John
You have some pretty serious questions here? A poet's memory sits on the ledge of time in his mind, regardless of the space he shares at the end, his memoires, a luminous lamp that cannot be shut down with the fading of the light. Thanks for the good read this morning William x
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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Never!
Sometimes all a poet has are memories.
I just hope the wheelchair line isn't too long.....
Walt
Another poem to makes us wake up and smell the roses!
Nicely written!
Peace love and light
Amber
My uncle, reaching, 101 and having to leave his little assisted living apartment for a nursing hospital, told my cousin what he asked the nurses… "Nurse… Give me a bucket. I want to kick it!"
Ron
Love ya!
Jane