Ah, a rejuvenation in the end, from the tedium. That's good. I don't like the sound of "last poem." I guess you meant "previous poem." Don't stop writing. How else to counter the aging muscles of time but by flexing the inner and constantly evolving tendons of the imagination?

This feels like one of those this-is-my-life moments. A sense of restlessness in the words. Time for adventure! Hugs,
Sheila

Destiny, fate? Life running the borders of joy and sheer boredom. Mundane day to day exercises of futility. Pin the tail on the donkey mature adult living. Your poem walks the lines, twists and turns with solemnity booted in the butt by a dose of verve. I very much like this fine work my dear friend. Love and peace to you. Jon Michael

time's "maturing" muscles? don't like the word aging
very much at this point! ;-) hold onto that light in the
heart, jude, it is a most precious gift!
now please go climb a very tall mountain and be one with
the cosmos for a spell, dear poet.
yet another adoring fan,
carolyn

good one Robert, "he wipes his last poems ass" quite a line. Of course some of mine I would delete, especially when i first started, however, they do show growth, I think, cheers

Truly remarkable.

I agree with Ron and Stan. I have been like the character in this poem. I would greet my neighbors with a smile and go off to work in the hum drum of city life. But this can also be for small town people too. The hum drum of life period, reaches out to us all. Thank you for sharing.

May the Lord Bless you, and those whom you love, and be with you always, and walk by your side. With love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth, & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your little sister Barbie.

one foot in frountof the other...thanks Jude

The pathos of city existence in a nutshell... write on.

Ron

:)) Great vision in this one! Sometimes our poems just get up and walk off the page to the roar of tumulteous applause and without so much as a look back to us their instigator; sometimes they just sit like a lump and fill their pants instead. I, for one, have a great deal of trouble knowing which of my babies will do what, which proves the point perhaps that the life of the poem is very much in the hands of the reader.

Apart from that eye-catching metaphor... Adaboi! "Dream until the dream comes through". Reading Amber's insightful comment, I have had that ancient acoustic song from the 60's in my head all week: "Windmills of my mind"..."Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel". It's not the dream that needs re-inventing, it's the tedious walking-out of the daily/nightly path towards its eventual fulfilment that's the hard-graft required. This is not so much a time-thing as a revelation thing: plans unfold according to acting on revelation received, rather than just as a matter of course. As you grab ahold of one bit, the next bit will then unfold. If we lose faith in our dream, ultimately we are just walking nowhere, EXCEPT round in circles. Time is not the arbiter, but silence, perhaps, is. What is heard in the still, naked night - the time of our greatest intimacy and vulnerability, perhaps - will ultimately do more to advance the long-term goal than all the tedious quotidianal grind.

Love also the condensed ideas in the final couplet. Being "king" of geographical space is so entirely different to being "emperor" of territories that involve the mind and heart. On the geographical/physical plain, allegiance is certainly not assured and too often a King is caught with his pants down as subjects assess his nakedness through his moth-eaten wardrobe. On the other hand, the "lord" of inner, unseen waters controls all, especially the compass of his "blind" followers who are often unquestioning. It is they that dress him and make sure his butt never goes unadorned.

... On top of everything else, I have now wrecked my neck and back so if this all seems a little "off" and twisted, you're probably right. My spine's all askew! Have a great day at the beach. Life IS one, you know, whether sunny or buffeted by storms. xx

Jude,
Inspiration comes from many sources. Your inspiration comes from within your own existence and this poem resonates within my being.
Traveling in full circles, is a constant flow of life for me, as well as you. One has to journey throughout their lifetimes in full circles in order to fulfill certain destinies. It is out of our control, but the quality of those full circles is within our human touch. I tend to live like that elusive butterfly, always flitting about with freedom in mind.
As always, your poetry touches me deeply. Keep those dreams flowing, they will tell you what you need to know, but you must listen closely to the messages that you are hearing.

So much to think about, but ultimately, My solid advise to you and others who read this amazing poem, is this:

We have the power to change our lives, it is all a matter of choice.

I always choose, love...

so to you I offer, peace, light and love,
Amber

There's a certain melancholy nature to this.
The smile is real, but then so is the sigh.
Is there the same desire to continue as perhaps at the start?
Or as the poem says...

"he heads out the door
to the tedious milieu of existence,"

Me thinks there's more to this then meets the eye.

Way to go and each new piece is a reawakening, a re-birth...

Be always safe,
Karen

Your verses have awakened many thoughts in my mind and I have to admit that I can "relate" to this "king of countless minions" in some ways. Thank you, Jude. Love and peace,

Regis

There's foreboding in 'looming dawn' Jude and, for me, a sense of fatalism in the rest.

John

Pretty bleak, but nicely said...

Chip Bergeron

That's the thing about circles man.
By the time you finish one you are beginning it again.
It never ends.
I like this write.
God bless,
Lew

Jude you are the only person I know who can travel in spirals and still arrive where he needs to be!

Reinvention of self is a natural evolving process and I think that our dreams play a big part as to the direction in which we move. This poem feels somewhat abstract and a bit like a piece of you. I enjoyed the bit of a tug-of-war that I felt in it, it made it seem like a living poem to me. Several great lines and moods in this offering; like a sheer watercolored dream. NICE!!
Take care,
Sherry

I have to tell you I loved these lines, "he wipes his last poem’s ass
with the rattle of faded pages,"...I don't know how you came up with them, but you did. This poem...I feel it...and I can see it...and the "reinventing the dream" part...at least he still has a dream! I liked this one....a lot.

Poem's ass, Midas Touch, walk to Starbucks, vir triumphalis to Via Sacra to Forum.

reading you is so intoxicating;-)You have always stayed true to your gift ,Jude, and that's a tribute to your existence!

Love,
Eileen

no wallower this one...just the facts of re-birthing his dream...

THAT i find is sometime a necessity after a certain amount of years of 'sunups' and 'naked nights'. takes an exceptional kind of person and talent to do so.

i also like the image of 'wiping his last poems w/ faded pages'...tells me a story of 'OUT with the old...In with the new'
kudos jude...i like this! patmedlin

As writers and poets...we birth our words to the occasions of our minds, then we release them on the world...what they become as mature poems is not in our jurisdiction...all we can do is hope.
fee

Hay! As long as the dream is viable, Jude, he is not living a "tedious milieu of existence." Good writing.

It's a blessing (IMO) that he is still desirous of reinventing his dream. I would imagine that this discipline makes all the difference - navigating through the mud and not knee-deep in it (so to speak).
"He wipes his last poems ass" is a particularly intriguing image.
Enjoyed ...
r

A Novena...for nine successive days...a special blessing, Jude...

s