Willing life to pass, the looking glass,
Self-portrait, hints of a possible me.
This portable fortification, this grand illusion;
Waving to the mythical crowds, the royal We.
I so want to be the star, to take the stage,
To paint the world, to pen dramatic scenes.
And yet I must implore all to ignore my reclusive side,
This apparent barrier that occludes the rest of me.
(The best of me?)
As if I could shed this cumbersome covering!
Hello, it’s me, I am Michael the Tortoise!
It’s not that I have barely moved,
My step, a mellow shuffle, a slow and steady pace.
It’s not that I have given up.
It’s not that I’ve been blown away,
Although the road ahead, this rabbit’s race,
This fast track version of the truth
Appears devoid of any bannered finish line,
And I, the butt of endless jokes,
Have long been deemed of little use.
None-the-less,
I strive to reject my insecure and insular status,
Determined to live life, proceeding at full speed,
While many of my would-be competitors
Continue to laugh or nap beneath the shady trees.
Most too occupied with drug or drink
To give a damn that I should take the lead,
Let alone win…
Though, I do my best to entertain the thought,
And to that end,
I once applied
All of my many skills scholastically acquired.
I attempted to learn some hare-brained schemes,
And to some degree I was inspired.
Yes, I wore the jacket, I synched the tie,
The cuts of cloth daftly donned to catch the eye.
These trappings required at weddings and odd funerals,
As well as in offices of entrepreneurial imaginings.
In a world where success lies in submissive acts,
So much of every truth can be a lie.
And I have spent six long decades dwelling on this paradox,
All too often seeking solace in this battered box of mine.
Yet I have always longed to take first place,
Cursing this runners-up sense of uselessness and shame,
Ever hoping to be a worthy competitor,
My trophy, the hearts and minds of men to claim.
Only to come to this conclusion;
That I will never amount to much of anything…
I am a tortoise, after all,
And without an audience…
The birds have no time for me.
The fox looks for easier prey.
To my mind, there are others of us, in other time streams ...parallels of us ...and we, as many parts of one being, are successful in our own right. Doing what is necessary to uphold our other selves.
Yes, it sounds bonkers ...but it works for me :-)
We all have to build our own shells of protection. Even those with some modicum of success find that they are often subject to ridicule… Often from those who they have defeated fairly and squarely. And there are always those, the scum of the earth, who find that they have no life except to be thorns in the sides of everyone else. In the worst cases, acting out their fantasies in criminal behavior.
These facts are true: Success is relative and for the masses, is very rare. Some people have a gift, a natural talent and come by success easily. Some people find success through luck and happenstance--being in the right place at the right time. And some people find success through a lifelong process of honing their talents until they reach success. Very, very few do. The rest are like you and I, practiced and pruned but still unknown.
The only thing left is not to be discouraged, but happy with a life well lived.
Well done Michael! In the latter years of life a tortoise's life becomes more appealing. Perhaps they are the wisest of all and that's why they life so long. Thank you for a glimpse into this perspective.
Hah! I have lived one hell of a life, much of it in the fast-lane. Two decades of street living you made sure you were upfront and out the gate a second before the bell ring. 'Course I was spinning my wheels, but I was also staying alive. And now, in the lazy, leisure days of my old age I understand why it was so important to survive the streets . . . . so I could live long enough to sit back,write my poems, novels, short stories and walk the banks of Bayou Lafourche. But best of all, I am at such a peace with myself that have absolutely become a tortoise, and I love every leisured breath of it.
And yet...does not the slower pace have even greater reward than finishing first? Like a Maserati in a show room, as opposed to the race track, we can observe, contemplate detail and perfection, and then marvel at such a work of art and engineering was even built. Such is the case of poetry, of literature, of tortoises. Lest me forget, "Possibly the most headline-grabbing giant tortoise of all, though, was , a Giant Galapagos Land Tortoise who lived to the ripe old age of 175 (give or take a year or two). Born in the 1830s, Harriet was collected by Charles Darwin when he visited the Galapagos Islands in 1835. After a brief stay in England, she was taken to Australia where the weather was more suitable for her. She spent the last two decades of her life at the and passed away in June 2006."
And for a species that has managed to survive since the late Triassic period, hey...I'll take that.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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Yes, it sounds bonkers ...but it works for me :-)
These facts are true: Success is relative and for the masses, is very rare. Some people have a gift, a natural talent and come by success easily. Some people find success through luck and happenstance--being in the right place at the right time. And some people find success through a lifelong process of honing their talents until they reach success. Very, very few do. The rest are like you and I, practiced and pruned but still unknown.
The only thing left is not to be discouraged, but happy with a life well lived.
Ron
And for a species that has managed to survive since the late Triassic period, hey...I'll take that.