Notes About The Poem
* In loving and fond memory of Ernest Hemingway *
Red Letters
Oh, how erred
the impressions of a life can be ...
we humans, with our lofty views of acumen,
pride ourselves on distinguishing a creature's habits
by merely appraising its footmarks in the sand.
And yet we fail to estimate the full relevance
of the imprints WE leave behind,
and what may be assumed by them,
right or wrong or indifferent.
Looking back, I try to focus on a pattern -
My prints in the muck ...
the only true wisdom gleaned
from an irreverent, sullied journey, is this:
such an existence,
while oft' feigning the emblems
Of mystery, adventure, and passion -
while sometimes gaining a wisdom of the dark
that only a burning ardor for the eventide can accord -
and while flesh and marrow may come to savor
the sublime anguish of extremes -
Such a life is NOT romantic,
or charming,
or even enviable ...
whatever bleeding typewriters may say
to the contrary.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Select K Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
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