“Follow your heart, follow your heart,” they say-
but mine bends with the rain,
is bruised by a passing comment,
strangled by the silence
of an awkward moment.
I circle words on a screen,
reading, re-reading,
overthinking… overthinking…
Until my heart
feels more like a maze
of endless calculation.
I’ve tried, for so long,
to live by that phrase,
yet every word pulls me outward,
into the fog of exaggerated judgement
as if I were the center of all things.
Narcissistic, I know
or just sensitive.
And still, like a bee plunging
into a flower too deep,
I find myself sinking,
cloaked in a pollen-fluff
that never belonged to me.
Hard to fathom the logic of
the following
How in sporting terminology
even the great Tiger Woods
in his pomp and prime employed
the service of a swing coach
with not a single major title to
his name
And Jose football's special one manager never even played professionally himself
As neither is any so called expert
critic in any of the field of art be
that film , poetry , painting , sculpture
or photography
Because surely if in reality
they we're any good at all
in there field of expertise
they would be competing not
teaching or passing comment
So given that Tiger Woods has
20+ plus majors and is considered
to be the greatest golfer to ever play
the game
Then why on earth would he need
to employ the service or be willing
to listen to the opinion of a coach
without a single major title to his
name
Likewise why should or would any credible artist or come to that fact member of the general public value
the critical opinion of someone or anyone
With in essence no more clue than
you or i yet given a platform to
indoctrinate other's
Awakened with all seeing eye
Focussing, turn away and sigh
An empty space, I have to try
Feeling all askew
Take memory of distant times
Everywhere, as committed crimes
Regretful, revisited mimes
Urgent to renew
A saviour imparts one word
Passing comment mis-heard
To impart meaning kindly shared
Thankfully time flew
Now, I awaken in the morn
Watch silhouetted rising dawn
A sudden plume of hope is born
Closure of you
Date - 7/28/20
Tail rhyme stanza contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
Awakened with all seeing eye
Focussing, turn away and sigh
An empty space, I have to try
Feeling all askew
Take memory of distant times
Everywhere, as committed crimes
Regretful, revisited mimes
Urgent to renew
A saviour imparts one word
Passing comment mis-heard
To impart meaning kindly shared
Thankfully time flew
Now, I awaken in the morn
Watch silhouetted rising dawn
A sudden plume of hope is born
Closure of you
Date - 7/28/20
Tail rhyme stanza contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
Ironic Remark
This morning in the surgery, a magazine perusing,
I heard this passing comment which I hope you’ll find amusing.
I saw before me, pen in hand, a happy little boy
But as the waiting time increased, depleted was his joy.
The drawing book no longer held a source of inspiration,
But Mother’s bare arm certainly deserved investigation.
The pen was poised but Mother shouted much to his chagrin:
‘You’ll be in trouble son if you get ink upon my skin!’
Which tickled me for mother’s arm, I swear that this is true
Was boldly decorated with a full forearm tattoo!
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