Well worn and read, “The Pearl.”
The end. I’ll start at the beginning.
Strung pearls around my neck -
I dare
to wear them to the library.
My coworker has to tell me,
she only wears hers to church.
Well, I’ll be. These came straight
from China, not free
but not expensive.
Sparknotes, my friend,
reminds me that a great find, a precious jewel
might hang about one’s neck
like a rock. Perhaps,
you feel lucky, but everyone dies around you.
What do you have left, but a story -
a pearl of a story. In the end
it is taken back to its home.
There, it is not so rare.
I wear my pearls everywhere.
The beauty of a well worn saddle
If only it could speak of its earlier days
It’s wear tells a story, marred by the rub of denim on the open range
The saddle soap stain; mottled by an early spring rain
The busted stitches; the remnants from a horse’s mane
It’s decorative leather tassels weathered and frayed
Manifesting a story of harder days
We can gather much by the saddles tattered worn sight
The leather reveals the cowboy riding, day and night
Driving a herd as the cattle dogs snip and bite
Busting a covey of bobwhites
O’ the irony of a saddles tale
The loneliness, the camaraderie, the serenity of life on the trail
The wear tells a story, the beauty of a saddle, worn well
I walked along a well worn path
And think of things I thought would last
Of the sunshine without pain
That came in such a sweet refrain
But I know now of other things
And the wonder that life brings
Then promises of what might be
But they can die so easily
Now I live in the twilight
Wondering if things will be right
Away from dark nightmares now
I stand alone the last soul taking a bow.
© Paul Warren Poetry
well worn
are words ever well worn, used up
their meanings no longer relevant
tasks completed, comes retirement
set aside, ignored then forgotten
burned by the fire of speeches
grey and crumbled
from too many obituaries
“it is with deep regret”
is “regret” not enough
are there shades,
gradients of regret?
was “deep “ added to prevent
regret from wearing out?
what is that squishy pile
pushed back under the chair
ah, it used to be death
have we now achieved immortality?
WELL-WORN PATH OF SHOES
shoes ~ saddle
with gray and blue catholic uniform
dove white ~ easter
sandals dressed in ‘60’s powder blue
sneakers with my uniform
last minute mistake
mercy meted me a guard duty post
click~click~slick
cruise ship formal night
not for love, arm in arm
delicate walk to dining room
catherine de medici taller
well-heeled so we can grow smaller
dining in our fancy chairs
sacrificial slippers – quiet hush hush
toss them overboard
bare ~ love cuddles
Voices are low, and the pages unfold
Dusty worn jackets, on paper-back shores
Classics of old, or a best-seller's gold
Renaissance store, with a bent spinal core
Latitude shelves, heavy with multitudes
Autographed copies, fiction and lore
Chapters reread, opened with gratitude
Mouldy with knowledge, slumbering fiction
Sung once again, birthing new attitudes
Language and diction, viewed with conviction
I find new adventure, swimming through waves
Love's old persuation, claims my addiction
A place to spend time and stroll down a maze
find some conclusion, and leave in a daze
__________________________________________________________________
Terza Rima Sonnet #4 Philosophical
Carrie Richards
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