A man wants to make his mark on the world
to leave something of himself that will endure.
It is the human thing to do.
For some it is children
for some a book
a dare-devil act
or other feat
that will interrupt the routines
of a father, mother, farmer, pipefitter, or pastor
make them pause and notice
for a moment
or even learn a thing or two.
But I wonder if these small interruptions
in the lives of other mortals
are worth
the sweat, angst, hours, gut wrenching
and immense energy of a life.
The sage’s magenta petals fall in the heat of the afternoon
and no man, woman or child notices
but bees lit there and ****** a little life
from the blossoms’ hearts.
Maybe I should be content to bloom
for a few days in summer
then fall away
to the earth
the love
from whence I came.
A friend of mine just published a book of his poems: Apothecary, by James Kenneth Blaylock. I opened it this morning as I lay in bed trying to wake up. It is a nice little volume of his poems written over many years. It felt good holding it in my hands and remembering James and our little poetry group in our town, remembering him in his wheelchair struggling with his strong arms to propel himself into our lives - which he did. Now he has kids and three books. His gentle voice has been heard. His sad smile has been seen. He has made his mark. Reading his poems, James caused me to reflect for a moment on my own life.