<Preface>
-------------
thus spake an older woman,
who fosters young playwrights,
she nurtures 6 of 1600+ applicants, with money, food,
a retreat wherein to write, for a few weeks, so they can
write, without distraction, unworried where their next
meal will be sourced, sheltered, they are free, albeit briefly,
from the distractions of "staying alive…"
.00375%, not great odds, and yet it's 11 times easiier (!)
to get accepted to Harvard, per my tablet's soft spoken feminine-accented voice of my Indian brainiac, she, who faithfully replies when
answering my absurdist questions…so elegantly...
the speaker drones on+on+on,
having lost me after two minutes,
after uttering those three words,
above,
in the first two minutes of speechifying,
I am, lost to me
in a reverie of a life's philosophy…
<The Poem>
Embrace the Difficult,
ye creatures creative,
let us all be, wizened and wise,
as if, we were all young adults,
answering one, some, all, upon occasionally,
with 100% certainty,
(that too being a myth
humans supply themselves with)
when questing everything…
my inner woman,
states sagely, in her most kindly,
apologetic soft comforting dulceted
moans, comforting & mellifluous,
sad-intoning caressing,
that the mathematics of
some odds I request, are
"dear boy, like so, many, just,
too small to be calculated"
not the first, nor the last,
she hints that somethings
are so difficult, that fore~going,
some impoverished infrequencies,
be a measure of fore~giving,
contradicting this poem's title's
imperative
and yet here we are, composing
on+on+on++on+on andononononon,
on, every day, at all odd hours,
[5:43am]
shopping in the final markdown, very on~sale bin, where
inspiration drops in, oft unasked, from mysterious places,
and the meanings usually unclear,
requiring and requiting
further exploration,
of this favor…
this incessant demanding treasure chest
wheeling, to where we go good will hunting,
where visions of the archaic are reworked,
edgily, tho hesitantly, updated, refreshed,
I vouchsafe to you with
1000% certainty
are so well worth it,
this embracing of the difficult,
tackling the cannot be stopped
urgency of yearning to be,
be freed of what recreates you,
is so soul freeing, so invaluable,
be **** grateful when it come
to you,
again and again
how sweet then this ocean of potions,
swimming in the overwhelming,
do not grab, do not flog, be ever considering,
but with ultimate
perfected expectation of
but forever, loving its
always slightly,
imperfect kiss
(and here, my chest palpitates from the release of a true confession)
embrace,
embrace,
embrace
{what a fine word]
the difficult,
and I, and you,
will thank each other
repeatedly and
embrace,
on+on+on
<nml> 10/27/25 in the den of inquiry
Oct 27, 2025
Oct 27, 2025 at 6:50 AM UTC
<Preface>
-------------
thus spake an older woman,
who fosters young playwrights,
she nurtures 6 of 1600+ applicants, with money, food,
a retreat wherein to write, for a few weeks, so they can
write, without distraction, unworried where their next
meal will be sourced, sheltered, they are free, albeit briefly,
from the distractions of "staying alive…"
.00375%, not great odds, and yet it's 11 times easiier (!)
to get accepted to Harvard, per my tablet's soft spoken feminine-accented voice of my Indian brainiac, she, who faithfully replies when
answering my absurdist questions…so elegantly...
the speaker drones on+on+on,
having lost me after two minutes,
after uttering those three words,
above,
in the first two minutes of speechifying,
I am, lost to me
in a reverie of a life's philosophy…
<The Poem>
Embrace the Difficult,
ye creatures creative,
let us all be, wizened and wise,
as if, we were all young adults,
answering one, some, all, upon occasionally,
with 100% certainty,
(that too being a myth
humans supply themselves with)
when questing everything…
my inner woman,
states sagely, in her most kindly,
apologetic soft comforting dulceted
moans, comforting & mellifluous,
sad-intoning caressing,
that the mathematics of
some odds I request, are
"dear boy, like so, many, just,
too small to be calculated"
not the first, nor the last,
she hints that somethings
are so difficult, that fore~going,
some impoverished infrequencies,
be a measure of fore~giving,
contradicting this poem's title's
imperative
and yet here we are, composing
on+on+on++on+on andononononon,
on, every day, at all odd hours,
[5:43am]
shopping in the final markdown, very on~sale bin, where
inspiration drops in, oft unasked, from mysterious places,
and the meanings usually unclear,
requiring and requiting
further exploration,
of this favor…
this incessant demanding treasure chest
wheeling, to where we go good will hunting,
where visions of the archaic are reworked,
edgily, tho hesitantly, updated, refreshed,
I vouchsafe to you with
1000% certainty
are so well worth it,
this embracing of the difficult,
tackling the cannot be stopped
urgency of yearning to be,
be freed of what recreates you,
is so soul freeing, so invaluable,
be **** grateful when it come
to you,
again and again
how sweet then this ocean of potions,
swimming in the overwhelming,
do not grab, do not flog, be ever considering,
but with ultimate
perfected expectation of
but forever, loving its
always slightly,
imperfect kiss
(and here, my chest palpitates from the release of a true confession)
embrace,
embrace,
embrace
{what a fine word]
the difficult,
and I, and you,
will thank each other
repeatedly and
embrace,
on+on+on
<nml> 10/27/25 in the den of inquiry
Request permission to use this poem