Jan 2020
Sitting naked
On the edge of my seat.
When I look down
I see my…
Feet.
If quick with rhyme,
Maybe not what YOU see.
After my feet
I notice my…
Knees.
Now I’m thinking
I’m remembering, but
After my knees
I see my…
Gut.
Oh ****** aging
What cruel tricks you play.
I remember
It was not always that way…
**SIGH
On the edge of my seat.
When I look down
I see my…
Feet.
If quick with rhyme,
Maybe not what YOU see.
After my feet
I notice my…
Knees.
Now I’m thinking
I’m remembering, but
After my knees
I see my…
Gut.
Oh ****** aging
What cruel tricks you play.
I remember
It was not always that way…
**SIGH
I am quite sure my poetry is getting to be more profound as I age...
This is for the poets who sit with backhand to forehead, eyes closed, and head thrown back, waiting to overcome their depression in the profundity of their pain .
This is for the poets who sit with backhand to forehead, eyes closed, and head thrown back, waiting to overcome their depression in the profundity of their pain .
