"fandangled" poems
Im a calm, cool collected cucumber underneath this fandangled, wiry, wrinkled visage.
Ive escaped the clutches of the tangled snare of my image.
Where and when I belong and to whom is no matter.
I pass by groups and clans and grimace inquisitively at thier chatter.
To my ears its an alien clamour of clashing egos and look at me's.
They'd all be happier in a lonesome cross legged position enjoying the breeze beneath the trees.
With ease I float through my day passionately.
Expanding and contracting with the waves of existence.
I sway indefinitely.
Yield to and renounce the question arisen from the back of the mind "what does it mean to be me"
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
She sat upon her rocking chair
That had a good view of the
Coming and goings of life just outside her porch
She smiled as she remembered
Meeting and greeting people
Over the years ahh yes.....
She remembered her own
Grandfather sitting in this very chair rocking back and forth
And telling her storys
Of his childhood....she smiled
She could hear his voice
As he told her of how back in his day they had to work the land...they had none of these fandangled machines...no siree
She smiled
She remembered the day she brought her boo to met her father for the very first time he had looked at him sternly and asked with that soft spoken voice of his....so what are your intention young man...she smiled
She remembered presenting to both her mother and father her small bundle of joy and the pure joy as they held him for the first time the glow on their faces....words could not discribe...she smiled
She remembered so much that happened on this very porch
She smiled the wind blew softly as she rocked for the last time
And that's how they found her...rocking still in her chair
As she smiled
By Kaila George
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC