Sunday, October 24, 2010

Awake
I awake into darkness
The lamp's light shuddering my reluctant eye
Like a rusted man, joints tired, I dress in worker's clothes
My belly only full with toasted bread I walk into the chill of blackness,
A courage rises as a hard step
But by midday the fight is gone, my dreams returning to a bed's desire

Young
Years ago, when i was young,
i had a big lazy grin
It was fun, dreaming, smoking weed in the park
i hear the laughter sometimes of my old friends
Talking like a summer breeze, when time will come, when we are men
lovers of life, of women, of ourselves with lazy grin
Now I am old,
When I see these youth, I warn them to waste know years,
don't be like me, but mostly I wish i were them

What?
What do I need to do?
Slam shut the poem?
Lock it tightly so no verse escapes into me?
Is there purpose to fight such things?
Let it be what it is, perhaps
the words as the answer, the question revealed as a strange vastness

8 comments:

Mary said...

SC, three wonderful poems. But I am struck especialy by "Young." Ain't it the truth?? (your last line)

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh yes, I recognize these feelings. Nostalgic wonderings......so well expressed.

umapoems said...

The three para interlinked into one another expressing the old age feeling.Well written!

signed...bkm said...

love them all but the second one is Wonderful...maybe be I wish I had my youth back also...would I be different maybe not but I would enjoy every minute of its precious freedom and love of everything new....blessings...bkm

ninotaziz said...

Dear SC
I am still working on Young!

Lovely!

Jingle said...

I can relate,
so powerful words.

Juice Box said...

The first one is so wonderful; it's how I feel every morning when I get out of bed.

Human Paradox said...

Another set of lyrical brilliance SC. "A courage rises as a hard step
But by midday the fight is gone, my dreams returning to a bed's desire." Ah, the throes of a public servant. But also so many men (and women), like Walter Mitty I guess. Nice job.