Post #two for today. Another poem - written from where I sit - on the edge. Written today and not recycled. Lemme back on the bus.
Out of the Ordinary
At my late age I'm sitting on the edge
A place where muses shy away
Times are lean for pens
But not for reaching out
To touch mortality
And test its wrinkles
Read the Obits
Average out the ages
Of the dearly departed
Sound worried don't I
Truth is I am not
I have silk enough for parachutes and
A very large box of band-aides
Standing by
Cynthia Ann Conciatu
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9 comments:
Really love this. Thank you
http://wwworphanstones.blogspot.com
Hmm - I think maybe I should stock up then. We have some bandaids, but no parachutes.
Dr. M has always figured that he would go early but I've never really worried about it. But now as we edge up (he's 51 this year) I eye him sideways - how is he looking these days?
HEY! I'm 53, Bug. I'm holding up dang well, FYI. Well, except for the saggy bits.
Ah, I LOVE this! Wonderful wonderful!
I like the spirit of this and I guess it never hurts to have bandaids and parachutes standing by.
Agree with Argent. I do like this very much! Well done.
Ah steer away from those obits. You might end up reading your own name in there one day
Sitting on the edge, myself. Bandaids at the ready, but I definitely need the parachutes!
hhmmm.. love the idea of parachute silks ;-)
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