Out there
Under a thick canopy
Of centenarian
Plane trees with her
Tried and true
Black walking
Stick, that feisty
Old woman jabbing
The ground, dead set
On keeping
The pathway
To her home clear
Of any intruding
Dead leaves
Set on squatting
There permanently.
It's the effort counts. The attempt. Knowable communities built on that.
ReplyDeleteI've found the stick also useful for jabbing at oncoming traffic in challenge.
Better dead than... dead.
Like your poetry, your expertise at foiling adversity in this particular field is also legendary, my friend.
ReplyDeleteYeah, right, swell, dear Vassilis, and good for me.
ReplyDeleteCentenarian Black feisty jabbing dead set Dead
Ha ha, difficult not to identify.
Good for her, sad for her, good for you to have noticed (what poetry's for), good for us all, sad for us all, unless it isn't.
But futility and blogging - the difference, please?
... but, in a way, it's really the poet who's keeping the pathway clear, here, is it not? - nothing at all futile in that.
ReplyDeleteOld friend, as you twice say in your comments, poets do what they can to keep the pathway clear--some are clearly better at it than others, though you and I both know that is certainly no consolation to them in the long run towards oblivion; anyway, thanks for dropping by with your picador! :)
ReplyDeleteNo need for a pic when there's no bull.
ReplyDeleteBull's eye!
ReplyDelete