Sunday, August 5, 2018

Futility Is Alive And Well In Aetos, Messenias, Greece

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.


  1. It's the effort counts. The attempt. Knowable communities built on that.

    I've found the stick also useful for jabbing at oncoming traffic in challenge.

    Better dead than... dead.

  2. Like your poetry, your expertise at foiling adversity in this particular field is also legendary, my friend.

  3. Yeah, right, swell, dear Vassilis, and good for me.

    Centenarian 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?

  4. ... 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.

  5. Old 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! :)

  6. No need for a pic when there's no bull.


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