Good evening and welcome to my blog.
Tonight’s offering is a foray into new territory for me, in terms of the rhythm or flow of the poem. The topic is also new, but I am in the process of experimenting with writing styles and with how the poem flows when read. I’m not trying to change my “voice” – I like the way my poems are, but I am aware that they are raw, and unrefined. That being said, this poem does sound different to the others I have written.
But, you can’t make an omelette without shaking a chicken violently, so I am prepared to embrace new ideas.
All my poems so far have had either none or very little editing once they have been written. Since I have been performing my poetry at open mic nights, and since meeting other poets, I have received lots of valuable feedback which has made me look at what I write with a slightly more critical eye. Now I will aim to write my Friday Poem in advance enough to be able to come back to it after a few days and read it ‘fresh’ and make any changes I feel necessary. My aim is to write even better poetry, which will be more enjoyable (even more enjoyable) for you to read.
So, not one to rest on my Laurels (or Hardys), I am trying to improve what I do.
Here is this week’s Friday Poem, I hope you like it.
At The End
When old age comes and strips me of my youth
And time’s incessant marching colours grey,
What gifts will life bestow me, else than truth:
That from death’s path one cannot turn away.
And facing fate then, how should I appear?
To others – work-mates, family, or friends.
Should they all see me eaten up by fear?
Such action will not save me from my end.
Enthusiasm has the same effect;
In that it gives us no more time at all.
So act – or not; or if you wish, reflect.
For each of us the hourglass sand must fall.
To some death is a very final act.
The reaper ceases all and seals our fate.
Belief for others binds them to this pact:
Reunion with those gone before does wait.
To each of us death comes — that is no lie.
Don’t look for comfort; I have none to give.
But rather than obsess on how we die,
Our time would be best spent on how we live.