What is our conversation now,
in this new world of self
where all our time and energy
just builds a cluttered shelf
for trophies that we give ourselves
and prizes we amass
to demonstrate a sense of worth?
It seems a little crass
to focus our attention in
so tight a frame and sphere,
while worrying our waking hours
that we might disappear
without that click-and-clack applause
from friends who use our name
to sell their own inventions,
in a never-ending game
of who said what and when to whom
and why should someone care.
We all pontificate and cast
our notions on the air,
expecting a contagious wind
to drop them here and there,
in pockets of sunlight and shade
where they will die, or grow;
and give us more to talk about,
or nothing. I don’t know.
Random Posts
- Each moment is a thresholdEach moment is a threshold hinged upon an ancient door; we swing between two rooms: the future, and what’s come before. Experience, the lubricant that …
- Untitled SonnetIf I never saw another morning sky nor waked to hear the sparrows on the lawn, if roses gave no scent when I walked by …
- A Meditation HaikuTake a slow breath. Don’t hold it long; let it go. See, there is more air. Take a good, long look; Don’t scan the scene …
- Each moment is a threshold
Most Shared Posts
Recent Comments
- Irene on Some ancient affirmations
- Rekha on No More Sad Weepings of Regret
- Novena on Wake Up: sonetto rispetto
- John on On the Veranda: serenade
Blogroll