Friday, March 05, 2021

The Poem That is a Mirror

This poem is more symbolic of my life today, than when I wrote the first draft in the late 1980's.

I am a coffee drinker.... and just as I rarely finish the full cup before it gets cold, I have other bone piles of unfinished proposals and plans that remain in my vision but have little energy or enthusiasm left.

Even though my cup of choice is now stainless steel, which holds the heat longer, I still have quarter filled cups of cold coffee on my desk almost everyday.

I re-find this from time to time- I have quite a few handwritten versions of this in many places.

I know poetry is not in vogue, but this has been a fun project for me over many decades.

There are a lot of hints in here regarding my authentic disposition... he who has ears.....
As always, thankful for my readers!

Quarter - filled Cups of Coffee

”I have measured my life in coffee spoons” -Prufrock

"A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh—but smile no more." - Poe

“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What advantage does a man have in all his work which he does under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1: 2-3

Quarter - filled cups of coffee, 
Shadowed stains below the band.

Cooled liquid, thick and soiled, 
Etched foam, marked by hand.

Appearance of apparent progress, 
Concrete marks of constant time.

Accompanied by piles of paper, 
Crumpled calendars, plans sublime.

Of what reward do hours meed? 
Riches and honor untold?

What state does watched time translate? 
Unused potential to save and hold?

Three - quarter empty cups of coffee, 
Symbols unfinished and undone.

Epochs spent on early ambition, 
Numerous laps short, the race not won.

Lurking depths of unrequited desire, 
Taciturn anger behind the smile,

Endless action churning piles of perception, 
Steps no closer to the next mile.

Will the minutes always last? 
What price is one to pay?

When activity is ambiguous and prostituted 
and success is a shade of gray.

The trap has sprung inescapable. 
The suction stronger than will.

No one there to loose or care, 
Fractions of effort to close the sill.

My dreams still are marathons away. 
No tunnel light, nor ray, nor rule.

Only a vast wasteland of utopian ideas 
and naive ambition.

I laugh at myself - the fool.

No comments: