POEM: Timesharing

Time Sharing

Deeper than that wish

you dropped in a well.

Brighter than a star

you once thought to tell.

Clearer than a song

sailing on the wind.

Dearer than that day

in your scrapbook pinned.

Bluer than each sky,

yellow as the sun.

Coloured by moments

gathered in your run.

Whirling round your dance—

sparks above the flames!

Weaving limbs will merge,

tapestries to name.

Flying near that orb

with wax on your wings;

laughing at the rise

and dipping of things!

You learn that most leaves

sprung late from the bud

grow greener in lands

long dried from the flood.

They’re quicker than wounds

with their tithes of blood.

They’re soft on the earth

and rich in the mud.

Yet swift flows the tide

still fresh by the shore.

So swift run the sands

and times you would store!

You wonder at trees,

and sigh at the moss.

You’ll  take a new way

that some call a loss.

'Til nearer the dark

you once whistled past,

now etched in the stone

to shelter at last.

I WROTE THIS TODAY and I thought I would post it. I may edit it in the future, but for now, I'll let it sit and stew for a while....

I had about the first third of the poem sitting around and this morning put the rest of it together. I wanted to suggest the youthful wondering at it all with the opening lines and the gradual maturing and enriching (almost like enriching the soil) of a life. Of course,  there's the eventual “etched in stone” ending that comes to us at the end. 
I like some images and rhymes, and as Leonard Cohen once said: "When a rhyme happens—it’s a gift"*. Yep, what he said! To have words that seem to go together, if for no other reason than because of the way they sound, is indeed a gift. Where it comes from, exactly, is a good question (there's no postmark on the package). But it certainly makes my scribbling a whole lot easier….

As for the illustration, it was one I exhumed out from under a moss-covered tombstone. And I dug it up in record time! I'm not sure if I like it here. But Hey, man, It's art, don't ya know? 
And the old guy is in NO WAY meant to be creepy. It's just that I can't draw. Anyway, the oldster can't go anywhere--his cane is on the ground, and he's growing roots!
Also, for those with OCD who obsess about Waldo, there's a face in the background, if you can find it. Oh wait, I see it. It's way easier to find than I thought. Maybe there're two faces there?


Cheers, Jake.



*I did a brief Google search, but I can't seem to find the exact quote. So it may not have be Leonard Cohen, but I like to think it was. Ed.