In my own way,
on my way
I should be. . .

I am–
oh that I would move
with so much more consistency,
and perkier velocity!

I have to say
It would be
a bald faced lie
to say, to utter,
well, I woul-would,
if I coul-could,

it is not so much I can’t,
as that there’ve lived
so many elephants
we could not say
lived smack amid
our living fray–
we’d have to settle
for a tiny yammer
about the little, puny,
crummy ants. . .

So what is it then,
that’s really
in my way?
It’s all in me,
I say, I say,
though it has
a rich and vicious
that had its birth
from people,
places, things
that grew
up strong
outside of me. . .

then, to those,
add injury
to insult, grief,
disappointment from
the ones
in whom I’d had the most belief. . .

And then from them,
also some flack,
that often left me
feeling not so much blue
or black–
but merely gray. . .
hissed out,
and beat,
like the end
of entropy
at Kelvin,
and fluid minim,
nul degrees.

Hard to stir
or budge that way. . .

And, though, somehow,
I rise above and manage to,
I’d like to
still with more power
now to move,

and get into a groovy groove
where others
feel my music,
start also
from their gray ways
to rise
and move
their lives,
along their own
quite unique ways,

so to improve
and bask in the warmth
of sun’s bright rays. . .

so all of us
can find a way
both to serve
others in our own best ways
and also, equally,

to take our place
in any seat upon the bus,
where we abundantly receive
and have no further trace
of our former burning lust
to sing the blues–

though we can still
the beauty of that mode
along with every human
who true blues ever felt or played,
and sing and play them for ourselves–
in loving, understanding tandem–
if and when
and as early
and as often

we choose.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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