There’s lots of ways,
as you go through
your life and days,

to make a presentation.

You can do it
bone dead dry,
or dripping sweet,

or with almost any other
strained or calm

you can choose
to put on airs,
to sink real low,
to pierce
with threatening, penetrating glares,

or some other way
to sway–

You can flirt. . .
++++++++++ or be direct. . .
you can be long. . .
++++++++++ you can be terse. . .
or you could choose
the sundry issues of the day
well to address–
++++++++++ or else,
++++++++++ to skirt. . .

You can don
Goth, prep or drab,
modest, posh,
or vamp or bling,

You could appear,
in fact
wearing, carrying
using, too, as props,
near absolutely anything. . .

You could smile,
+++++++++++++++you could cry,
you could wear shades
to hide your eyes,

you could enter
and take center stage
the usual way,
+++++++++++++++ or sudden, burst upon the scene,
+++++++++++++++ at lightning pace,
+++++++++++++++ in undreamed ways that must surprise,

Once there,
you can choose
a stilted, zip-closed pose,
+++++++++++++++or flare your nostrils,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++purse your lips,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++or dance or sing. . .

But one day, then,
you stop to think,
of all these tricks
works best?”. . .

You go and stare
into the glass,
and take some time
to see
what’s really there. . .

At last, you ask,
“What is the very hardest thing?”

The answer comes,
shines clear and bright–
it strikes you
as a little frightening:

+++++ “The hardest is,


+++++ Sans feathered hat,
+++++ sans stole,
+++++ sans any hint
+++++ of cleverness,
+++++ nor of deft craft
+++++ to play a role

In lieu,
what you can do:

++++++++++ allow
++++++++++ from deep inside you
++++++++++ your soul,
++++++++++ your spirit
++++++++++ up to well,

Where all
who come from near,
or far,
can feel your warmth,
detect the glimmer in your eye,
and breath a whiff
of your pure essence,
revel in your trademark effervescence,

And, enjoy you, or not,
just as they will–
but, no matter–
all of them
a little stretch with you
will well have lived
an honest tale,

which, afterwards,
they, in their own
specific way,
can tell.

tell yours now–
+++++ just as you are,
+++++ just like it is–

And then,
you’re surely know, somehow,
that was the very
laid-bare best
of everything
you had to give.

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

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