Sunday, November 15, 2009

Untitled




rings
need i rub the time
when as a child growing
there are but ten fingers to count
and when eleven comes i thought
i knew i have wizened in age
looking desperately for that wrinkle
like a gnarl in an oak trunk
praying for some kind of deformity
that shines, that exposes and hides
then after looking at the mirror at thirty four
felt cheated for what might have become.

9 comments:

  1. Am I speaking here. This is just lovely, lovely

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  2. oh what a way to say, BJE :)


    Wishes,
    devika

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  3. Oh that is an impressive write-up, love the sentiments beyong it...perfect photo!

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  4. Father Time gets us all, doesn't he? I was looking closely at the photo on my blog just today noticing a recently required line on my forehead...but what to do about it??? I guess I'll just laugh and make another one. ;)

    Your thoughts are lovely as always...and worth the wait!

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  5. Let me try that again...take two! I meant to say "recently ACQUIRED line". I really shouldn't leave comments when I'm that tired. Good grief!!!

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  6. Thanks for the comments. And Kristin, does it mean you have to work it out to earn the "acquired" line, but kidding aside, i think that is what i am trying to tell in this poem.

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  7. this iso lovely it reminded me of a piece of drift wood i photographed at Salybia beach here in Trinidad
    Its amazing how time etches itself

    much love
    gillena

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  8. Fine photo and verse, and if allowed to imagine, one can see 5 of those 10 fingers... reaching out from a top ring... the little hand, _m

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  9. good eye _M_ the tiny hand extending...

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