Not Blame Your Pleasure
Because vision limits options, I close my eyes.
Becoming urges patience.
The morning after I didn’t die, I took breakfast in bed.
Arrival stamps the difference between waiting and choice.
Expectation, too, extends its squeeze, rendering sleep impossible.
I ride the bike and go nowhere, or walk steadily, covering the same ground.
Which will claim me first? An occlusion, gravity or unchecked growth?
Anticipation replaces one sigh with another: I have three falls from two roofs.
A friend has named me executor of his estate, and now the race is on.
The path to the void seems straight only near its end.
My ashes will one day soil someone’s morning.
“Not Blame Your Pleasure” first appeared here in November 2015.
An excellent rumination on mortality.
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Thanks, Charles. Mortality was much on mmy mind when I wrote this…
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Thanks for your input on my poem. Your poem is thought provoking and makes me wonder about the future, too.
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I’m glad it resonated with you.
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“Becoming urges patience” – it sure does. Experience also alters perception. This is quite contemplative.
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Thanks, V.J. There’s no substitute for experience!
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We are no longer feeling quite as invincible as we once were…… Very Good Poem Bob!
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Thanks, Dwight. That’s certainly the truth!
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Awesome reflection on one’s time in the mortal coil. Well done!
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Thanks very much!
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Quite some ‘intimations of mortality’
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What a single brush with death will do!
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Stirring up my write ups okaji…this is excellent
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Thanks very much!
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Encouraged by your 3 falls sfrom 2 roofs … having just crashed (from lower height) onto concrete driveway which occurred with a distinct “bang” – surprised to discover nothing broken despite black eye and chin. Perhaps I have at least 2 to go?
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At least two! And I’m glad we have a one-story house. Ouch! Black eye and chin! Glad you’re okay.
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