The seeking fingers of tomorrow
When we were young we thought
just as the saying goes or the first line of every youthful book
we had all the time in the world
time does not speed up as you age
it simply reveals itself, standing unclothed in dawn, still wet with dew
the sundial of life moving slowly in circle
once you believed yourself invulnerable, not because you were young
but the blister in your heart that said
i will never stay here and take this crap!
so you urged yourself to sprout and using every strength
sometimes in the form of what you did not yet know
flew into the reddened sun and burned there a good long while….
later when shade gave salve
it seemed foolhardy to have done battle
but that was the ire of twenty and five
seen differently when scope is set ten years advancing
through all the steps you will take, from there to now
maybe a family, maybe alone, maybe reaching out, maybe closing down
is it possible you think, to change?
so unutterably, as to forget imprint of first edition?
so completely, the way you felt then, now strange and unfamiliar
as if a stranger shucked your skin and walked away
leaving you to puzzle over how you lived as someone else, for so long
the girl who drank herself to the bottom of the bottle
lifting her skirts for her ravages and lowering her eyelids on truth
the boy who snorted off backs of others and
seeing the harm he did, carried on digging the wet way to the pacific
where he hoped to find a green stone and turn himself into a forest
they slipped and skidded, as children with weapons will
damaging better than any terror could have reigned
we know the sharpness of our own ache
and now that time has reflected and returned another summer, another slow
turn of water wheel
sending ducks garbling and spooked across uneven lawn
into waiting foxes jaw
we see the hem of life, peaking from beneath rubharb
as it pillars its redolence among plain earth
declaring a magnificience
we see how the young bathe in their moment, only to rue
that cigarette, that set of choices, laid out Majong and glossy
alongside the diaphram, the emptied promise, drying on cotton sheets
it could be a dinner table set for eight, or just for me
when you have flown, along with the last ears of corn
having lost their golden, turning back spots of age
if we reach now, we reach too late to see
the circumfrance of inevitable fate and so
one day, will be the last seat, left to fill
nobody remaining behind, to open windows to
the seeking fingers of tomorrow

0 Replies to “The seeking fingers of tomorrow”

    1. That’s one of the loveliest things I have heard and thank you thank you thank you so much for saying that it is very, very encouraging and just a really lovely thing to say. I hope you are okay? I appreciate you my friend.

  1. ” seeking figures of tomorrow “…. The last seat to fill and the last to close the window. Very thoughtful and as usual, I’ll be back to read several times….one reading is not enough for me. I also love ” another slow turn of the water wheel” and in real life, if next to one, how peaceful and meditative that place can be. Thank you for sharing your beautiful gifts!

    1. Thank YOU Rick for reading. I feel lucky that you take the time to read my work as I know some days that’s not an easy thing to do and I just am very grateful to you. I hope you know that. Thank you.

    1. Thank you my lovely one and for your email which I read last night and very much appreciated. I will write back later today please know that your kind words make a huge difference to me and that I am very lucky to know you

  2. Brutally honest and true! But ya know, I’ll take whatever allotted hours I have left despite this awful pain I’m feeling right now. Love and hugs, N πŸ™‚ <3

    1. So will I my friend so will I. I am VERY sorry to hear you are in pain you need to write me and let me know what is going on? I didn’t know and I feel badly for not checking in sooner than I did this AM – I’ve been errant about being in touch because I am just feeling so out of it myself – but please know I care and please know I want to hear what is going on for you and if you have the energy to write – shoot me an email? I will be writing you also – and most of all please know I am sending all my love and prayers for you to feel much, much better because you are my purple sister

      1. Oh sweetie it’s just the usual stuff. I’ve been a poster child for pain since I was 25. Sometimes it’s worse than other days and sometimes I handle it better. I was just feeling sorry for myself the other night. I’m okay so you just take care of you love. It is what it is for both of us but knowing and loving you makes my life better and bearable! Je t’aime, N β€οΈβŒβ­•οΈπŸ˜˜

        1. It isn’t right that you have been suffering so long, at the same time it is incredible you have endured and coped with it as you have. I only admire you for this the more. But I would not wish it upon anyone at all as pain can grind you down. It is okay to feel sorry for yourself by the way (and really, you don’t) as you can’t always be tough. I know you’re busy but catch me up when you can please?

    1. Coming from you that means a lot Derrick. You are very popular on WP but even if you had one friend and one pair of socks I think I would appreciate your take on life more than most, not because they are inferior but because I am the other part of the jigsaw to your right, I fit not at all on your left or your above or your below but on your right I am a perfect match and when I am, it feels like I have always been there, part of you and you part of me, that is the sympatico of real friendship and you – you are a real friend.

  3. This poem is like the anxiousness and quiet regret that comes after a rare afternoon nap whence my dreams reveal those of my youth and I awake, breathless, shocked by how far I’ve ventured from them and how many years, in some sense at least, I’ve wasted in depression. I wonder how you might relate to Kafka’s interpretation of aging, in that it’s like a mouse running freely across an open expanse, but the further he goes, the more defined become the walls on either side, then they begin to press in on him and at the end, they meet and leave him in a tight corner. He only needs to turn around and face the Cat, be gobbled up.

    1. What a great comment! Excellent. I know what you mean about wasting in depression. I don’t think anyone ever intends to but it most certainly can happen. I would say to anyone who judges someone who has experienced this, would they ever choose such a life? Thus depression is a disease of the mind never a choice, and this idea we can ‘snap out of it’ is perhaps, condemning of those who try every day to do just that, but there is always the next day and we should despite this, always try to snap out of it. I have read Kafka many years ago I don’t recall my impressions well enough other than to say, the starkness of his writing appealed to my sense of how life was, I felt very much that way when younger, but as I get older I feel a balance between negativity, realism and optimism and that sometimes leaves me a bit mercurial but I think it’s most likely the nearest thing to truth – thank you for writing such a good response and getting me to think further along the road

    1. Eternal optimist is a euphimism for American. When I moved here I never met so many eternal optimists! It is without doubt the largest culture clash between the French and American’s (or for that matter, other countries too). It’s not that we are negative, moreover we are realistic erring on the side of bleak πŸ˜‰ I admire optimism, it is healthy. I am not overly optimistic I’m very logic driven so I sit somewhere in the middle, but I think I’d have a far happier life if I could learn to wear the optimists mantle more often – it definitely is needed in this world! I would point out life’s passing may have regrets and sadnesses but that’s not its sum and I hope that was also conveyed here. Thank you dear one for reading this

  4. Just reading for the third time, finding something new with each reading. So rich, multi-layered, vivid, full of meaning and texture – your poetry always amazes me and I don’t have the words to describe it. It’s electric! Experiencial. And this is true​ of every one of your poems.
    (And I’m getting behind – will catch up soon!) πŸ’–

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