Wednesday June 8th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: friendship.

Remarkably tired. One day I'll feel properly rested again.

That's what I keep telling myself at any rate.

Mine:

A treasured bond,
Lasting a lifetime,
Sometimes less.
Well.
Often less.
But so precious
While it lasts,
Until it burns out
Or fades away
Or,
Now and then,
Comes back again.
Or,
Rarely,
Simply stays.
Often changing
And rearranging
And adapting -
If we are so lucky -
To all that life
Throws our way.
But even just
In passing,
While it lasts,
It is so vital.
For alone
Can be so much
Harder
Than when we are
Without a true
Partner.

2 Comments:

Greg said...

I think I've said it before, but it bears repeating: sleep is for the weak :) I'm back in Malta for a bit so I'm getting to go to the gym regularly again, so I'm getting used to waking up sore every morning. I kind of like, in a masochistic way.
I found the rhyme scheme for this poem quite hard to follow at first; I think the lines are so short that the choppiness distracted me. When I re-read it though it made more sense, and reading it out loud definitely helps. The sentiment it expresses is very nice, with the ending being not entirely unexpected, but I think I'd been anticipating something less lovely as a result of the short lines. Overall, I did enjoy this poem, even if it required me to make an effort to read it :)

Friendship
Morse code, tapped out across the table,
Sends a message of quiet reassurance.
Though the news is bad and ladies cluck,
Fretting like chickens stood out in the rain,
Hearing the message, each chime the same,
Makes the dinner a little less stressed.

"Oh my," utter voices, concerned and contrite.
"How could that happen? That isn't right!"
Pale hands flutter like moths against lights,
Gestures of caring, because of your plight.

When the ladies are gone, with all of their fuss
Dark eyes meet and a glass is raised.
Sympathy is silent, explanations die away,
Camaraderie sits down and settles in for the day,
And morse code taps again across the table,
Reminding you that friendship is always comfortable.

Marc said...

Greg - gym sore is a good sore. I always liked that sore. Farm sore can be a good sore... though strawberry sore is its own hell.

Hah, sorry for making you work for mine :P

Very, very fond of yours. I think the middle stanza is my favorite, but that final one is a strong challenger. Really like the story it tells as well.