The subject today is “Old” – an eventuality I considered at length in my chapbook “On Turning Fifty” – there’s something about a milestone birthday that makes you want to stop, look right, left and right again, before going forward. Today’s poem, however, comes from a divergent thought about reality, about time and by extension, all things existential.
One more bean
The line from me to myself arches across the southern
sky, plummeting through a cloud of stardust, or maybe it
scours the bottom of the ocean, dragged up, wet and
heavy: either way, both lines pause at the threshold of
this argument? On one side, worn, wrinkled fingers shell
hyacinth beans, dropping them into a wire basket —
79, 80, 81… the toothless smile is capitulation and
resigned acceptance. The beans will be skinned and
cooked in powdered spices at dawn. On the other side
is the moon, watching with one eye. Languishing. She
too will be peeled and colourless once the kitchen fires
are lit. See how both parties offer their transience in self-
defence. One more bean. One more hour. One more
meaningless night. As if time is just a farcical construct, a
peg on which to hang our last excuse for being here. As
if every clock face is a pulsing confession of age old guilt.
Do share your poems, exploring any aspect of the prompt(age, history, evolution, geology, childhood, yesterday, nostalgia, rust, wisdom – whatever it means to you), using the Mister Linky widget, or leave the link in the comments section below. Even if you don’t have a poem to share, stop and say hello! Next Tuesday’s prompt (12th November) will be “New“!