A marvel awaits, as we cease to attempt,
To right every wrong and the Victor preempt.
We race far afield,
Forgetting to yield,
And cultivate strife. Thus, we harvest contempt.
We pique in a pickle and wrinkle fair brow.
We pause not for progress; our tempers endow.
And so in our prime,
We lose the sublime,
To sacrifice joy on the altar of now.
The sudden has surely been much oversold.
Our striving earns nothing but shiny fool’s gold.
Beginning again,
In each now and then:
We might wonder what may our waiting behold.
c2023 by Linda Ann Nickerson
This poem was posted
in response to these prompts:
- Five-Minute Friday: “attempt”
- Meme Express: “in a pickle”
- Simply Snickers: “field,” “fair”/”fare,” and “far”
- Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “prime”
- Writer’s Workshop: “beginning again”
Image: Victorian Portrait of Unknown Woman – vintage/public domain, finder’s credit to Sepia Saturday
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What an excellent poem. You have expressed something I have been struggling with all week. Thank you. I am your neighbour this week on FMF
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ReplyDelete"Beginning Again" reminded me of a time years ago when I was taking a computer class at the local community college. I was working on an assignment and was having a hard time trying to make it work. I kept having to start over & over again. Finally, I thought maybe I'd actually done it & before I pressed the "enter" key, I lifted my head and uttered a prayer: "Pleeeeeze!" I heard a chuckle behind me & realized the instructor had been quietly standing behind me watching the last of my stuggles. Happily, that final try was correct. The instructor smiled & said "Keep up the good work." as she moved on to the next student. Whew!
You’ve got me pondering!
ReplyDeleteThank you for writing and sharing.
Great poem, and you've managed to cover a lot of ground with it (in terms of prompts), LOL.
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