I’ve had a little trouble completing my initial thoughts for this blog. It’s not because I’ve been too busy, rather I have been over enjoying retirement. Because of my lethargy, I have decided to torture you with some of my poetry. Where did that come from? A friend here in The Villages talked me into taking a poetry class last spring from our local adult enrichment organization. The instructor was a longtime published writer with several poems published in recognized literary journals. My friend and I were challenges to his patience.
Any of you that have an appreciation of good poetry may truly be “tortured” by my attempt. If you have little or no experience in reading poetry, mine is not an effort that you should use as an example. However, since this was my very first attempt, I did surprise myself. The poem I have chosen below was the result of several hours of effort over a few days. While I thought that was a good effort, I have learned since I wrote this that some author’s revise their attempts over fifty times over several months, sometimes years. So please read this attempt with all that in mind and I would appreciate any comments you may have that will help me improve.
TODAY
Will this be just another day,
With routine and the necessary determining its way?
Or will something unexpected interfere,
Making the day’s outcome less clear?
Will God try to make His loving presence known,
Or will an agnostic storm wash away what he has sown?
Will memories of past disappointments arise to painfully torment,
Or will grateful reminiscences provide satisfied fulfillment?
Will the risk be taken to make a new friend,
Or will apprehension thwart pursuit in the end?
Will the time allotted seem to move agonizingly slow,
Or will it evaporate faster than a late April flake of snow?
As evening approaches will there be gratitude for what was given,
Or disappointment and regret for opportunities not taken?
As night overcomes day and fatigue awaits sleep,
Will the day have memories worthy to keep?
Bill Thompson
March, 2018
Poems are written to be spoken aloud, not only silently in your mind. If you have read this silently, please take time to read it aloud (someplace where you won’t feel conspicuously wierd). Good poets have all kinds of tools they use to make poems seem real and allow you put yourself in the place of the writer. I haven’t a command of all those tools but I hope you will have some affinity with my musing from last March.
Bill
Coherent Pondering 