I have visited that moment
in imagination, that moment
of final realisation, when
I will have to face the
certainty that there cannot
be much more left of me.
I can only imagine a
moment of lucidity, while choice
still remains to me, while I am
able still to choose. Will I be allowed
to forgo that final sequence of
personal decline, when carers
have become custodians of a
fragile body, haunted
by a guttering mind?














Devious Comments
guess what?
In ways,
poetry...
poetry is immortality
The fear we all have but, most often, we refuse to face.
--
Were having a poetry reading July 20th
And The Whole World Is Invited.
x
--
I feel like a lady's handbag.
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion
-Walt Whitman
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion
-Walt Whitman
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion
-Walt Whitman
I stand by the repetitions, which amplify the rhetoric intent of the opening lines. I don't subscribe to the view that repetitions is a weakness to be avoided.
The poem doesn't strive for aesthetic effect. The sequence of rhyme is not lyrical in effect, I think. The intention, given the bleakness of the subject matter, was to leave the verse unfinished from the aesthetic point of view.
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion
-Walt Whitman
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