Dear Fellow Posters and Bloggers,
It’s been so very long since I posted regularly, and I’ve also been reading more irregularly, but now that the New Year is here, I’m hoping to improve my record and get back to doing one of the things I love best, which is interacting with those of you who write in (very much appreciated) and also enjoying the sight of how many people the world over have been here over the last few years, and have done me the honor of reading. They are always welcome to comment too.
I’m breaking new ground in a sense, because I haven’t regularly written poetry for about seven years now, and I am trying to get back to it. This is a brand-new poem, just written today, and edited and re-edited a few times. It’s got a few staggered rhythms, and a sort of “where are the horse and rider?” gist to it in parts, and I know better (have been taught better, that is) than to post a work which is not as “cold” as death and calmly viewed and reviewed for a long time first. But I’m hoping that you’ll like it anyway, and may find something in it.
“A Moment’s Rest on Old Laurels”
True emptiness Is not a Buddhist virtue; And then, real silence, Almost never heard. Big darkness resides closely: Daylight's second self, True heartbreak, too, Requires not a word. All find one day a night too close, too feeble To breathe in first and then, at last, breathe out. Sometimes there's nothing to be said about it, Sometimes, there's only just a labored shout. To show true colors often takes great courage, Or maybe great knavery, Shining and shameless and wry. Decisions are often merely taken in passing Or oftener still, are timely well put by, Or oftener still, are timely well put by. Where is the proving ground, Where is the halter That leads the horse To champs where he feeds? How was he able to breast Through the battle In elder days of his rider's need? Tell me, oh tell me, Oh wise ones before me, How can I counter the lame and the halt When they say to me surely As I go on two legs, My false steps That felled me Were my own damn fault? And God in Her Heaven If such One there be, Choose wisely between The opponent and me, To seat us securely Each safe in each part, Where neither wage war Or defraud counterpart. For surely there is In the universe wide Somewhere that broad ocean, That unfathomable tide, Which carries all over To mysterious shores And poems and diatribes Matter no more. For now, I am hampered By meter and rhyme, And so pass my small way, Relinquish my time; Remembering, day was When I too ran fast, And good fortune smiled on me, Victor at last.
©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 1/5/17
That’s all, for the time being. It’s old-fashioned in parts concerning some concepts and of course it rhymes, but sometimes a good jog-along will keep you warm when it’s cold outside, even if the sense is partially morose-sounding. Have a great first week of the New Year, and if you’re where it’s cold, wrap up (if you’re where it’s warm, remember, your turn will come, if not for cold, then for rain. These days, we all have so many calamities in world weather that we need to be mindful of each other. Ta! for now).