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Welcome to my latest exercise in an attempt to reach my goal of being a prolific writer in 2022. So, in addition to writing 1 short story each week (Because Ray Bradbury said you can’t write 52 bad ones – challenge accepted!) I will be attempting to post an original poem each day in April. This is not going to be easy – I’ve not really written poetry since college. So, these will be thrown together each day and not very edited.

I can hear you now – sucky stories and bad poetry? Sign me up.

For more information about the blogging challenge, see http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/)

Today’s poem is inspired by Mary Oliver’s The Summer Day

Photo by Elina Fairytale on Pexels.com

What Kind of Life is This?


Who am I?
What kind of life is this?
Where is home?
When do I know for sure?
How will I know?

The questions a journalist
would ask me
after observing a day in the life
whatever kind of life this is

The answers change though
throughout the four thousand weeks
that make up this kind of life
whatever kind of life it is today

Are four thousand weeks enough?
No, the gravestones shout from the city cemetary
and all of history
Not long enough to finish the book
to have one more kiss
one more trip
one more sunset
it’s never enough
what kind of life it is

Are four thousand weeks enough?
Of course, sing the children
though they have no concept of how long or short
it really is
What kind of life they have
does not run on time
They are the moment
the moment is them
in what kind of life they live.

What will you do with your one wild and precious life? the poet asks
And answers

What kind of life is this?
Wild and precious.
and one.
and now.