I wrote these rather pompous verses when I thought I was old; Old enough to give advice to those younger than me. I am now twice as old as when I first wrote this; I am neither wiser nor more capable of giving advice now than I was then; Believe me or not – it’s YOUR CHOICE!
CHOICES, or ‘Advice To The Young’
Every second in a life can be a turning point; Chosen or unconscious it is there, Make a choice – it’s up to you, Why not try out something new? But never ever say that you don’t care.
You cannot stop your life from moving forward; Time rolls on despite your efforts to stand still. You can’t take a backward view, Nor can you jump the queue. You have to stay in line and climb life’s hill.
But life’s direction you can set about to change; Tweek it here, a twist just there, you can try out. The choice that you then make, With a little give and take, May well be something you can’t do without.
For when all is said and done, young man, you’re learning To find a path in life that holds for you. Just hold to your endeavour, Never ever say “for ever”, And keep your choices open to what’s new.
It fell Green life Extinguished Time passed Slowly It diminished To its scaffolding Intact beauty still New life Surviving In the skeleton Beneath the skin Revealing the grace Which had upheld Its existence Its structure Naked now Spine-bold Ram-rod straight Not dead now Nor even dying Instead Skin shed A statement Of creation’s power Holding its tendrils Steady In firm formation Awaiting its Next chapter
Not yet shredded Not yet dust This tomography Call it a CAT scan Delving into Nature’s secret world Revealing The truth Of whence Its green strength Derived
Thus As our own surface Erodes Do we achieve The same beauty? Do we secrete Analogous New life Beneath the old? We leaves Fallen from life’s tree Shrivelled Our essence revealed In our skeletal remains Proud-structured Until The next stage And eventual Severance From what we have been Transmogrified To further service In replenishing New life forms Our fruition in The new spring’s bloom Blossom and leaves
There has to be beauty In death As in life Decay Does not doom us to death Rather There is a beauty in death The leaf ceased to be A leaf But became Something else And its beauty remained It merely Continued Into a transmuted life Its fate As our own To be Continued existence
This Life Is short Remember Honest and modest You’re not in a beauty contest.
So When I’m gone Do not pray For my godliness Just remember my gentleness.
If I Survive To be old One hundred and five I hope it’s worth being alive.
But It Only Merits it If you are still there To continue our love affair.
I am grateful to M.Zane McClellan who in his January 2016 poem ‘Repeating Pattern’ on The Poetry Channel, introduced me to The format of the Fibonacci Poem. He also gave in his blog the reference to the article on the ‘Poetry Foundation’ website, which gives the history of this fascinating verse format: What’s a Fib? Math plus poetry.
Essentially the ‘Fib’, as it’s creator, Gregory K. Pincus, calls it, will have 20 syllables in total, with the syllables in each of the 6 lines increasing in the Fibonacci sequence familiar in Mathematics and in Nature, that is: 1,1,2,3,5,8… ,
In my first attempt at this format, I have attempted to write a poem of 4 connected verses, with the added feature of making the last two lines in each verse rhyme.
Photograph of Spencer at work inCookham Village … by WHB . . . 1957
Stanley Spencer, CBE RA (1891 – 1959)was an English painter. Shortly after leaving the Slade School of Art, Spencer became well known for his paintings depicting Biblical scenes occurring as if in Cookham, the small village beside the River Thames where he was born and spent much of his life. Wikipedia
The sleepers awake from an imagined death A teasing adventure in insubstantial earth
Pram pusher extraordinaire in the Village that lit up his life inspired his vision Trundled easel hearse put to work in progress To see, to feel, to breathe destiny on the village green The past become the present resurrected in tranquillity Life-lite under the churchyard yew this moulded flesh – full featured bringing joy from the stern grave Life’s resurrection imagined in hope and the churchyard in his eyes and his pigment Drawn and deified Death and Resurrection as Spring As buttercups in the greenest of fields.
The sleepers awake from an imagined death A pleasing adventure in insubstantial earth
Stanley Spencer: ‘The Resurrection, Cobham … 1924-27. Tate Gallery