Human conundrum

I’m a ship in a bottle,
I’m a vessel, complete;
a skeleton sailing,
moving and hailing,
seeking a fleet.

Wordsworth

Yes I’m way past
vital youth;
or all that early surge of bliss
- so what?!


Other stuff occurs;
good - and not so good -
(the mirrors in my eyeballs turn
to view the sad, bad TV news)


but now and then
I hear a thunder, wind or rain,
as if an ancient power rises
to connect;


like when a hare sits up in sunlight
lepping on the rolling, rolling earth.

7 ages of man

-Birth
first breath
breath
breathing
breath
final breath
Death-

Hairs

All my hairs advise ‘it’s easy innit,
growing up and slowly changing color?’
never the same, although it does appear so.


Never the same in all their fine particulars;
length and shade or light and oil or texture,
sometimes slimy wet and often straw dry.


When they’re bright and shiny, new and silky,
everything seems easy when we’re younger:
pushing atoms ruthlessly away
and up, and on, and on and up to grey.

Humility

Humility – it wants
to split open your head
and plant a seed
behind both eyes.


Humble – the plant
sprouting, because it could
find water, food
and bumble bees.