Friday, August 13, 2010

our time

in the comfort of home
while reading a story of American Indians,
a scene where others watched
from an open tent flap,

a brave arrived in camp
left his tired horse
then laid prone at the stream
to drink clear water

in pure air
under heat of the sun
quiet all around
ripples of the stream.

it occurred to me
that now
is not like that anymore
and we each have our time.


I have reworked this many times, although still not entirely satisfied, the point of it was important enough that it superseded an attempt at art. We each have our time.

Honey, I'm trying to keep it simple and say it how it is.

3 comments:

Annie said...

Hi Jack,
I read six times to decide how I felt about this poem. Though life is nothing like my childhood or the way it was for Native Americans, I think my time is now, though there is less of it left, and there are things I'll never get a chance to experience or accomplish. When you've lived a full life, there can be comfort and acceptance in thinking we each have our time; but still, I think my time is now and there is more to do. Clean air and water- that's another thing all together- The closer we get to nature, though, the more we feel close. Your poem has caused me to reflect!

Annie said...

Hi Jack,
This poem is art. You lead the reader through a stream of the speaker's thoughts, related as vivid imagery, to an unexpected, but logical conclusion. It reads beautifully!

Ruahines said...

Kia ora Jack,
This makes me thinking of drinking clean clear water right from the mountain stream - something fewer of us get to experience. I love the word ripples in context with water.
Cheers,
Robb