1
Change
Waters rise, tides get higher,
streams wash roads away.
grey, rainy skies, day after day.
Temperatures drop down at night.
Water turns to ice. Northern Lights
burn bright, set the sky alight.
I forget my gloves. Fingers, cold,
fumble at buttons, and my zip
is not the easy zip of old.
My life cries out for change,
but change is out of reach.
I change the things I can arrange.
Some days I’m weary and sore.
Most days I can do no more.
2
Change
Waters rise, tides get higher,
streams wash roads away.
Grey, rainy skies, day after day.
Temperatures drop down at night.
Water turns to ice. Northern Lights
burn bright, setting the sky alight.
I forget my gloves. Fingers, cold,
fumble at buttons, and my zip
is not the easy zipper of old.
Some days I’m weary and sore.
Most days I can do no more.
My life cries out for change,
but most changes are out of reach.
I change the things I can arrange.
Comment:
I decided to change my format today and go back to the left margin alignment, rather than the central alignment that I usually use for poetry. Your comments on the adjustment would be welcome. I have included both formats so you can see how the poem flows in each one. As for this poem – a rhyming sonnet, wow!
Moo’s painting, executed late last night, is his way of showing how rage can suddenly build and, like a runaway river, suddenly and unstoppably break out. It is extraordinary how his paintings so often mirror my moods and word flows.