Monthly Archives: December 2020

And me, who could start an argument in an empty room

However old I live
I hope never to forget the grace
of cycling downhill at speed,
the slightest lean flying me around the curve.

And it’s just that: the merest happenstance of a twist,
the humble change of posture, the gift
to a life poorly ridden, yet ridden all the same.
It is bliss, I think, flying through another bend. Bliss.

This thought truly came to me one day as I was cycling downhill at 35 mph (55 kph) through a curve on one of our regular Sunday rides. Right after that, the road goes up, so I had plenty of slow time to remember the concept! 🙂

In the end, I thought, what a positive thing it is in life, to be able to change your posture, just a bit, and submit to what comes your way…

Thank you for reading And me, who could start an argument in an empty room. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph was taken in Cranston, Rhode Island. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.

john

Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge,  https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.

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Dance

The snap of a memory,
the lyric  of a face,
the joy of a melody that moves you and loves you
and lifts you up from your tired little space
into a heaven you hardly deserve.

Who are you? laughs the song, singing along,
And how do you know who I am?

How do I know who you are?! you cry,
eyes shut, tears flowing, arms out, hands swaying,
I could write this poem FOREVER!

Pure joy—pure radiant, intensive, and transformative joy is a quality of the soul, and we allow it to visit us all too rarely. But when it does…

Thank you for reading Dance. My edit history shows that this is a poem two years in development, so I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph was taken at my home in Connecticut, after a recent major snowfall. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.

john

Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.

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Filed under Poetry