735 metaphorically speaking….1-7-18 (see word search)

Since we are sentient creatures,
(mostly),
we are self-desctiptive.
Barnes and Noble is stuffed
with memoir, autobiography, ghosted biography…
rows on rows of tomes,
written
by,
or,
for
us,
of us,
to explain us to a public, who,
(surprisingly)
gives a shit,
(sometimes).

I am neither novelist,
nor non-fiction writer.

I have aspirations to poetry
so I search for metaphor.

{Saves paper and ink
and, since all metaphor
ultimately disintegrates,
struggling to find room to
“tell all”
allows the enthralled to have fun
speculating for themselves
!}

So,
here goes.

My life has not been:

an arduous Conestoga migration
across some arid, rattle-snake infested prairie.

nor
a bone chilling assent to some
deoxygenated mountain peak.

nor
a soft sojourn in a
bird-songed, pine-forest cathedral.

My life has been:

a well-thrown, skipping-stone,

careening off the surface of the sea,
until momentum ceases
and gravity
weakens the initiating thrust
and I sink beneath the waves
(to which I have contributed, slightly)
joining other well worn rocks resting in the depths,
tumbled by eternal tides,
till, ground down to gravel, to sand,

which I shall contribute to
the foundations of the earth.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
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