This is my response for the Daily Addictions prompt today: PLAY
The image is by stux over at Pixabay.com
A good New Year’s Resolution:
No grumbling, no sulking, no feuding, no fighting,
But looking and planning for things to delight in!
No hating the state of the world every minute,
But seeking and finding the beauty that’s in it.
No worrying, letting your troubles confound you,
But laughing and liking the people around you!
The Ragtag Daily Prompt word for today is OPEN
For some reason this started my mind down the trail toward the meaning of poems. You know how some poems are so open, it’s easy to follow the writer’s thinking? These are called ACCESSIBLE poems — I suppose because the reader can access the poet’s meaning.
Which, in my mind, is a great idea!
Once in awhile I come across a poem I simply can’t make heads or tails of. (Okay. That’s a cliché. I’m old-school.) I’d read the words over a few times and they seemed so random, like the poet jotted down whatever phrases came into his head re: a certain topic. They say this gives ample room for the reader’s interpretation, but I’m lazy that way. I don’t want to have to interpret — I want to understand. To each his own, I guess. (Another cliché?)
Anyway, I set out to write an example of an inaccessible poem, I fear I’ve failed? What do you think? Can you access the meaning in this poem?
Seagulls shrieking, swooping
above the sun-washed sands
where we stand awhile
dreaming among the swells
too bright, too bright.
This spot we claim today,
hope to see our future roll in—
with riches from a far land—
but the bank shifts beneath our feet
like the gulls can’t be restrained,
nor tamed, but drifts away
too soon, too soon!
Scores of scavengers hover,
searching out the debris
we leave behind when we go,
fragments exposed by erosion
we break and are broken on,
too sad, too sad!
The endless breakers wash over
the footprints we leave behind,
still we hurry through this world
of foamy dreams — this beach
we’re tossed upon but once —
too naive, too naive!
by Edgar Guest
It’s all very well to have courage and skill
and it’s fine to be counted a star,
But the single deed with its touch of thrill
doesn’t tell us the man you are.
For there’s no lone hand in the game we play;
we must work to a bigger scheme.
And the thing that counts in the world today
is, ‘How did you pull with the team?’
They may sound your praise and call you great,
they may single you out for fame,
but you must work with your running mate
or you’ll never win the game.
Oh, never the work of a life is done
by the man with a selfish dream,
for the battle is lost or the battle is won
by the spirit of the team.
Out for a walk along our graveled country road, I spotted a perfect “bug” stone. In the past I have done some painting on rocks and my grandson has been pestering me to paint some more bugs. So as I walked along I was keeping my eyes open for smooth stones that would paint up into neat little beetles.
I picked up the stone and slipped it into my pocket. Before long I spotted another … and another. Some stones were oblong, some oval, one perfectly round and flat. The perfect ladybug.
Tumbled centuries ago — maybe for years — in the water currents until they were nice and smooth, these stones came to rest in an underground pit. Men came along with big machines load all this gravel onto trucks and spread it on our road bed. Many stones have come through this process intact.
After I’d pocketed half a dozen stones of various sizes I began to feel the weight of them. They weren’t rough or disturbing, just gently heavy. That side of my jacket pulled a bit as I walked. And I was seeing more “perfect bug” specimens that I could take along with me. I had to start saying “No more. Nice shape or not, it stays right there!”
I have this tendency to look down at the road as I walk, but I soon realized that if I didn’t want a pocketful of rocks weighing down my every step, I’d need to keep my eyes fixed on the horizon until I was home.
Funny how such small things can teach a big lesson. Those stones really aren’t a valuable commodity of themselves. If I use them profitably — paint them up and please the grandson — well and good. But if I set them aside when I get home, saying, “Someday I will,” they become just one more clutter, another item on my to-do list, another weight on my mind.
In our electronic world we can lose focus, too. There are so many interesting social sites to suck up our hours, we can lose sight of our important life-goals. I haven’t picked up Facebook, Twitter, etc, but was involved in Linked In for a time. So much to learn, so many groups to connect with! And now I have a book to promote, so two weeks ago I picked up a weighty stone when I signed up for Goodreads. So many interesting books to read and review, friends to make! I can see how this site alone could consume a lot of time.
I have my blog and read or follow many others. Some days dozens of e-mails and notifications flood my Inbox; I find myself checking my e-mail twenty times a day and spending hours responding. Lately I have definitely been feeling the weight!
NaNoWriMo has been sending out notices lately, too, reminding me to sign up for the November novel-writing adventure. I plan to participate this year; yesterday I filled in the synopsis for the children’s story I hope to write.
My walk-about the other day reminded me that I’ve let many small things distract my long-range goal: the books I want to write/finish. Someday there will be an end to what I can accomplish in this world. If I don’t stop frittering away my time and weighing myself down by picking up appealing, but trivial, stuff along the way, I’ll have little to show for my time here.