The conundrum of poetry versus passivity

I am lost to the rhythm of the tides,

beached trinkets from shipwrecks;

the accidental discovery that our
world had no sharp edges.

I am bound by moonlight,

ageless forests and mountains,

the ghost wolf's mournful howl

as it recounts the passing of centuries.

I believe in mass-energy equivalence,

that gold is precious, though not so precious

as the first heartbeat of a newborn child, 

without which, there is no future.

I comment from time to time that

our existence is perhaps mere fancy, 

the metaphorical equivalent of 

a celestial goldfish bowl;

that rock and bone break 

in equal proportion, and 

the sunlight striking my eyes 

was actually created tens of 

thousands of years ago.

And whilst all this is considered,

I chase rainbows, aping their colours;

trusting to luck that our divisive species

will kiss and make up, before some 

palsied finger presses the wrong button

and changes the rhythm of the tides forever.

Reviews

[gram linski]

loved the way the poem moves from the natural to the elemental physics entropy encroaching, I choose poetry every time, great read Beccy, I am lost to the rhythm of the tides, and the ghost wolf's mournful howl, these words resonate deep inside,

[Crowley]

Wow...what a great set of observations and a fantastic piece of writing. The paragraph about existence being a mere fancy is epic. Reminds of people who think that this life is a simulation of some sort, although in my heart that is too cold and calculated. I would like to think that it was an accident over a simulation, the ability to think about these things is best thing the universe has given us. Not knowing and speculation can be as fun if not more fun than figuring a thing out. Loved this so much.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I am of the firm belief that one person can make all the difference; and even if he fails, the mere fact that he tries is everything. If we never try, we'll never know success. While the walls seem to be crumbling down, if we fail to believe in the best in us, it could ruin the rest of us. The pendulum seems to swing back and forth. Hopefully, we'll find our moral compass and swing the other way again soon. I loved this.

[Beccy]

Sometimes it seems hopeless though, doesn't it, stemming the tide, which Canute showed as a humbling impossibility. I agree with you though, we must try, and like you, I hope the moral compass, (in those that have lost direction,) will soon swing the other way.

[alanwgraham]

Wow Beccy - I'm very jealous!. You have written a poem full of wonder and wisdom. I think that we are the conundrum. We have the ability to understand nature and control it to our purposes but fail to live in peace with each other and harmony with nature. You have some stunning metaphors such as the 'rock and bone breaking' one. One tiny suggestion (I was a physics teacher!) - change sunlight to starlight if you're talking about years ago. Just a thought - it's really or leaders that have to kiss and make up! Most of us common folk get on ok.
Great writing!
Cheers,
Alan

[Beccy]

Thanks alan, appreciate your really kind review and your suggestion. Think I'll stick to sunlight though; I like it better poetically and those warming little rays have after all been around for 4.6 billion years or so.

Beccy. :))

[alanwgraham]

You are right Beccy! I forgot this was poetry and not a physics exam!

[Beccy]

Bless you. My uncle is a retired head of of physics, he would doubtless have made the same comment. :))

[Neville]

These words together are incredible.. What an absolutely excellent poem you have crafted here
Nuff said... Neville

[Eilis]

I think poetry is its own kind of action/reaction when properly wielded. A poem like this creates a space for discussion and awareness and maybe sets off a lightbulb for some reader. But you’re never didactic or damning, so there’s this openness in the confession that allows the reader to relate rather than feel chastised.

We are mostly dreamers and thinkers. Those things that come easy, and for poets and artists dreaming and thinking is the domain where we feel most at home. But your poem offers us a small glimpse into the importance of not just feeling mournful or worried, but maybe stepping out and seeing what the poet might do- outside the mind.

That was my take, in reading just now, at least. I love the way you offer a sense of history and civilization and then turn inward to make it about the individual in the grander scheme. I thought this was an excellent poem, Beccy.

[Beccy]

Yes, stepping out is what we should do more often; individual comfort zones and trusting to luck so far proving to be not awfully effective.

You saw the core of this; thank you.

Beccy.

[emmajoy]

What a write, what amazing thinking. Perhaps wrong but think this is one of the most philosophically generous pieces of writing i've read in the cafe over eleven years. Not only have you presented glows of fantasy, imagination but emotions mixed with truth.. and so so much more, Becky. Could read this over and over and still not touch completion. Can only say an enormous thank you for writing such superb lines and giving this reader more than 'something' to think about. Hugs.

[Beccy]

Blushing here. X

[emmajoy]

Laughing, must be the sun... lucky you! Sorry, didn't meant to embarrass you, know i can seem fulsome but - truly do mean what i say

[R.E. Ray]

Beccy, what you've captured here in a few masterfully crafted lines is the ephemeral and fragile existence of mankind (as we know it). We're mere guests on this planet, specks in endless eras, though we see ourselves as masters of the universe. Such fools we are. And, your "celestial goldfish bowl" is the ideal image to illustrate that point.

I look forward to reading more of your work.

[NoelHC]

A touching read, and one of the first I have looked at after too long away from Writers' Cafe it seems appropriate I would land on one of your poems Beccy. I have much catching up to do.

[Ken Simm.]

Simply gorgeous for many reasons. All of which I cannot list because you have done it already.
The poetry of a life. The thoughts of an artist. Do they actually exist? The words of a poet attempting to understand their own art. The painting in words of all the emotions that are relevant. A favourite piece of true art.