Stray Thoughts Pressed Between Pages

I collect stray scraps of thoughts like

scattered leaves whirling along an October lane.

When the wind whistles through trees

the declension of sixty years

unwinds like an incidental sinfonietta

being played for a children's recital,

the thin reed of my tin flute joined

to the raucous din of tom-toms

becomes the most insignificant of notes.

Where winds the road I've chosen

seems of no great consequence,

the drift of gravity's momentum

infers a weight of implications,

so long deferred, too late

for any meaningful correction

of time's intended conclusion.

So, when, I find myself walking among the ordered

rows of random plates of granite,

shifting grief from one century

to the next, senses scored,

a brake on the ache of my own importance,

I find what the world believes

too trivial for contemplation--

life is to be returned in the end

to the earth from which it sprung.

Ashes, dust, dreams...

notes in the air waiting a man's stray thoughts

pressed between pages.

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[Perdition]

Well, that's it...I'm chopping off the ear!..hahaha.
This first taste of autumn and with it mortality in your "winding plates of granite" grades into the abstract melancholy without claiming any new wisdom nor any particular awareness rather than those unsettling views that border on a journey of a fist shaking towards the clouds. The theme is that continual monster of existence and a man without clear purpose or meaning as his season looks towards its end. A Wagner backdrop perhaps. The proscenium arches tumble as your audience gasps with deliverance. In other words...fingers snapping and pounding the Cue stick! Astounding flow~

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks Perdition. Love the review. For people who scroll down to read them, yours should provide a 2nd reel to the meal. As poetic a review as I have gotten in some time

[Perdition]

My pleasure ken and thank you...a wonderful poem~

[John the Baptist]

An existential meditation here. Individual lives can seem inconsequential in the in eyes of the world, and as you indicate, we go back to the dust from which we came. I don't think it's wise to make a judgment, though. Our respective splashes may be small, but in some way we cannot know, they reach the farther shore.

[Ken e Bujold]

still, all they are are our own judgements. Even the so called Giants of history can only imagine their legacy. History is the judge of all of us, and it is a trial by jury which we are not going to present for

[John the Baptist]

Please forward this to Trump and Putin.

[Ken e Bujold]

sadly such introspection is not among their shabby suits

[willweb]

I felt the loneliness and sadness in this or maybe it was a lack of some accomplishment in the poet's eyes though I do know that how we see ourselves is often and I mean often, very different than how others, those close to us see us. We may feel lowly or unneeded, but we are someone's hero who would be lost without us. So, when you find yourself walking among those granite plates be happy your name does not appear there because someone would be pretty darn sad. And when autumn brings its chill and wind just revel in season and the fact that it is indeed something when can feel, smell and taste. This poem was very deep, hopefully I didn't get too carried away with my comment.

[Ken e Bujold]

comments can never get to carried away Will. thanks for grand review. I suppose all men, save the narcissists, must have a certain twinge of melancholy as life winds down. this though is really little more than a philosophical walkthrough cemetary and realizing we are all equal in the end

[Coyote Poetry]

Me and my grandchildren. We collect the pretty leaves. Put them into plastic bags. They seem to last forever Ken.
"life is to be returned in the end
to the earth from which it sprung.
Ashes, dust, dreams...
notes in the air waiting a man's stray thoughts"
The above lines could stand alone. I believe also. We will return to the earth. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote
pressed between pages.

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you for the kind review John, glad you enjoyed

[Coyote Poetry]

I did enjoy Ken and you are welcome.

[John]

I think the poem expresses the struggle between mind and matter, as much as it does one man's attempt to assess the significance of his own life on 'the road that has to be taken'. I like the shift from regenerative nature (which provides a consolation for some) to those implacable blocks of granite, markers of time on a scale unimaginable to humans. The poem's conclusion looks to be written in stone, with the impersonal 'life is to be returned...' topped by the formulation of dust to dust, ashes to ashes. But from the ashes arise dreams. The argument isn't yet settled.

[Ken e Bujold]

it never is John. only a human conceit that any of us know what waits before this tenuous moment of awareness. I am a hard core agnostic: don't know if a god exists, suspect not, but am not so willfully certain as to claim it as a absolute

[Betty Hermelee]

I believe you imply that your path in life has not been very rewarding... I deem a bit of melancholy here... as though your accomplishments so far have not been fruitful...." a brake on the ache oy my own importance" implies a kind of stumbling block you have encountered throughout your adult life....you speak of death as giving back to life...for someone else to collect scraps of paper .....Beautiful flow to this poetic piece.
Best, B

[Ken e Bujold]

not exactly betty. I have a very fulfilling life. the line in question is in reference more to man's lack of perspective on where and how we fit into the continuum of time. Men lived before us, men will live after us, and regardless of what you think you have achieved in this life we all end in the same place. for myself the verse hinges on the line "random plates of granite" a philosophical walk through a cemetery: you are there for a reason, but when you consider all the others buried there you ought to realize they are random accounts of similar lives lived.

[Betty Hermelee]

Got it! You’re welcome
Best, B.

[softlyfall]

the drift of gravity's momentum
infers a weight of implications
Each of your random gathered thoughts claims importance so that, when all together, it is a raucous din. It really is. Harmony comes with understanding- you have that, we see that in these lines
shifting grief from one century
to the next, senses scored,
a brake on the ache of my own importance
Those lines alone are mind blowing. Most people never achieve such a gestalt and/or objective view of self as part of a long familial history

[Ken e Bujold]

well i have some kind of salt :) in all seriousness, thanks once again for the kindness of your review and loyal readership Amy. It is mucho aprreciated

[softlyfall]

it is mucho equitable.
I can gush if I want to, by the way. I truly love your work.

[Lillian Kirsch]

A very beautiful piece of poetry with words that flow smoothly and interconnect meaningfully

[JD Major]

...of "stray scraps of thoughts," much can be made.