Tag Archive | Dying

A poem submitted by James Patmore.

A

If I was an arrow, what would I hit?
Would I kill the beast or fall short
Would the string be pulled to guide me straight?
Or would I break in the fall?

If I was a tree where would I stand?
My supports the ground, yet it’s all just sand
My roots grow down to try and keep
Me from falling, into the deep

If I was a song, would I be sung, If I was a story would I be read?
If I follow the line the world chose for me, would I be truly safe and free?
Or when I have my dying breath, would all I trust be for nought

On this earth, I now stand
My path I must choose
The guide I pick will either lead me home
Or torment me when I’m in the deep

If I was a rose, would I be proud
My colours glowing my petals open
Or would I whither and fade away
To join the litter on the ground.
If I was a cloud,
where would I go
would I cause rain, cause the snow
Or in the pushing winds float far away
Until at last I fade

By myself I am weak,
I have no strength inside of me
Its strength in the Lord keeps me going
He’s my bowman, he’s my roots
If I was a rose, I’d chose to open
Displaying his colours for the world to see.

Poetry credit: James Patmore

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Are You Laughing Yet?…Writers Quote Wednesday.

 

Always laugh when you can. It’s cheap medicine. George Gordon Byron

The writers quote Wednesday’s prompt for this week is laughter and I looked up that lovely quote above.

I love laughing. In my opinion, robust laughter is like a song to the ears that the soul dances to. I like being around people who have a good sense of humour and can make me laugh and who equally laugh at themselves. They don’t nitpick and take offence easily. Staying around grouches can be bone wearing and grey. At some point, we would all die, but while we are alive let’s live it with laughter on our lips.

Sometimes, especially during the weekends, I deliberately go on YouTube to look up comedians and enjoy a good half hour of silliness 🙂

When we moved here, I was initially taken aback by the number of serious, stoic faces that dotted the horizon. I even wrote a poem about it which languished in my draft. Some looked outrightly like people who had sucked on sour lemons as if it would hurt them to smile while some wore a grimace like they had a bad case of gas.

Over time, I started distinguishing them by their nationalities and realised that some of the tightness of the faces are due to upbringing and religion. Of robbing the minds of reasons to be joyful and to see a fellow human in suspicion or disdain.

Some reminded me of the staunch hard-nosed Church deaconesses whose lips are perpetually pursed in criticism. Some religious tenets sap some humans of the joy of living. Their belief that your hard faced stoic stance shows you as a serious Muslim or Christain or whatever, is so wrong. Laughter or smiling is beautiful.

No one expects anyone to go around looking like a clown, but life can be taken seriously without looking morbid about it.

Since we are all going to die anyway, I think I would look better with a smile on my face as I sign off on the last day in mirth.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha