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THE WISDOM OF THROWING ROCKS
Private Notes
Private Notes
Notes
I wanted to write poetry
about a game I played with a fifteen-year-old
but the words weren't there
we stood on opposite sides of the river skipping stones
trying to hit one another
the river was lower than usual from lack of rain
and the water seemed to stand still
two men fished a little ways upstream
which was nothing worth writing about
I couldn't find the words to describe the boy's wild throws
or how his rocks either sank heavily and quick
or flew inches above my head
I wanted the poem to be in my favor
I had a system –
smooth flat rocks thrown low to the water
skipping above the surface across the river
in an almost perfectly straight line
- and because I refused to be bested by a teenager
but I would be lying if I said it worked to my favor
where I had accuracy on my side he had youth
and the flailing arms of the young
sometimes beat the wisdom that comes with age
and as I write this I know it as pure nonsense
it was luck on both our parts
he was just luckier than me
and it took well over an hour
to sift through the storm clouds in my head
to come up with this pitiful poetry
and all I have to show for it is stiffness in my body
from chasing my youth
Comments
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As they say, youth is wasted on the young. Every time I try to compete physically with someone in their 20's, I am reminded the next day that I made a big mistake. Great imagery in this piece!
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I love the titles of all your poems, they always add something more to your poetry.
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Well, your titles always feel very effortless to me and they are very much apprecited!
Honestly after writing the poems themselves coming up with names for them is the most difficult part for me.