Me, I, myself and my body
until the evitable.
I share a space,
A body-shaped space
that has grown as I have grown,
bearing signs and invisible scars
that are me, I, myself.
This body, an amalgam of genes
that resemble the past, is me.
These eyes that look at the world,
do not see me
though my green flecked irises see these aging hands
holding this pen
as it moves over the page.
My lungs expand and deflate,
my heart beats steadily and
my stomach silently does its work
Me, I, myself, am not just
this face, this voice, this body.
I am thoughts tumbling over and over.
I am words that escape and return.
I am desire, hope and wonder.
And when the inevitable comes
and I leave this body to decay,
Me, I, myself will still be.
I heard this while on a run, and spent 6 miles composing the poem.
“Just keep on pedalling,” dad instructed
to his son on the brand new bike.
“Just keep on pedalling,” he repeated
as the boy’s knuckles turned white.
He kept on pedalling, as dad let go,
aiming for the park gates ahead.
But he ran out of puff, wobbled and fell,
”I can’t keep going ,” he said.
Dad ran to his son and picked him up,
brushed off the dirt and the grime.
”You have to keep pedalling,” he said again,
”Come on, just try one more time.”
As I stood and watched that familiar scene,
it struck me, that New Year’s Day,
to survive on a bike, as in life,
to keep on pedalling is the only way.
A poem a week makes the endorphins peak.
Lordy, Lordy and glory be
Better hang on, cos change is acoming
And its gonna be amazing!
Outta my way, you plodders.
Stiffle the moans and smother what ifs.
Come on in – transformation.
Roll over you oldies, but stay in line,
Make room for the littl’ ones,
The next generation.
It ain’t gonna be alright….
It’s gonna be amazing,