STUCKNESS

A large mound stands in front of me
And another behind. The mound behind
Took over half a century to create from all the
Things I did or did not do with my days.

People still stare at that mound, as do I.
It is full of bright colors and fascinating contraptions.
There are thousands of things in it I do not see
But sometimes others point them out to me.

The one in front I created with blind intent.
It is solid but dull in color and shape.
And I don’t quite know what to do with it.
So I stand here and stare in regret.

The regret is not of the mound, but the standing.
What we call moving forward, being awake or
Living our lives is not happening for me this way.
Though I was told that moving ahead is important.

I notice that the trees and the rocks and the hills
Do not move and I wonder if I am joining their world.
I wonder if this mound I have made and stare at
Is the future. My destiny, no matter what.

So I pray to some unseen force. Another world that
My heart wants to believe is just beyond this place,
Or perhaps waiting to greet me tomorrow morning.
I pray to jump up and feel the future is something else.

Most days I am digging in the dirt with determination but
No idea why, or where to throw the next shovel full.
I imagine that some ancient wisdom in a book not yet read
Might find me and tell me what this futile shoveling means.

And I tell you this digging is a very lonely endeavor.
No one joins me here in this private canyon. It is just me.
I imagine there are others though, each in their own canyon
Solemnly shoveling mounds to ponder, each in quiet aloneness.

At times the nearest thing to hope I can muster is the knowing
That I have not given up. I have not given up because I still shovel.
And these feelings: aloneness, stuckness, frustration are not to be pitied.
There is honor and dignity in my struggle. It is a blessing that I am able.

Steevo

Steve,

I don't think you're alone in this. I think, as you imagine, there are others each in their own canyon doing the same. We should all get together and have a barbecue or something.

Seriously, your last line about it being a blessing that you are able, is what I often remind myself. If you ask all those living the remainder of their lives in the nursing homes, they'd probably all say they'd give anything to go back to the days of their daily shoveling. It does sometimes feel, however, like there's got to be more to it than just that. As simplistic and cliche' as it sounds, I guess life is what we make of it. We just have to figure out how to make it about more than just the shoveling. I'm pretty sure, however, that it comes from within and it isn't as difficult or complicated as we make it out to be.

Enjoyed the poem. Please sir, can we have some more?

Mary

A good read, Steve, I enjoyed this one.


Les

Thanks for reading Les, Mary.

I don't think much was said here but sometimes writing superficially breaks things loose inside. You never know if you don't make some effort.

Scotch works too, but you can't share that over the internet.

I really enjoyed this read , Steve. I can identify with this very much:

And I tell you this digging is a very lonely endeavor.
No one joins me here in this private canyon. It is just me.
I imagine there are others though, each in their own canyon
Solemnly shoveling mounds to ponder, each in quiet aloneness.

However, I admire the way you ended it, shifting the spirit and tone kind of uphill. Thanks

K.Q.

Thanks K.Q.
I don't work nearly as hard at poetry as I do reminding myself that life is quite a gift. It's easy to forget when your'e in a funk.

Everyone can relate to the human condition of aloneness. It's too obvious. I have a friend who knows me and gives honest critique. He would say about this poem; "Oh great. More existential bullshit."

And he'd be right. But it's fine with me. I'd rather have tried than not. Saying nothing would be more tragic.

Happy New Year.
Steve