I want to be calm, unflappable, poised,
maximum sang-froid, Cary-Grant-cool.
Still centre of the whatchamacallit.
An unruffled lake at dawn
in California’s high frost-dusted mountains.
An Anglican nun. Sister Mary. Sister Julia.
I would set the world's hot opinions
at less than zero and just be me.
Tell my inner critic-censor to shove off.
I wish that everything could just fall
naturally and easily into place.
No grousing, no groaning. No foul language.
Nothing but smooth paths and gentle breezes.
But life gets lifey, and I'm a scrappy bastard.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 64 times
Written on 2023-02-20 at 08:51
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by Uncle Meridian