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i'll pull up a chair
by Charlie Morganno longer am i honed; i've begun dulling.
everso, everso; still and yet, i thrive gainfully.
i'm a fat sow in a cool sty, piglets pastured;
i own the breeze; a sow casting a warm shadow.
i stretch the embellishment until it's a lie;
and like a baited troutline, i await the prey.
don't start with me, my lonely silent thought;
heel-chased my ego into the beach-corner, rocky.
i. retired. two words that don't go together;
retirement, a mold of a held-breath, a silent death
some warn, an already-used-up-tomorrow, today.
no lawmakers to repeal the physical laws encasing me.
my mind is a parakeet; shrieking in a chattering
shorthand of harmonic avionics; the audience: you.
again, a poet dies. always, a poet. always. a poet.
05/03/2010 Posted on 05/04/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 05/04/10 at 02:07 AM i suppose we are all poets in our own right. whether or not we admit to it. another thing getting me thinking about mortality... another great write! |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 05/04/10 at 10:53 AM Another excellent write Charlie. Keep it up and you'll live forever! |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/04/10 at 02:45 PM Well said in that last stanza. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/04/10 at 05:02 PM Someday I'll teach you the art of retirement, my friend, and we will call it something different. In the meantime this poem calls me to attention and I will stop my chattering to listen. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 05/04/10 at 08:12 PM ... brilliant, I loved your word choice and flow..... |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 05/05/10 at 01:10 AM GREAT PIECE! |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 05/09/10 at 04:30 AM Make sure the chair's not a rocker, Charlie...there's a lot of life and jazz in the old bones yet, as this poem and this poet ably proves! |
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