|
The Season of Our Indiscretions
by Ken HarnischI have promised myself to light fires
This spring. Not only in the yard to warm
The neighbors, but in my soul, which
Tells me my age is no impediment
To the flaming of incendiaries
There are some who wish me home
To remain as sedentary as they;
To recline on the couch viewing DVDs;
To read by lamps recessed slightly in the ceiling
Alas, if only my heart, ignited by life,
Could so easily be swayed to indolence
No, I think I will be more flirtatious now;
Even brazen. I may supplement this wine
With the words that would intoxicate more
And beguile the formerly innocent to parlay
Their apprehensions into acts of utter
And irremediable desire
I will gladly sin with them
And talk about regrets for as long as
They want to talk. But in solitary
Moments yet to come, when the pace of years
And life has settled on their souls,
They will remember the season
Of our indiscretions, and the smile
Will be long before it leaves their lips
03/04/2011 Posted on 03/04/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/04/11 at 02:00 PM The voice in this is what I love. It has a wonderfully steady, unflinching quality to it. Great read, sir. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/04/11 at 09:39 PM I'm with Gabriel about the voice in this. It draws me in with purpose and I want to know where it leads. Loved that 3rd stanza! Words that I wish I would remember to use: "incendiaries", "sedentary", "indolence", "flirtatious and beguile", and the phrase "irremediable desire". |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 10/07/14 at 01:58 PM *stellar*
[i missed this one when it was first posted-excellent] |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/13/15 at 11:18 PM Good to see this as POTD, Ken! Congrats. It reminds me of something Terry said in his self written obit - that he had lived life quite immoderately. |
|
