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Wabi-Sabi
by Marc ArntsThe roof of the old camp is slightly bowed,
Complemented by the tilt of the birch tree outside.
The table top is filled with pine knots,
The benches stick out a little bit on each side.
The gaps between the floor boards
Are filled with generations of sawdust.
The stove held fast by cedar wedges
To keep it from rocking back and forth.
The lampshades set slightly crooked,
The picture frames can never settle straight.
An architect would tear her down,
A compulsive would let her burn.
But I find joy in the little bumps and bruises.
Happiness, perfectly imperfect, is the comfort that I seek.
04/28/2012 Posted on 04/28/2012
Copyright © 2026 Marc Arnts
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Linda Fuller on 04/28/12 at 08:46 PM I had to google your title and am glad to learn a new word/concept. I like the tone and relaxed feel to this poem. Welcome to Pathetic! |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/28/12 at 10:10 PM Great imagery. It builds beautifully, and the title is perfect. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 04/30/12 at 11:31 AM ... excellent... welcome to Pathetic!!! |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 06/11/12 at 03:40 PM Welcome to 'pathetic' and such a nice poem for POTD today to start the week. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 11/02/14 at 01:02 PM words are words but it takes a poet to assemble them to such perfect and fever pitch as you have here. and in all my born days will I ever come across a poet who cannot locate joys in little bumps and bruises. that scenario is as unlikely as twenty bucks loitering for more than a day in my billfold. |
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