Four Poems by Richard Jay Shelton ORIGIN AND ESSENCE I love when all things cheap, The paltry, the trivial, The gratuitous, Sleep beneath The moth covered lace Leaving the life of the mind Free to roam, Diving deep Into depths of self Beyond the cluttered wealth of working days, Past echoes of industry and obligation, Into absence and emptiness Where idle reflection Mirrors origin and essence. VICTOR TIME Ah, What sighs Time does dent upon the mind As plundering Age approaches, Shovel in hand, With which to beat upon man Who stands forewarned and complacent, His warring body and mind resigned, Vanquished, As victor Time Hun’s life’s borders, Roman no more. MAN IS Man is a mimic Of the world We see And try to be seen As what we saw Rather than being Just what we are. FATHER The old man clings to life gripping his chair Oblivious to light and all sense. Being for him is to exist All sense of self resists the least awareness Of all his life was or might be As he grips his chair And stares at air Empty, silent, still. Activity barely stirring Or disturbing the space that surrounds The wheelchair sitting on the ground. What tokens of life Still mingle in that inactive mind Once youthful, ambitious and unkind, A strong will set upon catering feasts, Banquets in his prime, That barred all but his own strong appetite Spreading the table with what he desired, None invited or entertained Lest they interfere with his gain, Vast plunder bereft of love That he fought so selfishly to acquire Without a single enjoyment from that desire. What awareness of pleasure and joy Within the vast world of possibility Entertain that parasitic mind That seems content to sit and stare Day and night within his chair? Are all his senses so dulled, So devoid of stimulants, So empty of longing That he craves no desire Other than to not expire And warm the earth with his rotted flesh? Are all his needs so minuscule, His hopes so slight That existing is to eat, sit and stare At what occurs around his chair Fulfills his requirement for life, Nothing and more of nothing The tidy sum of days passing? How could it possibly have been That once he was so full of life and fire, That days and years were consumed with frantic activity Plowing a clear path for his goals, Razing to cast aside All that stood in his way? How could it happen That all that fire Could smolder and expire, Not even smoke from one desire? How could he embrace this vapid existence, Mere vapor in a vacuum sealed tight A circulating mist his stale gasping breath calibrates To sustain a measured subsistence? How could he lose sight, That old conquering mercenary, Of all life has to offer And all that he was, Of hope and pride Of the entitled life of the dignified? Why embrace existence bereft of life Braced upon that chair locked in place Fearful of the menacing moment in black mourning Proclaiming his last day Carrying him away To the cold damp earth He plundered with such glee When all life existed for only him, His wants, his needs, his every desire? Copyright © 2011 by Richard Jay Shelton All rights reserved Read the Poem Of Every So Often at https://www.artvilla.com