! A Thousand Poems Poem by Michael Shepherd

yeah yeah, nothing for you to boast about –
‘100 good ones would be quite enough…
no, make that 20 – who’s got time for more,
even if they were masterpieces…’

So perhaps, merely a little quiet satisfaction
in a personal kinda way: I guess
retirement years hang heavily for some,
recalling days of authority, command;
others find them richer, busier than ever; or
do just the same jobs as they did so well, except
they don’t get paid for it…

or you can put all your ego in one basket –
try to do the one thing well; after a life
of unfinished jobs and hasty jobs,
and jobs you dreamed of and yet never did…

or, there’s poetry: if speech is actually the Word
that set the cosmos on its merry way, that
sings the praise of gods or human enterprise, or
draws attention to the sunlight on a wall;
melts the heart; reveals, relates
the physical and the metaphysical;
raises the spirits, lights the mind… then,
poetry’s no bad thing
to sieve, to pour a lifetime into;

and if, as the statistics state,
400 of those 1,000 poems get a reading, averaging
two people each, around the world and every day –
then perhaps, a little quiet pride, a hope
that something useful has been tried
in these last years on earth…

a small gift to the fleeting soul,
the ferryman’s so solemn toll
to help it on its way; a fee
to offer; if that were, shall be,
what’s appropriate..