Michelle Claus

An Attitude of Ending

An attitude of ending
is the engine of my craft.
All my days, my hours, my now
I’ve been jotting on scraps -
I am my epitaph’s rough draft.

Nothing of this copy can be erased,
crossed out, revised,
edited, or perfected,
not even the deepest regrets can be deleted,
so all my moment-notes and aphorisms,
poetic purls,
babbling blunders and fumblings,
in abundant awkwardness for sure,
are permanently scribed
on scraps of time
with a grave and goofy mind.

But what the heck,
for all my lack of certainty
and all my found finesse,
I address the instance with an odd urgency
and strive to write my uni-verse.

© 2014 All rights reserved

Submitted: Monday, April 14, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Topic of this poem: self

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  • Rookie - 111 Points Nathan Coppedge (6/1/2014 10:15:00 AM)

    I get the sense that the poem instead ends with 'last caress'. It may be difficult to change a rhyme once you've chosen it, hence the arts of modern poetry. I like the middle part though. The poem is surprisingly light considering the heavy themes. In that way, it is difficult to understand the meaning. But some of the images make clear that you are groping towards some sort of truth of inbetweens, perhaps not a dark truth. Maybe just ordinary existence, or something intellectual. (Report) Reply

    Rookie - 393 Points Michelle Claus (6/1/2014 11:18:00 AM)

    *last caress* is a nice suggestion... I used to allow Existential thinking to weigh me down in brooding and solemnity. As I get older, I'm learning to shrug my shoulders. Even though I'm always striving, striving for some unattainable Perfection in this quick existence, I do so knowing how ridiculous and flawed I am. Thanks for reading and commenting.

  • Rookie - 261 Points Adeline Foster (5/24/2014 3:10:00 PM)

    Interesting format, but the subject follows through making perfect sense. Read mine – Who Am I –
    Adeline (Report) Reply

    Rookie - 393 Points Michelle Claus (5/24/2014 6:08:00 PM)

    Thank you, Adeline. I will read your poem, Who Am I

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