Life, said the old poet
is an insistent knocking
on doors that won't open
into houses
that won't be there
by the time
they do.
So relax, stop knocking,
sit on the stoop
in front of the house
that won't be there.
Soon enough
the owner,
the houseless owner,
must exit,
looking for a new house,
a new way through,
and you'll find
he doesn't look any better than,
or different from,
you.
Virtually flawless stanzaic structure & cadence highlights and fuels this fine display of contemporary free verse. Close-out line speaks volumes & delivers with poetic power...~FjR~
Made me really think, enjoyed the poem especially as you can read however many times and not get bored of thought. cheers
.............a marvelous poem.....and congratulations on member poem of the day...enjoyed...
An admirable poem. Thank you. And I invite anyone to visit my poems on this site (link on my profile) . Abstract, urban idealism.
I liked this poem very much...in the end, I guess, everyone becomes homeless and the feeling of being at home is only a short-lived illusion...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have found that one of the hardest lessons- not that I ever felt myself to be superior, no my inclination ran in the opposite direction from superiority- but the older I grow the more I must admit, we're all much the same, in every way that counts.