Isn’t It?
Funny, isn’t it, how lines from movies crouch in the junkyard
of your mind waiting for the opportune moment to pounce?
Not long ago I was invited to sell my soul for a few rungs on the ladder.
Monte Walsh’s voice cautioned: I ain’t gonna spit on my whole life.
Then in a recent round of tension I fought for words to explain
the encouragement a man craves and I heard Adrian tell Rocky:
There’s one thing I want you to do for me…win!
And just now in the writing of this poem if it even is a poem at all,
the futility pressed in close making it so hard to be happy.
The voice of an angel, at least the kind of angel I’d get, whispered:
Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives.
Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives.
It is strange indeed. I’m glad you listened to Monte.
There’d be an awful hole if you weren’t around, John. Don’t ever forget where the voice of futility comes from….
Terrific, John. You’re a word-artist and I’m so glad I stumbled across your work.
Ali in Switz!
All my comments come from episodes of Seinfeld!
My angel sounds like Joan Cusack, shouting out, “We’ll fix it later!” And futility? It always sounds the same; nothing novel or original at all. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
the junkyard of MY mind seldom holds such nuggets, sad to say. so glad yours does.