Reaching

6 Comments

Tags:
  • Happiness
    • ,
  • Life

    Poem Commentary

    My son Micah at Galveston beach - 1978 (age 2)

    Reaching

     by Tom King (c) 2010


    Reach for the sky

    When the moment rambles by.

    Wrap your fingers 'round a cloud

    And squeeze it till the rain comes out.

     

    Dance upon the water,

    Grinning till your face hurts.

    Fling some sand.

    Kick a wave.

     

     When we get old

    We start to forget.

    What it means

    To dance on the beach

     

     What did it mean

    To wring life that way

    From a handful of sky

    And a forkful of sand?

     

     I wish that I

    Could remember

    How to reach that high

    And laugh that loud.

     

    Perhaps if I actually

    Went to the beach sometime....

    Poem Comments

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    HarverTomsson commented on Reaching

    12-31-2010

    What a fantastic reminder to journey toward joy before the path gets forever lost in the maze of the hum-drum. Harv
    Reply to Comment

    Rhymer commented on Reaching

    12-08-2010

    Would be nice to be able to actually recapture our youth, or at least view the world again through youthful eyes. 10
    Reply to Comment

    Kanicki commented on Reaching

    12-08-2010

    Your precious angel at the beach a wonderful priceless photo. One of my favorite photos of my beloved brother was taken on that same beach. RIP to the precious angels.
    Reply to Comment

    rsalassi commented on Reaching

    12-08-2010

    wry humor with a quiet message...well written piece, sir.
    Reply to Comment

    Kanicki commented on Reaching

    12-07-2010

    This is a gem of a pen! If we all could remember to enjoy the child within. The ending is rather humorous; often the only thing that gets in the way of adults connecting with their inner child is their childishness...LOL. Peace, Love and Light
    Reply to Comment

    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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