Cancer Journal #11 Jan 7





       Steaming Into Port 


 I see the ship up over the horizon
 Its presence and position not obscured by fog.
 Its progress imperceptible except that 
 After not watching, it’s bigger when I look back. 

 Not much question where it’s heading 
 It’s coming, straight line, right here. 
 The Good Ship Mortality. 

 It concentrates the mind
 As Samuel Johnson said. 
 Things lose their triviality
 As they become finite.

 An edge of sadness 
 But only an edge. 
 If it’s what’s to be, 
 It’s what’s to be.


        This is a poem I wrote for a writing group I participate in.  Generally I write a prose essay but most of the others write poetry so now and then, I take a shot at doing that too.  

        Some could find a tension between this and my just prior post.  I suppose.  I conceived of the poem and had it pretty well worked out in my head before my recent good news.  The ship is now in some fog and I don't feel the edge of sadness now although I did for a while.   As far as the idea that hey, things will never be right here so don't expect more, it is what I believe but  this is also present with me.

Comments

  1. StasiaJanuary 8, 2021 at 10:48 AM

    Reading your posts.
    Processing your words.
    Thinking of you.

    [I like the new blog format.]

    ReplyDelete
  2. Jan CJanuary 9, 2021 at 6:55 AM

    Ah, thanks for sharing this poem! You know I'm always glad to see you trying your hand at poetry.

    We're complex creatures, aren't we, often holding contradictory thoughts or impressions at the same time. I think it's part of what makes us human.

    Love to you and Jean.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Jan CJanuary 9, 2021 at 6:58 AM

    I like how the lines at first are longer, wordier, and gradually shorten until the last stanza is very pointed, emphasizing your message all the more. "An edge of sadness / but only an edge"--poignant lines, touching.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Cancer Journal #3 Dec 7

         It’s VIP parking at the Mayo Clinic Cancer Center with parking slots a few steps from the door. Speaks more to our presumed physical condition than our importance I suppose but it’s handy, especially if I am running late. The accommodation is not meant for me, at least not right now. In fact, I feel great. I’d never know there was anything wrong with me if they hadn’t told me. Still, the parking is handy.       Inside, people in the waiting room are not doing great. Mostly they are old. A few young ones that I really feel bad for. A woman in her 20s with a slow, unsteady gait and not much light in her eyes. I hope her condition is curable and that this will just be a bad episode in a fully lived life.       I don’t visit with those who are waiting although that would be my natural tendency. We are all masked and social distanced which inhibits conversation. And then, talk loud enough to be heard w...
Read more

Cancer Journal #10 Jan 7

I haven’t said much about the Lord in these blogs. I will change that.              I suppose there are those who, upon getting a diagnosis of aggressive stage four cancer, would be disappointed and indignant. “How could He let this happen? Does He care? Is He even there?” I have not reacted that way, especially not since my recent good numbers but before that too. Let me explain. This is not the place where things are right. I’m expecting such a place but not yet. The rules of the game, so to speak, are that things go wrong. There are disappointments, unfulfilled hopes, wounds to our body and psyche. To complain about that is like complaining that there are 24, not 20, hours in a day.             Terrible things happen to people. In war zones, babies are killed in mother’s arms, parents are killed in front of five year old’s eyes. Terrible things happen in this country now, not so dramatic pe...
Read more

Writing/Cancer Journal #109

  Charlie Schaefer September, 2024 What is Sin? Failure to brush my teeth twice daily? Not staying hydrated with at least 80 ounces of fluid each day?  Failure to check in on a relative whose health is failing but is also a bore?   Getting warm with that one. Dumping oil from an oil change out in the woods?   That’s a bad one which I would never do. Especially since I don’t change my own oil.   The Old Testament prescription for sin–sacrifice of a pigeon, a sheep, a bullock- hardly seems as though it would do the trick, bring the ledger to balance.  The Catholic confessional followed by some Our Fathers and some Hail Marys seems better.  Confession, if done honestly, requires the dark thing be pulled out of the pocket and examined.   And the Our Fathers, Hail Marys could be a source of pleasure  if the obligation element is minimized.  Put your mind in a good place. But I am skirting around the edges, leaving the ugl...
Read more