Peripetia, or Flowers for Everyone
How difficult it is to love the stupid
in ourselves, not to mention the shortcomings
of others. Each time I stumble from
a pair of platform shoes, how clumsiness
surprises! I'm astonished - even worse,
appalled - every time a shiny SUV
insists on jumping out in front of me.
How slow I am to understand the obvious!
I'm going outside now to gather calla lilies.
How strange it might be if I still had the brains
of a twenty-something Ph.D.-in-training.
The red ones I've been growing. And memory,
what a laugh, stuck between experience
and precognition - middle of a road
where no one wants to be. What a load
of magic beans that is. I mean, that is, disdain
for the middle of the road, not the precognition.
I know I won't remember what I said tomorrow.
Now I'm up a tree, climbed it with thorough
joie de vivre. Tell me, did you ever get the lilies?
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Comments about this poem (Peripetia, or Flowers for Everyone by C.J. Sage )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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