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A Weed
by James Shammas (Age: 44)
copyright 01-06-2006


Age Rating: 7 to 127

 
Swimming from the sea
Toward great Earth mother,
You didn't hear me.
You didn't see me

Slip in there.
The months I stretched thin,
Growing green, a winding vine,
Weeded, watered, warm,

Learning that even the unborn
Can hear the thunder,
As you, too, ran for cover,
Aborting your plans before the dawn.

Another dying day tossed?--
Tossed up by the fickle wind?
To land on the head of a pin,
Impaled unscathed, and dancing on the rim?

C'mon, sweet mother.
C'mon, now! It is
My birthday-- mine,
And I'm forty-one.




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Comments on this Article/Poem:
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03-02-2006 Regina Pate    

The winds of change have been blowing our destiny this way and that since before there was time. We are all weeds, plucked from the Garden of Eden. Or did you forget, maybe we should all just drink weed killer and die. Whatever, you'll change your mind with the wind. See you tomarrow, my friend, I hope.
01-27-2006 Jack Curson    

I have deep feeling about this issue and of course I am a man so I don't understand as my mother would say. I think this is an excellent write. Life is far more precious than what we give it credit for in my opinion.
01-13-2006 David Pekrul    

Yes, we all have strong opinions about this and I'm no exception. I feel all life is precious. This is a well-written piece.
For more on this, read my piece called "The Rights Of A Child" at http://www.prose-n-poetry.com/display_work/14525
I received some really long comments on this when it was first submitted, but I'm a big boy; I can take it.
03-19-2005 Mary -BrytEyz- Ball    

Ah, an inner storm rages none the less... none the more.
03-09-2005 Anthony Lane Stahlhut    

Ah, but it lands on the paper. Thanks, Anthony
Visitor Reads: 423
Total Reads: 463
Comments: 5

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