You Rock

The rock of ages

Unlike the rose, whose life
is all too short;
whose beauty, transient,
strikes the heart
with olfactory refrain,
intoxicating ache,
to caress my right brain
with melancholic pang,

you… you resist the tides,
whose rhythms, trying to change,
never seem to wear you down;
you bear them easily.
The temporal perspective
that measures your sojourn
diminishes our span
so it appears as nought.

You draw out the time
to more than long,
so barnacles and limpets
can confidently cling
to your immense foundation;
testament to your solidity;
our permanence is relative
as it sits beside you, Rock.

But how significant are we
considering the Universe?
By how much mega-time is
it’s longevity, beside ours?
And yet neither you, Rock
nor Universe can judge,

because

there is no poetry in a cosmos
without a human soul.

(read the author’s commentary on this poem)

© 2010 John Anstie

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About PoetJanstie

As a young man, John was fit and sporting. Playing Rugby Union for over twenty years, encouraged in the early days by a school that was run on the same lines as Gordonstoun, giving shape and discipline to a sometimes precarious early life. This fitness was enhanced by working part time jobs in farming, as a leather factory packer and security guard, but probably not helped, for a short time, by selling ice cream! His professional working life was spent as a Metallurgical Engineer, Marketing Manager, Export Sales Manager, Implementation Manager and Managing Director of his own company. Thirty five years spent, apparently in a creative desert, raising a family and pursuing a career, probably enriched his experience, because his renaissance, on retirement, realised a hidden creative talent as a blogger and poet. He also enjoys music, with a piano and a forty-five year old Yamaha FG140 acoustic guitar. He sings bass in three singing groups: as a founding member of a mixed voice chamber choir, Fox Valley Voices; a member of one of the top barbershop choruses in the UK, Hallmark of Harmony (the Sheffield Barbershop Harmony Club) and a mixed barbershop quartet, Needle & Fred. He is also a would be (once upon a time) photographer with drawers full of his own history, and an occasional, but lapsed 'film' maker. In his other life, he doubles as a Husband, Father, Grandfather, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend and Family man. What he writes is autobiographical and very often pins his colours to the mast. In 2013, he completed an anthology of the poetry (including his own) of an international group of nine poets, who met on Twitter. He produced, edited and steered the product of this work, "Petrichor Rising", to publication by Aquillrelle.
This entry was posted in age, cosmos, environment, Free Verse, melancholy, nature, poem, poetry, wisdom, Wonder. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to You Rock

  1. Louise says:

    Well, for me there IS someone to judge, but that is just my opinion…and it is huge & mind boggling to think about the size of universe…I suppose the important thing is too look after & enjoy our little patch of it. As your lovely poem says, life is just too short. 🙂

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  2. PoetJanstie says:

    Louise, thanks for your lovely and encouraging comment. The last part just seemed to bring the whole thing round in a circle to the one single known fact: in spite of the unimaginable scale of it all, we are the only known life in the whole universe, and we may never know otherwise. Who or what else is there to judge… sort of leaves us with a scary and almost onerous feeling of responsibility, doesn’t it.

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  3. Beautiful, John. You capture the melancholy I was trying to describe, so well. ‘There is no poetry in a cosmos without a human soul’ *sigh* Wonderful poem.. 🙂

    Like

    • PoetJanstie says:

      Louise, thanks for your lovely and encouraging comment. The last part just seemed to bring the whole thing round in a circle to the one single known fact: in spite of the unimaginable scale of it all, we are the only known life in the whole universe, and we may never know otherwise. Who or what else is there to judge… sort of leaves us with a scary and almost onerous feeling of responsibility, doesn’t it.

      Like

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