Self instruction in the humanities,
Of sorts, its own ‘college of the liberal arts:’
Great Books, read through the knocks of door-to-door sales,
Concomitant rejection, and false starts;
Earl Nightingale; the excess of the eighties;
The scribbled song, the “next big hit”, the parts
I would play if I could play; breaking hearts;
Positive mental attitude cassette tapes.
Everybody is always counting something:
Degrees, poems, books, likes, and followers;
Churches count families and total tithings;
I tally too, without the call of editors,
(Humble priests number their homily writings)
Completely free to multiply the name of Jesus!
Gary Edward Geraci
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Author:
Gary Edward Geraci (
Offline) - Published: April 15th, 2023 11:33
- Comment from author about the poem: A sonnet - a celebration of obscurity.
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Bobby O
Offline)
Comments2
A fine write Gary.
Thank you, O.
I would play if I could. I understand the genre and direction w emphasis toward a certain world but it’s an even better flexible statement of missionand has an appliqué toward any tally that hovers over a place or station we habitate.
Thanks, Bobby, for the insight; forever counting (as long as we’re on this side of the grave).
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