September 21st, 2007

ice

Poetry Friday -- It's no rush

I was thinking about speed, time, diligence, patience, inertia and momentum 
after writing my post the other night. 

And, really, I don't recommend this line of thought. 
It's daunting and you're liable to get all mucked up in it. 
Your work, your calendar, your birthday -- all will loom.

Here's what I think we should meditate on instead:

It's never too late. 
It's never too late to write your first words.
It's never too late to throw your first pot.
It's never too late to sing your first aria or paint your first portrait or speak your first soliloquy.
It's never too late.
It's never too late to thread your first needle.
It's never too late to cook your first souffle. 
It's never too late to strum your first chord or kiss your first love or make your first million.
It's never too late.
It's never too late to publish your first book.
It's never too late to win your first award.
It's never too late to stand at your easel or open up your laptop or stretch out in your hammock and start something new.
It's never too late.

And for those naysayers who wonder where I'm going with this and would like me to remember that I committed to a poetry post, how's this? 

Virginia Hamilton Adair was 83-years-old when she published her first collection of poetry. 
That's Eight Three. 
See what I mean?

Here's a tiny little verse of hers. You should look for others. Really.

THRESHOLDS
I stand at evening at the open door,
And see the wind I never saw before.

Read the rest here...