Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Too Bad In Winter

On sea cliffs, nesting
Narrow edges, the
Common Murre lays
A pointy egg that
Only rolls in circles.
You are pointy too
And can be left
On ledges to keep
Unpointy people perched.
It makes them happy.
To learn what you are,
To resign, in good
Grace, all you are not
Is often the best
We've got --nothing
Common about that.


  1. I like this every much. even though--so far as I know--it doesn't deal with your and Norma's experience, which I love the most!

  2. It has nothing to do with penguins either, Will, but there they are.

  3. Tsk! Tsk! "every much"! There goes the proofreading! Retired too long.

    Now--in dawn's early light--I'm re-reading to see if I can pry your point out from among those pointy things in your poem!

  4. Hmm. Now I think it's about you and me....

  5. Those are the sorts of questions one may expect in reaction to this sort of poem, Will. Consider, the preponderance of human literature resulted from authors trying not to write about penguins.

  6. I at first said "Hey, that's not a Murre...then read on. Did you ever read the story of "The Point"? It was not lost on me!:)

  7. Yes, "Oblio"! I remember. That was not about penguins either...or was it? Either way, presence or absence of penguins was part of its greatness.