Poetry

I hosted a poetry workshop at my place today; and the other people liked the following poem, which I wrote a week or so ago while riding the bus home from work. It suggests that my mood has been a bit down lately, which would be typical. My mood always goes down a bit when the days shorten, and I had a cold.

We are here so briefly --
a few decades in a world where
mountains rise and fall,
seas close and open,
species come and proliferate
into spiny majesty.

What is our statement compared
to the bones of T. rex,
trilobite shells,
fossilized compound eyes,
brachiopod reefs,
fronds, the scaly trunks
of fern trees?

-- A poem
as fragile as burnt paper,
a scarf or brightly printed skirt,
the glance of dark eyes,
blond hair shining
in autumn sunlight.

Touched, we crumble.
Our words float like ash
on the wind.

I am still tinkering with the poem, based on suggestions made by my colleagues.