Beside the Point
by Stephen Cushman
The sky has never won a prize.
The clouds have no careers.
The rainbow doesn't say my work,
The rock in the creek's not so productive.
The mud on the bank's not too pragmatic.
There's nothing useful in the noise
the wind makes in the leaves.
Buck up now, my fellow superfluity,
and let's both be of that worthless ilk,
self-indulgent as shooting stars,
self-absorbed as sunsets.
Who cares if we're inconsequential?
At least we can revel, two good-for-nothings,
in our irrelevance; at least come and make
no difference with me.
18 November 2007
Poem of the day: Beside the Point by Stephen Cushman
A poem that reminds us to get out of the rat race and enjoy life once in a while.