A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. – Robert Frost
Monday past commentary summarized a recent uninteresting conversation with a Trump hater that led me to conclude President Trump is detested mostly for what he might do.
Might is an interesting word.
During a long, lonely, emotional, and reflective walk the morning my father died the word still came to me.
After my walk I grabbed a sketchbook—underway with marker sketches and color studies—and penned a simple poem.
The opening …
Still a life,
but life is still.
and the next line …
Still is Dad,
I am still.
Yesterday morning, during a long walk around an enormous grass parade field decorated with dozens of poles flying American flags and with the roars of powerful military jets not more than a few hundred yards away, the word might came to me.
Now there is no confusion, whatsoever, as to the meaning of the two-word arrangement of “Might Trump.”
Add y (for mighty) and entirely new meaning.
“Trump Might” can be interpreted two ways.
That is, as “Might Trump” and too as “Trump Might(y).”
‘Still’ was largely resolved while walking. Penning it did not take long nor require much edit.
(A poem for) ‘Might’ is not resolved.
Thinking about it.
But two words—chickenhearted and lionhearted—haunt.
Chickenhearted—the “Might Trump” brood.
Lionhearted—the “Trump Might” pride.
Might America is not America(n) might.
Politics aside, (my) Dad, a veteran, was lionhearted. And wise.
The closing to ‘Still’ …
In me ever,
Dad is still.
And so, to satisfy Mr. Frost and try to be like Dad …
more walking—to contemplate ‘Might.’