Today I was speaking to a colleague at school before classes began. He and I are form the same general area. We started at our current school at the same, almost a decade ago. Coach has done it all over his decades: taught, coached various sports, mentored hundreds of students. At first glance he appears not to be the type who likes poetry.
But as we spoke this morning he pulled his copy of my book and said, "You know which is my favorite, Doc? 'My Two Paths' ". In the last months have heard or read some very nice things about "Places and Times", but this one really touched me. It was not at a poetry event, which makes it all the more significant.
Coach's words proves that poetry is part of life, and works into those inaccessible places. wgere we by ourselves would never dare to go. And so I post the poem and am thankful for the gift I have that inspires people in ways I could not have foreseen.
Thanks, Coach, and good luck in the next game!
My
Two Paths
My two paths do not diverge within a
yellow wood, unlike the famous poem
occasionally serving as basis
for a commencement, a five-paragraph essay
and sermon when infused poetry lifts
the banal to soaring tours de force
in ionospheres of profundity.
On the contrary, my two paths parallel
each other along ridges stretching as
far as can be seen, separated by
deceptively-shallow gullies and creeks,
blue ribbons between trees, bushes, and fields.
Once fog-lifted from the other path
as arduous shows the way I journeyed,
going downhill, strangers or friends pointed
out the trail, offering encouragement
as I began the ascent, not losing
too much ground as I resumed my route/
If I was alone, I sensed a presence
at every step, bend, or transition,
and when I encountered a very few
who insisted I decide on a trail
and do not lift my gaze to the other ridge
Later learned I not dally with them
or to allow their opinion become
my destiny. Instead I sought those who
stood just above me, encouraging me
to continue on my way to the crest
and savor the view that awaited me.
Now the path wends toward the goal awaiting
me, I turn my gaze to distant mountains
and valleys half-hidden by hanging mists.
Time now to rest under spreading branches
of pleasant trees and enjoy where I have been.
Arthur Turfa, copyright 2015
"Places and Times", eLectio Publishing
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