Read Poem: THESE ARE THE BLUES, by Marianna Gerrman

Idly sitting by the fire…cigarette in tow,
drawing smoke rings in the hazy air,
disappearing…and reappearing once more.
Thinking of you and me, chiding each other
about this or that…
Why is it, that there’s a fine line between love
and loathing? I’d like to know, I’d like to know.
Wishing you were next to me, at this precious moment,
while I’m here loafing around, doing absolutely nothing.
Combing my hair, counting one, two, three…to be, to be and be.
Thinking I should read a book or listen to a radio’s forgotten melody.
Wincing at my own image in an age old mirror…oh how old
do I look now, younger, older than my years, let’s hope
my eyes deceive me.
I can’t stop pondering that I’m about half way done with life,
or it’s about half way done with me.
Oh what’s to be done about that….
Nothing, absolutely nothing. Or anything?
I must be grateful to be still breathing and….walking, as often
As I like to, every other day, especially on weekends, in the park. Or
just being able to watch people and birds and trees…
Life is so different now than oh so many years ago,
it’s all so je ne sais quoi….
And yet I’m thinking the same old idle thoughts as in the good old days
or maybe they’re different, they must not be the same, they must.
You’re saying I should do more with my life,
Like somebody… Piaf perhaps with “Je ne regrette de rien…”
No, I don’t have any regrets, though some days I do,
and what of it. Everybody does….so I like
to do nothing at all, maybe not make a mark at all,
though I desperately WANT to….

I want you to say, “It’s okay.”
But you stay silent….

October 3, 2012