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Convictions of My Thoughts and Deeds
Convictions of my thoughts and deeds
are vapors, not substantial things.
There are no clouds that hold the breeze,
they toss about on errant winds.
__Look yonder! See!
__Huck Finn it be!
From shore to land and land to shore
An unsure raft that knows no moor.
And here my grades before me sit.
I bow my head before the glow.
The teachers tell me how I did.
What other way is there to know
__in youthful days
__when all my gaze
was fixéd on my teachers bold?
Why couldn’t I have been born old?
But here I sit an agéd man.
What are the colors of the world?
And here the colors of Gauguin.
Ignored, then praised, and now unfurled
__a bold new style
__but for a while.
Is all rejoinder and retort?
Speak up old man! Give your report!
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Richard Brancato resides in Boston, Massachusetts. His poetry has appeared in many magazines, including Atlanta Review, Confrontation, and North Dakota Quarterly. You can visit him online at www.richardbrancato.com.
Richard, your poem expresses well the stages of growing to think for oneself. The last line exhorts elders to give guidance to the younger.
I enjoy the double meanings you have employed with “convictions” and “no moor.”
The transition from youth with convictions as yet not moored to those of the elderly man with knowledge and experience to have his “boat moored” is well designed and thought out.
Fabulous! The transitions of life so deftly and beautifully handled. It is a poem of layers that I have read through three times already and received more with each reading.
Beautiful and thought provoking. In the first part, the convictions are vapours and nebulous, but in old age, they [the colours] are as substantial as a major work of art (like Gauguin) — or at least that is my interpretation. I look forward to seeing other interpretations.
An excellent texture in this poem. The initial philosophical thought provoked me to remember how often our imaginations are dead wrong — and how little we remember how often imagination is wrong.
I liked the allusions, especially to Huck and Jim.
I enjoyed your poem, Richard.
‘An unsure raft that knows no moor.’ Great imagery.
Thanks for the read.
From the Mississippi with Huck Finn to Polynesia with Gauguin–and all on errant winds. You don’t seem to be bemoaning lack of substance, Richard, just reporting it. Well expressed in a pleasant form.
Echoing James Shirley’s poem, “The Glories of our Blood and State,” tells the reader that you’re tackling the sweeping theme of our mortality, in this case in how it’s reflected in our passing tastes. You’ve almost imitated Shirley’s rhyme scheme; all his rhymes were perfect. A very thoughtful poem that bears rereading.