At a stroke

At a stroke, that life changed

to a new road unimagined,

a slower road than the one I ran

even as an aging man.

All was assumed,

now I struggle to achieve

even very simple things

and worry on the words I sing.

Once there was a swagger,

second nature from my growing,

so incommunicado

is broken through by old bravado.

But this clenched fist is no longer raised

in resistance, as it resists me.

So, these days I daren’t dwell

on what should, or might, have been

and, like my fingers,

I have to learn to bend.

This is just the beginning,

nowhere near the end.

Arthur Adlen – August 2017

One comment

  1. Response to Arthur’s poem

    This is a great poem.

    From the says-it-all title to the defiant last 2 lines, it speaks of self-knowledge, the changing use of a tough exterior, of endurance, stubbornness and the courage to adapt.

    There’s a whole world of character in there, compressed like a diamond into a short intense work of art.


    Anyway Arthur, as they say in Wigan, “Keep guing with th’ead dahn!”

    Sue Hunter


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