Who Am I?
Here’s a little game that’s fun to play round the campfire.
Who Am I?
Am I `whatsisname’s wife’? ( a chamringly oblique reference I once heard to myself)
Am I Laurence’s mum - or Moni’s, Lana’s, Mags’, Luci’s, Chris’s or Kat’s?
Am I the byline on my stories? (Reporter, poet, demented scribbler?)
Am I Grandma Kav? (I must confess, I like this one best)
But actually even that is not who I really am…
I am the wind over the tree tops
The rush of waves on the shore
I am the stars filling the night sky
The trickle of waters over rocks
The song of the bird in the morning
The list of the ship as it turns toward home
I am the gold of autumn leaves
A swathe of bluebells in the spring
I am the laughter of children
The thunder of hooves
The crunch of crisp windfall apples
I am COLOURS
Many many colours, soft, bright, pastel, bold, check, plain, striped, plaid, dotted, rainbow
I am all that that and it is all of me
And that is who I am.
Now - who are you?
SEED: “The list of a ship as it turns towards home”
A cant towards a memoried haven
is of turmoil twixt mindful rudder
and keel willed obstinacy;
both causing a list of soul and serenity.
A luft of sail give hint of sadness
‘bout lost adventure on waiting shores –
balanced alone by faith in waves
that cavitations of my presence
will brush the sands of tomorrow.
peek a boo
you is our Gail!
Of course I am!
And faucon, what a beautiful poem you have grown from my humble seed…
Beautiful poem, Gail.
We turn our monikers into inventories of our character, so we simply are in one word that with which we’ve been named.