An Unfinished Man



A new pad of paper

  that I can mar up,

in writing a poem 

  just for you.


I hem and I haw,

  sputter and stop,

and dream of the grandeur

  when through.


I’ve done nothing much

  in this life I call mine,

nothing, that is,

  not made up.


I haven’t the talent

  of others, you’ll find;

than, thus far, of just

  plain dumb luck.


I haven’t authored

the best that I can….

  Hmm. How strange.

It seems that I am –

but, no! I am not!

  I’m not at the end.


It’s only damned grandeur, again.


I’m much like an uncle,

  an Unfinished Man,

who never completed

  one thing he began.


For instance, at one time,

  this man had swam

half of the distance ‘cross

  the Great Rio Grande.


Then he returned bearing his reason,

  it was, all in all, a very bad plan:

“I can’t but swim one-half of the Grande!”


So this poem is half done;

  it returns where begun –

on marred up clean paper,

  and written in pun.


A poem that is half-done,

  half-rhymed and in fun.

Turn it over, I’ll re-write

  a foreshortened one.


But, this time

  I’ll start at The End.












revised 7 May 2013

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn


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