Bulldozer

doing you. an allegory

So she doesn’t sing... So she blurts, kerplunk ker

plunk, in the key of thick smoke around the place.

So she’s oafsome. Heavy footed. Sometimes she’s

just plain ole ugly; as neighbours across the

fence look down shaking their heads at kerplunk ker

plunk... But she’s got her dirt to shift, and by god

she gets to work - in her own ungainly way.

Though it aint for filling flower pots smoothly

by the door; and she won’t be sighing zephyr-

like if you should hear her there... Let the dainty

birds their frilly, warbled call. And let the brook’s

silver lyrics babble on and gently fall.

But deeper in the forest, where the foundered

wanderlust of the old cow lay rotting; and

the old mouldy oak tree lay long there, rotting;

and the claw-thorned brambles sprawl on the rotting;

you will hear her hunker down with kerplunk ker

plunk... She’s got her dirt to shift, and by god she

cuts her own path clean for that road less travelled.

Author's Note

Robert Frost took the road less travelled, though he took a travelled road, none the less. God bless those who make their own, too, and persist in staying as themselves, and not conforming to the mimicry of others. Who may be gifted with nothing but the will towards effort. Who continue to dig deep to do what's theirs. Who may never win popularity awards, who sing out of tune, strike an odd note, who are more fumble thumbs than nimble limbs, who - when choices are few - make the choice to embrace themselves.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

We should celebrate those who find their own way rather than walking the path where others have trod before. Many of them turn out to be pioneers. This is an interesting and inspired piece of writing. Also the title is most apt. Well done Charlie

Chris

[charlie]

Well, we don't necessarily need to celebrate them as much as simply appreciate them, I think.
Thank you for your kind words, Christine. Nice to see you again.

[M@]

Hi Charlie. A most inspired read. I really enjoyed the style of this poem and the analogies all round. I think this has all the hall marks of being a classic piece. This work needs to go further, be published or put in a gallery.
Yes, be the bulldozer, make your own path. Be the way.

Thank you Charlie - not only has this put a smile on my face and brightened up my day; it has also inspired me in writing and in life.
Thank you

[charlie]

Hello M@. Thanks so much for your enthusiasm my way. I'm flattered more than I deserve, and humbled. May your inspiration well never run dry. God bless.

[M@]

Pleasure - and I think you do deserve it.

[Beccy]

Without those who make their own road, our species might never have progressed beyond upright, though some may argue that ultimately it may prove better had we not 'progressed,' as far as we have.

A fascinating and intellectually stimulating poem, and for me, your author's note ranks pari passu.

Beccy.

[charlie]

Well, thank you, Beccy. I appreciate that.

[John]

Deftly written, a hymn to the little regarded.A much better poem than Frost's rather heavy handed allegory.

[charlie]

Thank you, John.