These Are My JOTtings...

Straining for the Goal

When straining for the goal
how will I yet achieve
The vision that I see ahead
that heart longs to receive?

The poet's heart has grown
throughout these many years.
I find my poems loved by some,
affirmed with words so clear.

But prose is somewhat less
than stellar at this time
The way to make a novel live
is quite an uphill climb.

Piano playing's more
than average at the keys,
But how much greater could there be,
if mentor skill he frees.

Viola has one year
of lessons at the bow,
But when will beauty ring so true
with touch, I'd gladly know?

This soul has heart to be
the best at what he tries,
but how can trying ever rest
'til excellence applies?

Dear heart, find rest in this.
Your days are greatly spent,
While pressing t'ward your loving goals,
your failure's Wisdom's mint.

Experience is swiftly learned
by tripping down the road
Of inexperience that's burned
as scars in skin's abode.

To write as you would wish to write,
To play emotions, full and bright,
To sing with voice so rich and true
requires some days of bad from you.

One never writes so well at first.
Each instrument is bound in thirst.
One's voice has cracks along the way
before Caruso's on display.

Some prodigies have stellar starts
their fingers' grace with joy imparts,
But Mozart's legacy supreme
was finished much too soon it seems.

Play badly 'til your skill is strong enough
to bring to light the firey, hidden stuff.
Write reams and reams of wordy childish thought,
until a mentor helps your pen be taught.

The one, who wins his goal
is victor in the end.
He finds that falling flat on face
gives him a grounded friend.

My heart is urgent so to find
the way of excellence.
My hope has struggled and repined
to live the difference.

The gift of genius is quite filled
with mix of two parts daily milled.
The one's a quirky part, unblessed.
The other's super-sized by test.

by Jay O'Toole
on April 21st, 2018