Fame
I’ve traced an arc around the world.
I’ve cut a path into the air.
You’ll find the flag I fly unfurled
on the seabed. And while you’re there,
look for the fish that speak my name.
I’ve sifted gold out of the rock,
but winning is a futile game,
without an umpire or a clock
to mark the hour, to say I’ve won.
I’ve lingered on – I am sincere –
and thought of what I haven’t done.
I’ve heaved a sigh. I’ve shed a tear.
I’ve cut a path into the air.
You’ll find the flag I fly unfurled
on the seabed. And while you’re there,
look for the fish that speak my name.
I’ve sifted gold out of the rock,
but winning is a futile game,
without an umpire or a clock
to mark the hour, to say I’ve won.
I’ve lingered on – I am sincere –
and thought of what I haven’t done.
I’ve heaved a sigh. I’ve shed a tear.
This poem is copyright (©) John Claiborne Isbell 2025
About the Writer
John Claiborne Isbell
John is a teacher of other languages, French and German in particular. He has taught people aged five to sixty-five over the years, and is currently living with his wife Margarita in Paris, where he enjoys asking questions of the people he meets.
