We fall off horses, and topple off bikes.
We scrape our knees, and lose a bit of skin.
We shelter under trees when lightning strikes.
We take our chances, we grizzle and grin.
What of this squabble, this roughly cut edge?
What of this soufflé that refuses to rise?
What of this contract, of this broken pledge?
What of this promise that fortune denies?
We’d all like more of what we now possess:
more bricks and mortar, more silver and gold.
We’d all like more of those things that impress:
more wisdom, patience and truth to behold.
. As viewed in perspective things get wised-up,
. As viewed in proportion things get sized-up.

© Tim Grace, 21 November 2011

To the reader: Proportion and perspective … what are the differences; what are the similarities? Is it that things regardless of perspective will always remain in proportion; or have I just made that up? Alone, are the two prone to corruption and distortion; is one the other’s verification; defence against absurdity? Is there such a thing as a complimentary counterpoint? And is that what it means to keep things in perspective and maintain a sense of proportion; sized-up and wised-up… eminent plausibility.

To the poet: This poem is about difference but perversely line by line its structure looks similar and sounds repetitive. The continuous stream of alternating content runs the risk of overwhelming the reader with trivial content. The first four lines declare a common experience – is that perspective?. The next four lines ask what to make of all this… is that proportion? And then what remains is a matter of opinion…

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