Tag Archives: anglo-saxon prosody

The World Begins: bob and wheel

Today the world begins or ends;
we celebrate both birth and death,
and in between, our lives stretch on
in days and nights all much the same.
Who is to blame?
Some fools would blame the child,
while others seek the cause
among the sick, defiled,
and dying who create our laws.

What is the truth we seek to find?
Some reason that our side is right,
to justify our lust and greed
and bathe ourselves in light.
But what is right?
No system forms its cage,
no moral code defines its bounds.
Not boundless joy nor rage
can claim what is not found.

The world transforms from night to day;
we bask in light or hide in shade.
In neither state do we reflect
a righteous sense of purpose.
Are we then worthless?
What use is thinking so?
While there is breath, take air
and seek out those who throw
their lot with you, out there.

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I Will Not Dwell: a bob and wheel

I will not dwell on might-have beens,
nor doubt the world’s slow turn;
but fill my world with verdant greens,
with love’s unending yearn
    to learn
    of things beyond my reach,
    just out of sight and mind;
    what dreams and shadows have to teach,
    what fools and dreamers find.

I will not drown in endless tears,
nor mourn the days now past;
but instead relish those sweet years
as bricks and mortar cast
    to last
    what’s left of my short time,
    an edifice to stand
    in memory of me and mine,
    the work of my own hand.

I will not fear death, when it comes,
as it does for all things:
when my life’s constant, beating drum,
desists its pulsing ring
    and sings
    instead in silent song
    of energy released
    to other use, that moves along
    and finds, in new life, peace.

18 NOV 2010

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An April Morning: anglo-saxon prosody with a bob and wheel

The sky was shot with grays and greens,
and clinging clouds that hung low;
from the west, the wind was slight
against my face that April night
     when first
     I found I’d lost my way;
     and more, what’s worse,
     with nothing left to say:
     a writer’s sad curse.

I stood in silence, stunned and mute
and watched the world continue on;
Despite my dumbness, nothing changed
in how life lumbers slowly on
      and stops
      for no one, rich or poor;
      both thieves and cops
      react, and nothing more,
      as each moment drops.

For quite a while, I watched and waited,
’til the lights lowered and dawn was near,
as the darkened earth began to glow
with the soft shimmer of newborn day
      and awoke
      stretching its tired limbs,
      the spell of gloom broken
      by a small bird’s hymn.
      And only then, I spoke.

06 APR 2004

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