a poem is a sermon
The world is filled with ancient stuff;
it came alive before our time
enslaved it, chained to days and hours,
and thought its might could humbly serve
our desire.
We thought we knew the way:
might, right, and fire,
And so hastened the day
when our kingdoms expire.
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 […]
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 […]
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 […]
Continue reading "An April Morning: anglo-saxon prosody with a bob and wheel"