writing is sorrow; having had written is sublime
April's Premiere alone is Claimed
To be the Day of Dullards
While All its Days have been Proclaimed
To be the Month of Bards
In you, you presume a Poet Resides
And with Ballads you are the Master
Alas in you nary a Rhyme doth Hide
For you are just a Fool Poetaster
But today alone We shall All Proclaim
Your Verse fit for Angels on High
Just don't forget that Today Alone
We are given Pass to Lie
How long, you simpletons, will you insist on being simpleminded? How long will you mockers relish your mocking? How long will you fools hate knowledge?
Proverbs 1:22, New Living Translation
O, but the mockers’ cry
Makes my heart afraid,
As though a flute of bone
Taken from a heron’s thigh,
A heron crazed by the moon,
Were cleverly, softly played
From The Collected Works of W. B. Yeats
Presentiment – is that long Shadow – on the Lawn –
Indicative that Suns go down –
The Notice to the startled Grass
That Darkness is about to pass –
*Admittedly, it’s highly unlikely that Ms. Dickinson while sitting alone upstairs staring out her pondering window penned this pensive poem about Daylight Saving Time; that being said, it’s time to throw open those curtains, spread sunshine on those foreboding winter-fouled floating dust mites of presentiments and drag those lagging Clocks for-ward and on-ward to-ward that Fresh Breath of presentiment-less and Carefree Air affectionately known as Spring, yo!**
**What’s with all the “yos” lately, yo?
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars
Holdin’ hands is supposed to be special,
But really, anyone can do it.
Just grab a hand and don’t let go,
That’s all there really is to it.
But my way of holdin’ is a little bit different.
In fact, I’m sure no one else even knows…
Just take off your shoes, and then your socks,
Cuz my way is holdin’ toes.
From Poem Man
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Come hither all ye children
And gather round,
For the Poem Man cometh
To your quaint town.
He’s bringing the most magical, beautiful,
Spectacular sounds…
Sounds that you may have never heard before.
He has the sounds of pinks and yellows
And midnight blues.
You’ll hear rainbows and gumdrops
And morning dew.
Come hither sweet children,
Bring your parents too,
To hear the oceans converse with the shores.
Look, yonder cometh he
From the valley below.
Can you see on his shoulder
His talking, orange crow?
Make haste sweet children.
Get ready for the show,
For the time is drawing near.
He carries his poems
In a large, burlap sack.
Doesn’t it look heavy
Upon his broad back?
In it, not a rhyme is missing—
Not a riddle does it lack.
Be still now sweet children for the Poem Man is here.
~~~~
Well, since the poem Butter was reasonably well-received a day or two ago, it inspired me to create a Poem Man page where I’ve included scans of the original book cover and introduction, as well as a Table of Contents listing all the poems and links to the ones that I’ve already shared online. You can find the new page under the BOOKS heading at the top of the page, or you can just click here.
Enjoy!
POETIC LICENSE
Thank God for the passionate poet
Who trumpets the sun’s morning rise
And who writes lovely, pretty sad songs
Of young lovers’s heartbreaking goodbyes
Thank God for the passionate poet
Who reaches right into the heart
To stroke it, to tease it, to please it
And sometimes to tear it apart
#NATIONALPOETRYDAY2014
~~~~
From my poetry collection Poems from the River
