Wednesday, May 06, 2009

A Poem Re-Draft and a Poem Draft

End of term, so things are a bit busy. There will be a post up at some point on the Desert Fathers and moral philosophy, though.


Even on this desert planet
water can be found,
dew in secret places,
pools by sheltering rocks;
but the air is hot and dry,
clouded by storms of dust.
Endless realms of sand
make the hardy die of thirst.

But I have had a dream:
This desert became a beach,
mist was in the air,
great waves of philosophy
broke against the shore.


This morning I spoke with Jove
in the campus parking lot.
It was humid and hot,
and as below, so it was above;
he was looking, he said, for work,
some livable wage
in this thoughtless and surly age
where enlightenment itself is dark,
and fortune, it seemed, did not smile.
He made the lightning fall
and I happily watched it all
and listened to the clouds awhile.
Soft rain sprinkled down, and Jove and I
talked of long-lost things,
cyclops-bolts and magic rings,
trees that walked and stones that cried.
Then he sighed and drove away
to some future yet unknown;
for the pride of man has grown
and the titan-hosts invade.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please understand that this weblog runs on a third-party comment system, not on Blogger's comment system. If you have come by way of a mobile device and can see this message, you may have landed on the Blogger comment page, or the third party commenting system has not yet completely loaded; your comments will only be shown on this page and not on the page most people will see, and it is much more likely that your comment will be missed.