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.

Dream

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.

Jove

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.

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