Epiphany

Evergreen

Rupert Brooke, my hero and my god -

We are not alike, but if we were

My poems would be better than they are.

Like Millay and Keats, your verses can

Be read uncounted times and never bore.

Mine go once or twice and then they're done.

Because there is no magic in the words.

“Load every riff with ore.” So go the phrases.

I think I had the magic years ago

When I was young, before I grew my bones.

Familiarity

People need familiarity -

To bring a little darkness

Into Jesus' glaring light.

Fads and fashions,

Buzzwords, common slang.

And hideous!

The common taste in art.

 

Epiphany

Worshiping John Keats -

Sweet phrases and rhyme -

Discovered Brooke, but mildly so -

Not intense

But just to know he's good.

Then Millay,

Beauty that grew slow -

Gone, again, then gone until I knew her -

And finally, like old carvings in old wood.

And always in my life, a pentimento -

Ostinato in the music – Poe -

Unforgotten child of horror -

At sea – clinging to a bit of verse

For breath, survival,

Death in darkness, sunlight. He

Was always there. Where I would go.

Yesterday I rediscovered Brooke again. Lo!

A depth of sentient beauty missed for years. I'm

An aging convert, reborn long ago -

Reborn again. I know

Now not in the past – centuries sublime -

Rediscovered, at once -

At last my body says, “It's time.”

6-15-14