Three Thousand Years before Apple and Three Thousand Years after the iPad
I carry in my knapsack poems by
The ancient Greeks, the eldest ones, the best,
The best of elders. They are still as spry
As dolphins’ arcs by the Argosy’s quest.
Lines wait within the safety of the book,
Alive and lively now as ever, like
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resurrection_plant
A resurrection plant. They undertook
Divinity when quilling down each spike
Of brilliance in their lines. But crammed in with
That poetry I carry modern things,
Phone chargers and an iPad. There’s no myth
To go with them. They don’t have singing wings.
..Nope, iPads, gone millennia from now,
….Will be nothing. They aren’t the Golden Bough.
[This sonnet was first published March 9, 2019. It was illustrated there: https://classicalpoets.org/2019/03/09/three-thousands-years-by-phillip-whidden/]