Advice from the Cavern at Delphi
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Let feathers of God’s silence lift your ears
Above the blare, the skirl near you, the sound
Of Thursday prose. Await the buccaneers
Of opera or tragedy. Impound
The boring. Swell what Keats or Homer chant.
If Verdi would have filled a tenor’s throat
With what you sculpt, or paint, or write, then slant
It with your marrow soul. Let bones first bloat
Your chest until its songs and ribs hiss shapes,
Carve statues you desire, or paint with oils
The Caravaggios your heart misshapes
Like snakes Medusa wore as deathing coils.
Refuse the lesser things. Hold out for pains
That change the world. Hold out for genius stains.
