Material Ideals
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The men who made cathedrals, workers, not
The architects; the Indian men who built
The temples, stone designs completely fraught
With beauty, curved sweet lettering in gilt;
The skirted men who raised the Giza tombs
With hieroglyphic certainty; the men
Who raised the Aztec altars for the dooms

Of cut out hearts; the monks of calming Zen
Who built their shrines; none, none of these had names
That we can know. The emperors have gone.
Though they were named and had their fancy aims,
These greats are like an ancient long-lost dawn.
What lingers from this faceless, faceless art
Is art. Its absolutes do not depart.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Mar 8, 2025 | AE, AR, ES |