Words Do Not Have to be Gilded on Ivory
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The tatters down below the lines he writes
Take on a meaning. There the smudgy stains
Incurred inside his shopping bag are blights
To hopes of sky. This almost preordains
The opposite of poetry. The mess
He pulls the papers from, the pieces of
The ruined foolscap pages, too, impress
Him suddenly that his own saint-like love
Of wonderment, satori-like, can prove
That sonnets, villanelles, such emerald jewels
Can rise from anywhere. The boring groove
Of life can act like Seven Muses’ tools.
A serendipity of grace or power
Can build on ugliness a golden tower.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Sep 23, 2024 | Uncategorized |