Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Poets––poem by Dorothy
Modern Poets
Most of them kept
their heads down,
looked only at what
was close and nurturing
or perhaps at society's ills
or personal grief.
or personal grief.
As for the Big Questions––
who are we, why are we here,
where are we headed––,
they left that for others,
maybe the giants of
another generation
whose pronouncements
no longer seemed to fit in
with modern tastes,
where irony, whimsey,
fantasy
were all in fashion.
That way they got
written up,
selected for prizes,
were published and applauded,
maybe even became best sellers.
The rest of us (mavericks, they call us)
went recklessly out into the sun,
bared our chests,
offered ourselves up
to who knows what,
walked in a familiar way
with the invisible gods,
exploring the unknown territory
despite all the warnings and cautions:
"This way dragons be."
We were the Fools of the Tarot deck,
strolling merrily on,
oblivious of the cliff's edge,
precipice waiting just ahead.
Sometimes we went crashing down,
splintered ourselves into fragments of joy,
lost touch with what they called "reality."
But we didn't care.
We were listening to the music
of the spheres,
feeling the touch
of something we could
never see.
We knew we had found
the alchemist's gold,
the treasure hidden
in the rock.
Dorothy Walters
May 25, 2018
(image from internet)
(image from internet)
