Blog people, hello. As is usual with me my last post before this one was years ago (6months? I think), and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to write more poems and post more frequently. This poem has been on my mind since December last year, it shouldn’t have taken so long to write it, actually it didn’t…it just took me a long ass time to start. About the post, I hope you understand it more than you like it but not as much as I hope it remains in your minds for a little while after you’re done reading, and if there’s nothing in the poem for you to understand I hope there’s something in you for the poem to stimulate.
It is the ultimate hope of writers, consciously or unconsciously, to influence with their pieces…and I hope this influences you, one way or the other.
“I know you all, I have seen you, in your dreams, in your minds, in all you do that makes you human, I see you, I know you…but you do not know me and I don’t know why” – Someone important, but no longer alive.
It is a fever.
The poet
They found the poet outside the park
His steps spoke many words of wine
His upper half seemed half asleep
And his feet walked a crooked line
His arms were spread as if to fly
His lips apart as though to speak
The telltale flush of liquid joy
Told tales of rum from cheek to cheek
The night herself caroused with him
Drunk on sadness, drunk on care
And drink they drank, the weary lovers
Setting wine against despair
The bonds of reason, broken down
His mind amok, and absent sense
The world in woe, the world in glory
Lay before his presidence
And it was then they walked to him
Rudely rousing man from dream
Casting eye on village bard
Taking man as man would seem
“Sing for us again, o bard
Cast your words at senses keen”
This was why they broke his peace
Winters twice his summers seen
“Sing for us again o bard
Spin sweet words from bitter truth
Stir the embers of your heart
Dig through elder years to youth. And
Let the fountain spring with might!!
Showering us with wisdom earned
Showing us the link in hand
Of teachers harsh and lessons learned
Free yourself from wine’s embrace!
We would hear a tale or two”
Turns to them, a wizened face
“Ask not man, but what is due.”
Graying eyes regard the gathered
Moving on, from face to face
“The world whirls in the hands of time
And yet all things remain in place”
“As yet all men remain the same
The board reset a dozen times
Pi-eces unaltered, so is game
Though rearranged, the given lines
You come to me as bank to debtor
You plague me with unbridled want
Says at last, man to tormentor
‘Cease at once your unjust haunt”"
It is a fever
“It is not a gift so given
It is not a boon bestowed
Nor is sight beheld as blessing
When the eyes have overflowed
With the sorrows of existence
Pain cavorts with all men born
Know the price of your persistence
Hear the words of man forlorn
What is loss compared to weakness?
What is pain compared to need?
When the soul suffers from sickness
To give blood to those who bleed
O for those suffering in secret
O for hidden scars concealed
Know a secret’s mark of secrets
Is in wounds that never healed
The world at large, and I remain
Numb in spirit, numb of mind
My inner coldness feed by pain
Reaped from years left far behind
It is a fever that I have
It is an illness I possess
It is a symptom that you worship
It is a sign that you profess
To love, to need, to love to hear
While I remain diseased of soul
You chant and clap then disappear
Then falls to me, each telling’s toll
It is a sadness that I feel
It is madness that I suffer
When the muses offer gifts
Turn your backs and run for cover
Talent has a price, and paid
This price I have, each passing day
Rise to cup and rise to can
Drink my fill then come what may
All my masters come before me
Warned me of the poet’s curse
Know you all of Byron’s story
Know you all that Poe’s was worse
Happiness is bound to beauty
Joy to all that beauty, see
But for those that birth said beauty
All is pain and tragedy
Listen to my fading voice, now
Listen to my silent plea
Know the doom of every poet
And ask of this, no more from me
I will fellowship with Bacchus
Gimlets of the finest sort
Rise to can and drunken glory
Fall to pleasure and cavort
Now my night bids me return
Wine is all that shields from sorrow
Sets me free from all concern
Trouble enough, will be tomorrow”
His soul unburdened, back unbent
All is caught in a lengthy pause
He turns to go, the air is rent
With sounds of cheer, and of applause
Now lowering balding head to ground
“Man may speak but none may hear
Sing for us again o Bard,
Has now become a thing to fear”
First post this year. There will be more. Someone important is no longer here and because of that I’ve decided to quote some lines from Death, Be Not Proud by John Donne :
…From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
http://incomepart.com/ref.php?page=act/ref&invcod=24225
