Mere

“Mere anarchy…”
do you remember words like that?
rolled in stone by dead bards gone
many meanings piled high
as we struggle just to grasp
Do we wonder ever enough,
breaking thoughts with syllables?
Are we enchanted still
by such spells cast long ago?

Order breathed like moving beasts
giving frame to fears and hopes
as we reach to make a home
for the words that pass us by…

About the World

The poet tells us everything

Just not about the world

Oh sure he knows a thing or two

Yet it’s biography he’s hurled.

 

We may learn a little here

And just a bit right there

But about the man himself you see

Well we’ve gone everywhere.

 

The poet tells us oh so much

About his own deep soul

But about the world around us here

Not so much at all.