Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest having to do with prose. I realized January 19ththat I will turn twenty-four in three months, and since I started writing some poems before it’s too late: forty-six poems at twenty-three. I’ll post each Friday until the last week of March, then I’ll post one a day until my birthday on April 30th. Here’s number 19, a villanelle:
Oh grant the man a seer’s sight
In shades of blue from what will be
Arouse! Arouse! Expose the night.
Begone pale dread – a teacher’s fright
Reveal each student choosing free
Oh grant the man a seer’s sight
Within white oak, her branching height
Twelve paths diverge to disagree
Arouse! Arouse! Expose the night…
Both Tragic, Comic, wane delight
Both sweet and sour potpourri
Foe? Granted. (This man’s seer’s sight).
He cannot change them, cannot fight
Still watches horror, lets them be
Aroused, aroused exposing night
Though seeing, never felt he mighty
Hearing choices: pain & piety
Endows, endows imposing night
Don’t grant the man the seer’s sight!
