“And Then We Come”

“And Then We Come”

And then we come to points on rising suns
And beauties in the skies; the eyes,  sweet buds bloom along the dog run
Held in audience, thrall from so much beauty to be gleaned,
There among glare of sun and all its flowers; seen
And heard among the many who have come
To see you through the dance, the movement,  simple mansong.
Well, who can blame them, after all?
They are so beautiful, and conventions so installed
Withal that in the course of minutes you’ll applaud.
And give them what they want because they laud
Your tastes and know their needs to be the same as yours.
You’ll have no soul in torment since of course
You would not have yourself in doubt and you’ve no recourse,
. . .do you think?
Yes, well I don’t know, I ‘m not sure at all, at all.
Do I really think?
Do you really think the Buddha took the night off
From time to time to shake down bread while His saints soar aloft?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright, whose the lady for the night,
To tone the rigours. . . vigours. . .do it right. . . .

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2 responses to ““And Then We Come”

  1. I really like the “flow” in this one–the “profluence”…

    Also, like the “attitude” of the speaker 🙂

    • …and I always enjoy the words you choose to use, perhaps because they seem to express something quite close to what I had in mind when I wrote the thing in the first place. I have mutilated or “revised” this poem somewhat for the simple reason that whatever it was that motivated its writing (apparently coming at me from the north) had shifted in the twenty-four hours since (apparently rebounding or at the very least returning to me, this time from the south) and the result gave me greater pleasure than it did the first time, a little like having leftovers from last night’s roast pork and finding that it seemed to acquire a certain zest in taste that wasn’t there when first it came out of the oven and was served when it was expected to be served, and eaten, this time, without the guests. At any rate, aside from what it is I get out of music, I cannot think of anything quite so able to recreate itself with second, third, or an infinity of revisiting,…unless it might be the Writings, themselves,…but that’s an entirely different kettle of fish.

      Thank you, Alexander….once again.

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