“Spell It for Me”
Spell it for me then, put it to the page;
Write it deftly in the margins if it satisfies,
Constricts, confines, and somehow justifies
The ciphers. Calligraphy implies a beauty caged,
A likeness petrified in seraphs, sighs beached in shadows, letters
Equal in significance to the words they form.
The lady doesn’t hesitate; both the single bee and all her swarm
Are natural metaphors in ancient scripts, instincts left unfettered
By the need to suppress or press a thought or bind
Its witnesses further than to cut a simple precedent,
The humble suggestion of a rhyme, a harbinger of content,
Coded, possibly imploded, sealed in what the mind defines
As patterned premises that merely tempt conclusions to evolve.
Haste? No time to waste before the riddle’s solved.
Attention spans are short, fuses,
Matchless dangers; no matter–the need for caution
Is the norm in the middling run of things–en masse, a daily auction
In the race and sibling competition trumps the general purpose. Muses
Ancient, gracious and inviable so often are ignored
In favour of what’s been seen and stored.
In youth, some future use; in age, necessity itself takes the floor
While invention’s mother’s lost and no one knows what for
Except to say that something in the wind’s
Brought something else again and when
The dusts are sifted and settled—so they say—the prairie hen,
The swallow and the bee no longer know where they fit in.
Capistrano weighs its greatest losses, hives their Zen
As power lines and cell phones sunder intercourse to the very end.
Posted in Age, Attention span, Bee, Capistrano, Cell phones, Competition, Danger, Fuse, Hives, Intercourse, Invention, Muses, Poetry, Power lines, Prairie hen, Swallow, Wind, Youth, Zen
Tagged Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets