Other Poems

“The objects of the Poet’s thoughts are every where; though the eyes and sense of man are, it is true, his favorite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he can find an atmosphere of sensation in which to move his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge – it is as immortal as the heart of man. If the labours of Men of Science should ever create any material revolution, direct or indirect, in our condition, and in the impressions which we habitually receive, the Poet will sleep then no more than at present, but he will be ready to follow the steps of the Man of Science, not only in those general indirect effects, but he will be at his side, carrying sensation into the midst of the objects of the Science itself. The remotest discoveries of the Chemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the Poet’s art as any upon which it can be employed, if the time should ever come when these things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated by the followers of these respective Sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings. If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus familiarized to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were ,a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.” – William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
 
Break fast and rise, a shatter of ice 
Gone in the blink of an eye 
But all you could save still led to the grave 
And buried unanswering why 

A call from the clouds, the buzzard cries out 
The spider devours the fly 
But the junky’s alive in the machine tonight 
A spirit of heroin’s line 

Tame the shame,  
cast the blame 
Pour decanters of wine 
Barren of trees in  
hurricane breeze 
Gone in the blink of an eye 

Old Robert Burns inside his grave turns 
A body breaks down by the lye 
Still would he grin at the state he’s in 
Caught in the roots of the rye 

Tinder the spark that flints from your heart 
Til flames catch and dance as they rise 
But all the while, remember my child, 
That soon the smoke gets in your eyes 

Tame the shame,  
cast the blame 
Pour decanters of wine 
Barren of trees in  
hurricane breeze 
Gone in the blink of an eye