I have been writing poetry for a while. I put something on my blog earlier this month. A number of the poems have a political theme and won’t stand the test of time or literary chops, so I might as well expose them now. I will be adding more from time to time. Here’s a sonnet, written about a year ago.
An Old Poet’s Warning
“The centre cannot hold”–Yeats’s sharp line
Seems to be on the verge of coming true.
His “second coming” is blocking my view
And I feel shivers moving up my spine.
His slouching “rough beast” has emerged full grown
With a ghostly pallor like a carrot.
Its reedy voice tweets just like a parrot
And traps us in its stultifying drone.
The center is where all the bright rays meet
And where opposing views get evened out.
It’s the only spot to hear freedom’s shout
And to dissipate rancor’s stifling heat.
If we can awaken before too late,
We still may avoid Yeats’s dreadful fate.