(a most meager reply)
~
speechlessness an attribute
attributed to only some,
though not he for sure,
he is one with journal full;
and quill that’s never dumb!
more than friends, caring,
poet-in-arms he is,
his weapon every sanguine phrase,
who marches not in time,
nor does his match to mine,
a different league is his!
i but willing vassal to my liege,
a joy-to-watch-thrum all his own;
no more, no less, no gush no mush...
yes, he begins where sidewalk ends,
he sings when cage-ed bird cannot,
of spangled banner’s flying high,
of eyes of flame, of jabberwock,
of Hemingway and of Thoreau,
of Kipling, Poe, and Frost
thing 1, thing 2, and wings on things,
remembers more than we’ve forgot!
~
this then no tinkers to evers no chance,
but a *dear-Lord request,
a gonfalon nuance,
from lip-stead-to-rhymer, a dance!
for...
a poet’s quill is not for sale,
so i await the chariot;
to see the flaming horsemen,
to watch his mantle fall to earth;
then and only then,
shall i attempt
to hold his pen, for
should i see what men should not
then and only then,
shall i hope to claim my lot.
so please Lord, please,
for all my toil
and all my trouble
hear my plea, dear Lord...
his quill, his journal
for this i plead...
make it far away,
make it not today,
but when the time comes,
could you, would you,
please make my portion a double?
~
post script.
the above in response to his construction of an poem entire... his nod, his heart, his thanks entwined. i did not could not, ever sing this mistrel’s song, though would i, could i, in a New York min-ute, thank his person, ever long!
i admit... i love this guy, and though i aim to learn from him and mimic, never in my wildest dreams would i claim his equal. a class his own, i but find my seat and call him, ’sensei’!
*poetic reference abounds here...
