Poesia Fantasia Poesia Dystopia




Poesia Fantasia

Poets (and others) with ink for blood

Inhabit rare cities like Simile

Bricked in word  —

Trochee, spondee, anapest

Paved and roofed —


In marble Metaphor.

Stone bridges in such metropoli,

Flow cursive-lovely and arch, full of grace,

Cross rivers of verse and

Low below, lo! their splashy muses go.

The poets (and others) with ink for blood,

Stop still in lanes.


A  wide and sonnet sky

Where rhymes of stars cluster and glitter,

Shoot, then burst, then dive.

Bardfolk in summer lie deep

In quatrain stands of grass,

Hearing and telling like crickets

Their  tomes and lines.

And high on high, the couplet kites

Dance and air, dance and air.


Poesia Dystopia

Poets and others with ink for blood

Live low in the cracks of the cities of men,

Eat nothing but cabbage and smoke,

Die septic and shorn of all hope.

You see them — rock-pocketed now —

Walking then wading, then sinking

Straight into the River of Styx.

Poets (and others) never have been

Fashioned like you and all men

The ink in their veins flows north-northwest.

While yours is a southerly wind.

These (and others) with ink for blood

Forsaken, forsaken through time

Toil in banks – totting things up

Despairing from nine to five.

Oh cry for the poets, you who have souls

They tumble from smack and from gin

Forgive them that quill-jabbery

They learnt cadence from katydids

No! Hang them high and beat them all down.

They won’t heed the clocks of the town.

Go along you poets and never mind

Nevermore, never more, never mind

Ride Okeanos away

Away from the cities of men.

Rest you easy in Elysees,

and lay you

Down safe in the laps of the gods.


RRC  2015