Masters

Drugged into a species of cheer,
And loath to test my lifeboat's limits
By facing the swells of the latest news,
I pulled two books from my library's
Shelf, one by Milton, the other by
Hopkins, and read very different,
But wonderful works. The blind
Old man beguiled me with line
After line of melodious verse,
All made without rhyme. That's
A difficult task. Hopkins, not
Twenty, made quatrains and couplets,
But surely, more solidly, than did
His peers. Neither man, though
Inspiring, wrote much like me.
I don't care. They made music.
That's what I do. Most of the people
Who call themselves “poets” prefer
To be tuneless these days.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 29 times
Written on 2020-03-09 at 21:23

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text