A Heretic's Hymnal

1

Bohemian somnambulists
guzzle Folgers instant
by the metric boatload
& gobble almond-butter sandwiches
into the wee hours

2

Dear Mr Kelly, Black Seed colleague,
you've got me reciting Psalm 91
and perusing Bob Kaufman
and checking out YouTube
for sonic parsecs of democratic jazz.

3

Dear Bob Kaufman, bless your ghost:
people who decide such things
call you a minor, a marginal figure.
I say glory to your solitude,
hosanna to your loneliness!
It's a restless and alert voice you give us:
irritable with a hundred hallucinations,
deft with a zillion catastrophes,
insistent as a drum, smoky as a saxophone,
hermetic as Hart Crane, gregarious as Ginsberg.

4

It's windy out
& almost summery
63 degrees
at 2.30 am
on January 12th
of the year of grace
twenty hundred twenty

5

The ornery southwest wind
improvises notorious warfare
between long-dead winter leaves
& the stars above Menotomy

6

 

Sunday, you beckon me
to the small Episcopal chapel
where good souls flaunt compassion
and spread mercy's contagion.

7

Ungovernable,
my thirst
for beatitude,
for beauty.

8

These stanzas
are my luminous mysteries,
beads of a dissident rosary,
stars of an anonymous
& deathless constellation.

9

This could be my New Year's poem,
poor banished child of Eve and Adam.





Poetry by Thomas D The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2020-01-12 at 12:46

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