My Refuge

I have a refuge, somewhere hidden, to which
I withdraw from all the world's savagery:
The red-meat racist politicians, oligarchs,
And throngs of toadies, cookie-cutter subdivisions,
Foods made out of substances no self-respecting
Dog would eat, and verse of two sorts, both
Quite shitty, lame attempts by academics to ape
Avant-gardists, whose works they're too stupid
To have grasped, and dreadful trash churned
Out by those who've never tamed the Mother
Tongue. My refuge is Sir Philip Sydney, first
Among his age's masters, Donne and Shakespeare,
Milton, Spenser. As I read, my spirits rise.
I gather strength from perfect lines and perfect
Rhymes, and blessedly coherent thoughts.
I sigh when I must end my stay. I turn back
To this ugly world, sad, but somewhat fortified
By knowledge that I can go back to sample
The sublime.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 22 times
Written on 2021-11-19 at 00:25

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