ManicDdaily at dVerse Poets prompts us with the theme of Duty Calls.
He who would write a poem builds a kite
and owes a duty to the laws of flight,
a duty first to trim and balance it
and craft it as his inner self sees fit
in faith that what he's building grants control,
will let him soar, dip, loop-the-loop and roll.
These form the grammar he is pledged to use,
the only truth that he is bound to choose.
These will for fleeting moments in the sky
tout his ideas both trivial and high.
The earth is flatter now than a tin tray,
but kite finds shapes in which the angels play.
So... solving all the problems of the world?
Too much to ask! A violent wind has swirled
and kite has nosedived; world has gone to ground -
though individual men new life have found.
The poet's duty to the truth of things
is first of all to sense them through the strings;
the tugging of the kite, the going slack,
the shapes the kite makes that the strings bring back.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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