Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Is it for heydays

s it for heydays that I seek?
The stimulation of the racy life?
This vice, that satisfaction, the urge to be or have
Or do as I would do?

"More haste less speed," like shuttered slides that catch
The instant broken moment
That stirs to mind then goes;
The replica of all our yesterdays.

Turn a page, turn a page,
Another leaf, another thought,
Of what lies forward, a glance behind
Taken in the extremity of our advance.

Who cares for "sober thoughts and calm desires"
In these our busy days?
What price the aching forehead
That relates the pressures of the evening spent
In search of fond amusement?

Where to find our bearings?
What star to sight and keep a constant watch
On moods of destiny?
Juggle the stars! Reorient the sun!
Turn somersaults upon the lazy pole,
Our vantage-point for flags of nation-hood
Fixed upon the station of our brows!

Well? What god?
What GOD?
What ideal path to walk upon or from?
Who dares to march in unison with troops
The legions of the damned or dead
In favour'd obsequy, the leading principle unread,
Which states the golden rule:
"Belong or else be spurned; behave or else be turned
Upon the spit." You learned a lesson sullenly.
Throw caution to the winds. Grasp the lean bottle
By the empty neck. The heck with heroes!
Swing wildly, mow the crop like tares
That pall and fall in orgies on the stairs
To upwards swarming mountaineers, in freeway
Desperation. Visitation of the fevered mind.

Look on. Look up. In verses loudly call
The mess to order. Let others sicken on the sentiment.
Muses, poets; idylls, dreams of troubadours
In love with romance.
What the latest breath can tell
As I expire upon my bed of nails.

c. 1960

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