[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2008 10:57:53 -0600
SUNDAY MORNING: MEMPHIS.
(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)
No peignoirs in this pad,
no green cockatoos,
coffee is the closest I can come
to Stevens' mood.
And sun.
The wind-herded clouds have moved on out
letting sun sing with all stops pulled.
The air is wet, kiss-sweet and kindly warm
after a dreary night of rain.
Birds are rejoicing --
rejoicing, Wallace, not questioning -- rejoicing!
Yes,
and yes, of course,
they're still quarrelling over which branch is whose,
they're only human after all,
none of us get to choose
our fate.
I have no quarrel with religion anymore,
having finally realized that I am my own.
I am my own religion, yes,
and I stand before you proselytizing me,
and knowing full well that I have no pedigree
other than that of wanting to be true to what
is truly me.
Show us your Scripture,
you say.
My gospel is as simple as a mule's bray,
it is the Augustinian way:
"Love and do what you like."
Mike Geary
Memphis
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