[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM

  • From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2008 10:57:53 -0600


(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!  
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

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