Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
The next two poems have no excuse for appearing together other than the fact that they are both too short perhaps to fill even a Blog entry by themselves. Or perhaps they can claim to exemplify the fact that the one feature shared by both human philosophy and human experience is irony.
ON THE PHILOSOPHER AFTER DEATH
Riding high on the Life-Force’s tallest, triumphant wave,
Precariously poised above its lowest trough:
When first he saw things thus, his face turned grave,
And Bergson shuddered, and coughed a nervous cough.
THE TRAFFIC ON ILLINOIS 294
Still searching, yet not knowing what
Lies at the end of our long quest,
We love our restless life, and yet
We sorely long for rest.
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://www.createspace.com/3562314 and order Stars Through the Clouds!
Donald T. Williams, PhD