Diigo Links

Tuesday, February 07, 2012

Plato's kitchen-garden feast.

Most things can't be pretended
Not even things that were imagined
Can't divide both sides by x to solve
for y;
Nor take the root to complete
the square.
One person can imagine a war,
The wishes of a billion people, for naught.
A billion more can love so far
from a lonely home that they forgot.
And one person can imagine they love another.
Like a toy, no, like a god, a mother.
That love to live between sky and ground.
A durable ghost, a blob, a mound
Of idea emotion plucked,
Noble savage, naked beast,
From a bristling vacuum sucked.
Take in what you have, the majesty imaginal. You have it. Give of yourself that kingly grace, that knightly space, damsel dream, the dragon's teeth.
My advice is strong:
A crusade a day.
Inhabit your station.
Your title, your way.
Say what you imagine, to be true.
As surgical as much the fool.
Bake brilliant your bread
As swords and coats
To be in soups and juices soaked.
Around this table, with words and fables
Bring forward to see that next garden tree
One so forbidden so as to be hidden
Behind fare apples of the naked Eve.

1 comment:

laamie said...

rereading this one in tahoe with mountain light saturating the computer screen...seems so right for the dimensions of this poem to be soaked in light