Words In Symmetry

In the city street brisk interplay
Of custom trade and courier
I passed a brand new book display,
Stepped through to its interior,
Browsed with neither mind nor care
Nor purpose nor ambition,
Found the poetry section there,
Inspected an edition.

Crisp new fabric stippled covering
Clean cut razor edge beside,
With the sweet sharp scent of glazing
Oils and print-work fresh inside;
The poetry poised in arabesque,
No rhyme or rhythm plain,
I asked the person at the desk
Who side-stepped to explain.

‘That’s all there is’ came swift reply.
I quickly left that hall,
And quietly weaved my way
Towards a less imposing stall,
Where on the shelves lay old and sage
Some volumes worn and battered,
The brittle pages brown with age,
Their corners cracked and tattered.

I lifted one to read its title
Faded on the spine,
An antique gilded mantle
Without detail, without shine;
The words ‘. . . Of The Great Poets’ loomed
To let me understand
That this book had been accustomed
To caressing by the hand.

On opening this old binding
A leaf tumbled to the floor
With the flaking mellow mending
From past efforts to restore;
Yet another leaf was wrinkled
In a crumpled row of pleats,
Its pale header mildew sprinkled
A distinguished work by Keats.

I mused on stanzas wistful
Of Romantic rhyming verse,
The words were charming, graceful,
Neither tortuous nor terse,
With a diction like the autumn long,
Resplendent full and ripe,
Free flowing like the song
The nightingale might sweetly pipe.

At times when idle thoughts of poetry
Happen through my head,
Or of finding words in symmetry
Or much finer there instead,
I’ll remember that the best of all’s
Not always crisp and new,
And recall the little bookstalls
With their poetry books so few.

Ken Allans last blog post..The Definitive Investigation – Don Tapscott

Your reed tastes of the forest

Oh, saxophone, you are a wild beast
in my hands
and I mull the possibilities of what might emerge
when I place you to my lips
and blow the world a kiss.

Feels like this was written just for me…
I loved the new reed on my tongue, like a forest, great.
with a fantastic final stanza…
worth the wait
Bonnie

bonnie ks last blog post..At Rockland Lake: # 95/365

Ode to a haiku;
No, haiku about an ode.
In praise of meta.

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