Absorbed in
An anthology of
Classic poems
On a quiet night
With wings of
Uptake & delight
Unbeknownst to me
My soul took flight
To wonderland that
Whets poetic appetite
With musical poems
Some brain-racking,
While some are
Savory but light.
Crossing paths with
Celebrated poets
From my fantasy plane
I decided to alight
So that
The messages
By respective poems,
They further explain.
Cognizant that
Hearing things from
The horse’s mouth
Like Antarctica
Will not make things
As far south.
I saw
Helen Steiner Rice
To read
Whose inspiration works
Like ‘Christmas Guest’
Is upliftingly nice.
Me when she beheld
This she said
“Till your
Corporeal being’s
Turn come to be a sod
Never desist to
Vest hope in God,
Who foresees and shapes
All that will unfold.
Always dwell
In the vineyard of
The Lord. ”
Drew close
James Stephens
With Helen
You are right nod.
“Chap,
If you look around
You will behold
On everything
The hallmark of
Creation stamped
By God!
Also excellent, from
The ordinary extra,
You will hear
Nature’s God-praising
Orchestra!”
William Henery Davis
Courteously came by
To say hi &
“Be content with
What you have
You will be happy
When that gratuitously
You learn to love.
See not you why
The example set
By the butterfly,
On a rough rock
That sleeps content
Neither with
A mattress
Nor a blanket! ”
Enda St. Vincent Millay
Soon I met
Whose fame surfing
The tide of time
To date, which
Continues to resonate.
“As the saying goes
‘The world is lovely
& the loveliest
is enough!’
To be happy
Try to nurture
The culture
Of admiring nature.
Waste no time
Visit the mountain
The secret of happiness
To you, it will explain.”
After seconds’ walk
William Ernest Henley
Approached me
For a hard talk
“When beset
By challenges
Never give in
That is a great sin!
As for me, whenever
I experience a fall
Soon I get up as the
Captain of my soul.
Though
In the dark night
Of the soul
God’s eyes seem far,
For the downhearted
He is a lodestar.”
I saw Elenor Frajeon
By a roadside
With a book in her hand.
“Love to books
Is a launching pad
To a wonderland,
Where readers
Stumble on authors
Of this & that brand.
Hence, books
Window to audience’s
Souls they will stand.
Also, read my poem
That draws attention
To unconditional
Mother-to-child affection
That defies description.”
I met anon
Austin Dobson
“A rose
To itself
A question
Opted to pose.
‘I wonder why
This hoary-headed
Gardner refuses to die?’
But soon
A wind blew up
Its sun-withered
Petals to the sky.
The analogy teach
On the timeline
Brief, beauty to a halt
Will screech.
Patted me on the back
“My son,”
Ben Johnson
“Like a Lele
Being short and brief
Could render life
Ease and relief! ”
Sat on a rock
Samuel T. Coleridge
A secret broke.
With bitter smile
Waving his
Pen as a tool,
“Those who think
A poet is a fool
They will know
Who is rather the fool
If they introspect with
A head cool!”
I saw Walter De la Mare
Exactly the way towards
His poem character,
Old Susan, he used to stare.
“Susan was taken away by
A romantic fiction
Past midnight
Sat on chair
Absorbed in a monologue
‘Breeching
Cultural norms
Is not fair!’
After
One’s age
Did advance
In reading fiction
One stands
For reliving
The past
A chance.
Soon came W. Blake
Me to the graveyard
To take
Pointing to
A headstone
“Now, my enemy,
My anger’s object,
Is dead.
Subject to a
Conscious pang
My head,
It is divested of
A soft pillow
I go to bed!
Yourself you
Must not find
In a mood
For an axe to grind
Otherwise, for a reason
You’ll become blind.”
For supper
Volunteered to be
My host
Robert Frost.
He stressed
“To settle
Punitive price
As lethal
As fire is ice!”
Came a guest
Edmund Spencer
To tell us
The mystery
That puts
His phlegmatic
Dream object
And he, her
Pursuant lover, asunder.
“When Fire and ice
Are locked in
A love’s dorm
Out of the norm,
One may not change
The other’s form! ”
Via the window,
I saw a graveyard
Past the meadow.
When my eyes
Caught sight
Of Julia Caroline
I took steps
To sit by her side
The meaning of
Eternal love
To understand.
“A kiss on the lips
From a lover
Is a keepsake stamp
That transcends
An earthly map.”
There in the graveyard
I met Sara Teasdale
“Like a low-hanging
Ripe fruit
In the gray time
When a lass
Is off guard,
To better woo her
A chance a lad
May stand.
Also, from affection
For physical intimacy
Many a lass could
Give added attention.”
With raised brow
I posed
“Why should you
Show a bent
To profanity?”
“My friend
A poet
Couldn’t be
Taken naughty
For expressing
Man’s sexuality!
For the answer
Try to meet
Anne Bradstreet.”
Before I asked
Sara why “You
Committed a suicide?”
She got clear
From my side.
Anne Bradstreet
I met
“It is tragic
To have at home
A child with
A down syndrome!
What lurks
In the subconscious
Of an author or a poet
In the heat of the moment
Through his/her pen
S/he may seek an outlet
So, to date,
Regretting
“Why did I
Write this
Taboo-seen
Thing!”
Seems
Some author’s fate.
I saw Thomas Hood
Amidst his harvest
That fares good
He told me
“From a perfumed
And
Well-attired lady
Who belongs
To the top brass,
It is by far better
To tie a knot
With a provincial lass,
In her hair
With a fresh flower
Plucked out of the grass
She shines bright
Bathed by sunlight!”
Out
On the street again,
I met
Lithuanian
Salomejia Neris,
I became happy
As I never wanted
Her to miss.
I asked her about
The harrowing fate
She, her father,
Mother, siblings
Neighbors and
Many an age mate
Underwent.
“During
The World War II
Children, who
Otherwise, were
Considered
Unfit for themselves
To fend,
Were forced
The brutal Nazi
To defend!”
Soon I met
Richard Lovelace
And John Scott
Locked in
An argument hot.
The former
“I want to head
To the front
It is
A source of pride
To fight on
Nation’s side.”
The latter
“Paying a price grand
I cannot understand!”
Edwin A. Robinson
Came to tell me the story
About Richard Cory
“Measure not
Your life by
The success of your object
Of admiration,
The one a role– model
You hold or held,
I am afraid
Off guard
He can lodge
A bullet in
His head.”
I saw William B. Yeats,
An Irish poet
Who raised issue hot.
“How an
Angel helped out
A tired priest,
A snap who
Could not resist,
While a laity
In his parish
Was ceasing to exist.”
Robert Herrick approached
Me this to speak
“I am smote
By grief,
To see a Daffodil,
Like human beings,
Turning brief.”
Said Emily Dickinson
“It is when you fail to hit
A target heartfelt
You’ll understand
The meaning of
Having something desired
Under your belt.”
At last
I saw
Edgar Allan Poe
To relate this to me
He made haste.
“Though a pauper,
From my soul mate
No earthly,
Heavenly power
Managed to asunder me
To date.
After reading this long
I realized why
Poets never die.”
“Via my works”
Like Shakespeare
“I will tower
Akin a mountain
Basking with fame
Even an emperor
Could not obtain!”
Expressed Pushkin
The might of the pen.
At last I jolted back
To my normal self
And put the anthology
Back on the shelf.
BY ALEM HAILU G/KRISTOS
THE ETHIOPIAN HERALD FRIDAY 21 JUNE 2024
