Saturday, October 30, 2010

After Reading Robert Lowell

Once more October, season of "hope and change":
my forty-second year.  These autumn leaves
are crisp bits of eye-fire, foliate explosions
of mortal color, whose loss one always grieves.

I gather books, huge stacks. Some say that's odd.
Scores of used volumes -- poetry, religion.
I wonder if all these dusty tomes estrange
my heavy soul from the ever-living God.

I am stockpiling sins -- lust, wrath, and pride:
inveterate private peccancies, the old
fall-bys that make one sink into dire disgrace.

O Distant One, have mercy on me, weak-willed
addict of leisure and rhyme and cyberspace,
who crave the peace of Thy kingdom. Come, abide.


first draft October 2010
latest version May 2011