Trivium - A Literary Blog
It is impossible to imagine how anyoneBen Douglass
Can read the lilting, lyrical word's
Of Robinson Jeffers, and not perceive greatness.
His narrative verse rivals Wordsworth,
Electrifying, making goosebumps.
The world will lose something of deep moral value
If ever we let his words slip away.
With words he paints a picture of California's
Peculiar ambiance with unsurpassed vividness.
He lived, breathed and felt the sublime shoreline
Of California's north coast, with a
Lyrical, meditative passion so complete.
Constantine CavafyBen Douglass
This great Greek poet
Now celebrated throughout
The Western world.
His greatness has steadily
Grown since World War 1
The consummate master at
Scene presentation, intense feelings,
And direct, unornamented verse.
His poetry is erotic
And openly homosexual.
His principle themes are
Love, Art and Politics
Finely tuned by his Greek Sense.
Born of Greek parents in
Alexandria, Egypt, where
He lived and died
The greatest modern Greek poet.
The song of an afflicted American manBen Douglass
Hard to hear and even worse to see
He believes the world hasn't changed much
Since that Great Conflagration that was WW2
Unbeknownst to him a separate Reality has arrived
It came like a thief in the night - during sleep
He continues to walk the streets of
Darkened, troubled cities that are just as clueless
As our Afflicted American Man.
He shakes his fist at passersby, shouting:
"What have you done to my Reality, my Dream, my Life?"
He walks slowly, deliberately into the countryside
Still not aware what really happened or how.
He sits under a big tree under a big blue sky
And puts a bullet in his brain.
This old poet dreams of forgottenBen Douglass
Words that were once alive and green
And brought pretty young girls with
Dresses and sashes of Spring & Summer
Squealing and clapping with
Somewhere far and away in
A corner of a faded & dusty room
In a blighted, cold and forsaken house
Down deep in a neglected & gnarly
Forest of dead brambles, thorns and
Forgotten vineyards; this old poet dreams.
Through highs & lows of perpetual destructionBen Douglass
Of marital bliss. The sun sets one last time,
Finally...forever and not to
Death do us part.
Breaking the surface, gulping oxygen, looking
At a world I haven't seen in many years.
It's a familiar, peaceful, sobering sight
To behold. Unlike the drunken shadow that
Stalked my days.
As I open the door to a new day and trip
Over empty bottles of rum, rye and vodka;
I pause long enough and look back at the
Shadow prostrate on the couch.
Who will take care of the little furry ones?
The creatures who depend on us for everything.
I mumble and cry in sadness and confusion.
The hand of Fate grabs my hand and says: "Run."
( The air is alive with strains of the Beatles
song, Let It Be. I start running, running
As fast as the wind pushes my back
Towards a new day, a new path, a new journey.)