The Iliad and Mary, the Mother of God

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Five decades (more) ago he bought a pen,

A fountain pen when people used such things

Before they had their iPads, back when men

Wrote poetry with ink in hopes that wings

Of platinum and gold and gems would lift

His lines like Homer’s far above the weight

Of death and make his verses be as swift

As spacecraft towards a star and make their fate

Immortal like a Michael, son of God,

Or like a Gabriel in speed sent down

With words to azure Mary, overawed

And bowing, Virgin heart with incense crowned.

  The pen did nothing to deploy gold flights

    To heaven, lifting none to Homer’s heights.

© Phillip Whidden