Long AftƏr GrƏƏk Scrolls

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

Library Streaking

 

The streaks of black across that treble brow

Were carved in Heaven but inspired by Hell.

Streaks sing that some immortal things make now.

Streaks mean that mortal things are ever well.

The streaks of black above those night dark eyes

Belong to Lucifer but more to Christ.

This realm of books hugs more than just the wise

Of life.  This realm can hoist and hold and heist.

This realm belongs to God Apollo’s harp

Because these streaks of blackness set apart

True beauty—set like arrow flights as sharp

As God Himself feels panging in his heart.

  The beauty of young Branchus gave more lift

    Of prophecy to loving lover’s gift.

 

Bewizarded and Bewildered

When beauty leaps on Wednesday, seize its wand

And wield it into wonder at a brow,

Brow’s eyebrows stretched horizon wide, beyond

The thoughts which you have had before this now,

Which you have never witnessed in its black

Deployment on a face until this spread

Above those eyes, above the lash attack

From twin black eyes upon that bevelled head

That turns to look at books or laptop screen.

Yes, really can it be that beauty such

As this exists on Wednesday, or that you have seen

In study table mode?  That’s just too much.

  It’s just too much to stare at, so you take

    Some snaps to prove that beauties are not fake.