Hobbled
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Yes, even ugly ones, this mud-like one,
This toad partakes of pure divinity.
He hauls himself from hunkered shade to sun
And shows his lug-skinned grin. The Trinity
And Buddhahood are not upon his mind.
In fact he blinks no mind but only brain.
His grin is a like a cast off slice of rind
Of rotten melon, mortal as the stain
Of sin in Satan, Pandemonium
That prince’s realm. The toad has all the charm
Of stench that settles like ammonium
Inside your nostrils, sweat of underarm.
Yet still encumbered in his crawling weight
He asks no pity for his knobbled fate.
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