Ardent Anthesis

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

He sublimates as if he is a monk

In black and white (or gray), as if he swears

Off ordinary life, as if life’s junk

Is on Transfiguration’s Mount.  Despair

And exaltations streak straight through his mind

Because he triumphs over Tuesdays dumb

Of meaning like a Ouija board that’s blind,

Blanked letters and numb numbers in the scrum

Of boredom.  Weekdays flop about, but he

Goes into meditation on his knees.

He rises up in serendipity

Of vision as his sonnets make him freeze.

   Lines pull together in the couplet last,

     A revelation like a rose—or vast.