Olives of Endless Age

June 8, 2016

To love so, truly can become the dawn,
The shining afternoon, a tranquil eve,
Every summers’ day you want, the lawn
So green and free of weeds, rain seems naïve.
But I should prove it. Apollo, you can
Be the Olympian, if you like. Dionysus,
I know you’d rather crawl, your life a span
Between mire and fire. Crawl, though, for us.
For we are poor—poor in poverty,
Poor in earthworms—the lawn is sodden black—
And poor in gods and goddesses.  They flee
And fly–perhaps they never will come back.
So, proof I must confess: it works, for clerks
Of love, this poetry of furor. It works.


2 Responses to “Olives of Endless Age”

  1. extrasimile Says:

    One reference I should have footnoted, the title: it refers to sonnet 107: And peace proclaims olives of endless age.’

  2. John Looker Says:

    A Shakespearean sonnet Jim – very welcome – but you dig into earlier ages for your material: Mount Olympus, and even the Mount of Olives; Apollo (dawn, afternoon, eve – poetry – rationality) and Dionysus (poor chap, down amidst the primordial slime with all that life force); the gods fleeing; thank someone for the entry of love in the last line, even though on the cloak tails of those clerks.

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