Clouds skip away from the full shine of the full moon
The palace is lit up
The maestro lifts his stick
Majesty begins
The richness of kings
at least in human terms
How quick things are
Violins gone from the ballroom
Metal heartstrings crushed at the crowded dance floor bar
A slow-paced miss-matched lovers’ tryst
empties a club
A crowd vomits onto the kerb
A moist eye mirrors a fist
There are boot prints on the face of the moon
The perfect is undone
—or perhaps never was—
but culture carries on
answering the question
“why?” with a loose “because.”
So, we can say curtly:
“This age will make a mark.
Let it be light, not dark.
An artist’s calm duty
is to make clear beauty.”
The poem’s form alludes to the strophe, antistrophe, epode of classical Greek choral/chorus tradition.
Damian Robin is a journalist and poet living in England.
Featured Image: “A Storm in the Rocky Mountains” by Albert Bierstadt.
Albert Bierstadt’s A Storm in the Rocky Mountains
Arising from a break—Mount Rosalie—in th’ clouds,
is almost evanescent in its faint azure
and exquisite, pale, ghost-like presence in the shrouds,
but still a literal existence, icy pure,
above an Indian encampment, by a stream,
of teepees, trees, and grassy meadow up and downs.
Nearby run horses, deer and men, as in a dream.
Small birds are fluttering beside a waterfall
near flowers, plants and rocks. Throughout the waters gleam;
and high above, an eagle, or a hawk, soars, small
against the vast and mighty mountains, tall and sure,
an infinite delicacy seen overall.