A poet is not a jukebox for someone to shove a quarter in his ear
and get the tune they want to hear
by Dudley Randall
Into the air like dandelion seed
Or like the spiral of lark into the light
Or fountain into sun. All former sight
From hill or mountain was a mere hint of this.
We gain a new dimension. What had been
Our prison, where we crawled and clung like ants,
We spurn, and vision lying far beneath us...
read the rest here
I kind of wished I could present "The Ascent" as couplets...I felt like I would enjoy extra white space in this airy poem. But I didn't have the nerve to play with his format.
Nix the Comfort Zone has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Molly!