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Thursday, February 28, 2013

ODE TO THE BEETLE THAT DROPPED ON YOU - by Glen Phillips

(or, a revelation under the Writers Tent)

Later I saw it limping in the grass,
but still strenuously struggling on
while first-time authors questioned
earnestly the great poet, celebrated
still, despite mane of silver and Johnny
Walker hue. He swept up microphone
from the platform’s trestle table, announced:
My gift also is my awful burden. Sooner
would I squeeze drops of blood from my
fair forehead than write, to order, some
subtle ode to sunsets! Look upon me
and look upon my slim but mighty
volumes and despair! Just then I saw
your beetle suddenly fly into the air,
circle once above nodding heads and
perch on that noble lorikeet brow.


                                                Glen Phillips

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