The Herb Of Grace

Theology and Poetry, Politics and Prose

Immature Poets Borrow, Mature Poets Steal May 28, 2010

Filed under: poetry — Joel @ 6:36 am
we are walking through sullen fields
 
bright skies burning like crows in flame
 
searching with our fingers, clawing dirt
 
for orbs of time, wrapped in warm wool
 
 
 
because all the time in the world
 
is loose and ill managed
 
there must be some extra
 
around for the borrowing
 
 
 
but T.S. Eliot said, “immature poets borrow, mature poets steal”
 
 
 
so i’d steal the forgotten moments first
 
the ones marked by string around pinkies
 
no one would miss them
 
that string theory never worked
 
 
 
next i’d slide into bedrooms all over the world
 
give millionaires one less hour of sleep each
 
i’d have a doctor’s bag, and i’d slip each hour carefully in between the leather walls
 
 
 
then i’d go to cemeteries where the dead have been misburied
 
where the wrong relatives stoop over the wrong graves
 
we could all use a little less grief
 
so i pickpocket five or ten minutes from each one
 
 
 
then i’d go where i should have gone first
 
to the moments of mental numbness
 
on the bus
 
or in front of the dryer
 
or on a couch in front of reruns of Lost
 
i’d take all those, with greedy hands
 
with eyes not looking for forgiveness
 
 
 
after all this, i’d return
 
to my secret lair
 
where i stash the orbs of time
 
each a different size
 
a different color
 
into their various sorted bins, labeled appropriately
 
i would fill my clawfoot bath tub with steaming hot water
 
light a cigar
 
and wait for the morning
 
when i will begin to spend
 
an orb here
 
an orb there
 
to ease the pain of being
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One Response to “Immature Poets Borrow, Mature Poets Steal”

  1. roger flyer Says:

    I get it.


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