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

One Response to “Immature Poets Borrow, Mature Poets Steal”

  1. roger flyer Says:

    I get it.

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