Far From Reality's Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Far From Reality's Home



Places of fealty in my soul have dried
Up- Are scars slathered with green algae the
Toads with sun stream eyes matriculate toward-
I put myself in the middle of pantheistic mountains,
With Diana’s doorways to other worlds
Of fan fiction and accolades; but, oh Jove,
I am getting old, and nothing that I thought was
Beautiful has ever sold;
And down by the crick she takes her men, luring
Them with bottles of copperhead gin-
She lays down with them in grasses her father mows,
And makes her living preening under comely parasols-
And when its over and the earth is quiet,
The sunbeams orangish and westerly, the airplanes drowsing
Like the earthbound souls of the lower angels,
The elk come preening, each felted horn an opportunity
Toward feral religion; they gather around the tatters
Ofa lover, folded through like lost kites disproved in the
Woods- the elk bugling the sorrowful calls of planets
Without life, but they never awaken, neither man nor
Wife.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kerry O'Connor 13 September 2009

See...creative genius...every word!

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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