Up to a gnu’s ankle bones
swamping through the grasses of the Serengeti
a prospector breeches
hints of night’s voila
How to find the insect of faith
in such a pond of undistilled splatter
How to steer the helm through this Iago
chasm of fatal idolic inner substance
an image, a stage, a muse, sun screen of fame
the obvious school rules from the past brewery
of life’s stuff on a satellite of anxiety
needing a touch-up of oriental sobriety
uncommon ingredients of a writer’s inspiration
along a moat of moon and alarm
no crooner but a roamer amid life’s nemesis
without tonsorial protection of sacred letters
- Ben Gieske, September 9,2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow..very impressive piece..i take a bow and tip my hat, and then raise my glass, Ben/..this is wonderful, and a pleasure to read..