Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II: Royalty
through and through and through;
blue blood thoroughbred; 25-K golden Bough
of the Mystic Tree of Tea Tephi
...
i turned my eye toward the future
and watched as lemurians returned.
stars guided sea. the weather
grew tempest. heavenly calm burned.
...
what i want to do is
spin poetry center stage
set humanities focus
...
old masters were the winners -
the shining ones. golden
suns snow white bright,
...
i grow old and weary weak and dim
dull and vulgar: so
when will i see you again?
...
so you sent off some rockets-
to the moon, no less-
starting in 69,
...
a factory in prague
produces free energy.
consortia in brazil
...
when we surrender we die.
life lifts outstretched arms and we,
poor adams, uncomprehending
...
when stock market reports feature
cairo, sao paulo, bangalore,
i'll know the world is better,
...
the tempered mastery which like a wheel,
all things centered round revolving axis,
permits the freedom to all emotions feel,
in bondage to none, is crown of life's race!
...
our love will be in eclipse
when lights in heaven go out
and the moon from sky drops
and lions from lambs sprout.
...
who comes by this way
whether it be from fields of history
law medicine philosophy or physics
must renounce all understanding of self
...
Doug Bentley inhabits a pocket of quiet in Richmond, BC, Canada, where the world's clamor arrives only as a faint rumor. He prefers the unfashionable luxury of privacy to the gaudy dividends of publicity. Consequently, you will find him conspicuously absent from the various social media platforms. In a world obsessed with immediacy, Doug remains unburdened by cellphones, wristwatches, or deadlines imposed by others. He lives by no deadlines but his own. For those who wish to contact him, however, Doug remains accessible to the curious at dougbentley.com.)
A Canadian's Poem (1)
and what, after all,
was so wrong
with simple rhyme
and quaint folk
ballads of love?
have poets often
not been first
burst to spot
shape still forming from ground
dipped diamond-tipped pens
in pools of time
stirring up
currents of insights
that grew, in course
of time to waves?
do we not
compose,
solely for handfuls
of loyal listeners
bubblings up wellsprings,
words
meant merely to delight
and entertain the mind
moving heart to very muscle?
but what have all these labours
by we self-confessed saviours,
the 'unacknowledged legislators
of the world'*
produced?
a laugh or two?
maybe even a few
bucks on the side?
a moment's pride?
lifetimes
brain-busting
heart-bursting
outpourings
measuring,
on balance,
about a penny each?
yet still poets
ply trade
reporting,
as is calling,
pivot points of day-
so what can
such a minute
band of misfits,
forever at odds
with every era
do but
lift up
unheard voices
on behalf of
voiceless humanity?
*Percy Bysshe Shelley: A Defence of Poetry; 1821
The greatest discovery of the 21st Century will be the discovery that Man was not meant to live at the speed-of-light.
The electric light bulb illuminates all that it touches.
Moral judgements block perceptions.
Will is no substitute for intelligence.
The greatest discovery of the 20th Century is the discovery of the technique of the suspended judgement.
The greatest discovery of the 19th Century was the discovery of the technique of discovery.
Good poems! Attractive! Hard a little took time to understand!