Beginnings (Cont) A Bus Poem - Poem by robert dickerson
Getting born was the easiest thing you ever did
the rest of the game is uphill all the way-
so many fine and lovely notions cracked
by the bow-splitting storms that howl at the midst of things:
Schubert never finished his finest symphony
Leonardo couldn't seem to get a picture done
Mike Angelo himself left a few things in the rough
and, even this poem, remarkably easy to start
can't decide, as yet, just how to end,
or, like the paradise bird, just how to land.
Thus, as this bus lurches testily to a stop
I cease my cloudy morning revery.
Sorry' dear Goethe, you wisdom is, well, sublime-
your cushion on Parnassus doubtless secure
but in this case, at least, you err, I'm sure:
not even Goethe can be right all the time!
Comments about Beginnings (Cont) A Bus Poem by robert dickerson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You