Chaos In Turquoise Poem by Barry Middleton

Shuttered in the hermit's nest,
there is time to contemplate

a turquoise sea and silver bird,
the essence of a sacred word.

Gazing on the blandest panoply,
the solitary poet takes a stand

as drunken fishermen gather
discussing sport, politics and god.

He has studied all the books,
fiction of garden walk in robes,

Christ and Buddha and the sky,
and restive turquoise monsters,

gods with heads of elephants
and many arms to juggle truth,

and too the books of science,
now closed with the others,

wherein he did learn the one,
the link of fossils, voles and men,

and studied Icarus and angels,
and all philosophy that soared

above the sordid brown clouds
creating idols of gilded ideas.

Even a hermit seeks connection
with clouds and cryptic voices,

but he returns to loamy Earth
huddled like the old brown hen

in fear and disgust as soulless men
like lusty seabirds cry and chatter.

Thus, safe and closed in a dusty hut,
he would whisper out his lines.

Wishing for never ending things,
fails to rise on boundless wings.

Out there in the restless Gulf,
the old projected masque flies

beside the squawking seagull
above the sighs of tossing boats.

The fishermen pull in their nets
praying for blue weather to hold,

but far beyond the calm horizon
a turquoise butterfly awakens.