The Host, He Says That All Is Well Poem by Howard Nemerov

The Host, He Says That All Is Well

Rating: 3.8

He didn't want to do it with skill,
He'd had enough of skill. If he never saw
Another villanelle, it would be too soon;
And the same went for sonnets. If it had been
Hard work learning to rime, it would be much
Harder learning not to. The time came
He had to ask himself, what did he want?
What did he want when he began
That idiot fiddling with the sounds of things.

He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.

So there he was, this forty-year-old teen-ager
Dreaming preposterous mergers and divisions
Of vowels like water, consonants like rock
(While everybody kept discussing values
And the need for values) , for words that would
Enter the silence and be there as a light.
So much coffee and so many cigarettes
Gone down the drain, gone up in smoke,
Just for the sake of getting something right
Once in a while, something that could stand
On its own flat feet to keep out windy time
And the worm, something that might simply be,
Not as the monument in the smoky rain
Grimly endures, but that would be
Only a moment's inviolable presence,
The moment before disaster, before the storm,
In its peculiar silence, an integer
Fixed in the middle of the fall of things,
Perfected and casual as to a child's eye
Soap bubbles are, and skipping stones.

Bernard F. Asuncion 14 March 2017

Something that could stand..... thanks for sharing....

0 3 Reply
Geeta Radhakrishna Menon 14 March 2017

So there he was, this forty-year-old teen-ager Dreaming preposterous mergers and divisions Of vowels like water, consonants like rock. An interesting poem with soap bubbles and skipping stones. Enjoyed reading it.

0 2 Reply
Lantz Pierre 14 March 2017

Verseballs of take note: you have been called to task. Take your fingers out of your ears, or out of your arseholes, open your eyes with wonder and worry whether you have a thought in your head with enough substance that it may be polished and perfected with the hard abrasive of applied rigor to bring awe and amazement to the life of another.

1 1 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 14 March 2018

Such an interesting write by Howard Nemerov👍👍👍

0 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 14 March 2017

'Soap bubbles are the skipping stones. Wonderful inference. Congrats on modern poet of the Day.

0 1 Reply
Anil Kumar Panda 14 March 2017

I like the poem with its message. Thanks for sharing.

0 1 Reply
Tom Allport 14 March 2017

a thought provoking write that worms it's way into ones? ....... brain!

0 2 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 14 March 2017

Poor moron! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

0 3 Reply
Howard Nemerov

Howard Nemerov

New York City, New York
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