Raymond Farrell

When it comes to poetry
I feel like David
Before he went out to meet Goliath
Saul offered him his armour
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This evening
As I sit
Under the locust tree
The song of the birds
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Civilization is a word
That is so often heard
In contexts
Both evil and great
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Tonight
As I sit
Under the locust tree
Letting my dinner digest
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There is something strange
About naming a cemetery Mount Pleasant
After all, it is a place
Where the dead are momentarily
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You say we need peace
With this I agree
But war will never cease
As long as this world
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The short stocky
Young Chinese fellow
Who lives next door
Is perpetually
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The curse of the media
Is this
For years
They have sensationalized
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God
In His wisdom
Has allowed man
To make
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Today
As I sit
Under the locust tree
I recall that yesterday
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Having stumbled over caring
And realizing its mass appeal
They've decided upon a price
In terms of reputation and position
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Sometimes
I wonder
If
Wallace Stevens'
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It was the spring of 1985
Everyone had just
Shook off the winter dregs
The snow had melted
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Today
As I sit
Under the locust tree
A few passing thoughts
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Now that I am
Living at 30 degrees latitude
There are things
I miss
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Today as I sit
Under the locust tree
I recall vividly
My early morning walk
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