Spectacular art
H
|
is spectacles left at the Tate
lay by a wall, artfully flung,
which started up a new debate.
What truth did they communicate?
We listened to their praises sung
which helped us to appreciate
this art of very recent date
by which significance is wrung
from simple things like bricks, a plate
that open hell’s or heaven’s gate
until all brazen bells are rung
in tones of transcendental weight.
We heard some prattle and some prate
as back and forth opinion swung
but all agreed the art was great
until a man came in to state
his spectacles had come unstrung:
his spectacles left at the Tate
which started up a new debate.
Wishing for skylarks
A sudden smile and lightening of the heart
were mine before I glimpsed her waiting there,
at that beloved corner. There I go
to linger yet though she can never come.
She sleeps with skylarks and one nightingale
who sings to her to gain the loud applause
of little birds whom she once fondly fed
who perch, side-by-side, in bosky shadows
until the pale dawn comes and skylarks sing.
Once she slept guarded by a little dog
who thought he was a lion. So did I
but neither of us guarded well enough.
