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Sundial

Beguiled by the sundial, 

The simplicity of a presence

Dependable and worthwhile, 

While certain demigods,

Serpentine and embittered by

Their lesser status, 

Gleefully dispense destinies

Divine or demonic, 

With little warning

To the human chaff

Residing on that

Still lower rung, 

As a species that

Struggles so often

To even locate the sun. 

◄ Stealthier

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John Marks

Wed 26th Oct 2022 19:10

Dear Holden I admire this poem a lot. It is difficult sometimes to maintain a conceit (extended metaphor) even in a short verse. John Donne was a master of this art, we are his acolytes.

A sonnet for John Donne (1572 - 1631)

Airy valedictions cannot span this bridge in time
What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is very definitely mine.
We both can hear the quiet roar of our own new found land
As time drifts to a stop and as we focus near and far
We no longer stand amazed at the hollow rancour of public life
And have no more time for the mere indulgences of strife.
We look too much upon these empty places, the sands
That have run out, sans mistress, husband, lover, wife.
Faces that bloomed at noontide fade like a plangent song
Sung as we leave the stage with ne’er a whisper of regret
To walk into eternity with all the grace the less deceived
Can muster, as leaves turn golden at this late turning of the year.
And now those twin compass points of greed and fear draw near
Then, quite suddenly disappear: a point upon a circle, a tear upon a face.

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