An old-fashioned sonority

 

My friend is dead.

I met him here

He was wise,

But he was not clear

About anything - afar or near.

For which I was grateful.

I try to hold him clear in mind -

on the random wildwind strain

where we hear old notes playing -

I maintain the glory of his voice, his name,

But I have a sick dread of a fading

Time, unmaintained by love or rhyme.

 

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◄ At the wedding of the dead

John Keats 1795-1821 ►

Comments

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Devon Brock

Sat 3rd Aug 2019 01:00

Yes, yes, I understand. There is an artist who inspired and continues to inspire me to this day, the one who set me right. He is not dead, however, just long gone down the road. Funny thing, maybe some sorta crazy synchronicity, is that I was putting a poem together about him this morning, but I scrapped it. Glad you put this one up. Much better than what I had working.

D

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John Marks

Sat 3rd Aug 2019 00:30

Thank ee kindly De-Von. This was a poem originally inspired by recollections of a poet who put me wise many years go and is now dead. The 'GD' connotations just kinda grew. I do/did like the Grateful Dead but I don't think I'd qualify as a 'Deadhead'. Happy Trails! J

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Devon Brock

Sat 3rd Aug 2019 00:23

Though I have never been partial to "the dead", John, this poem is quite beautiful for which I am grateful, as always, for your music. And though I never been a fan of "the dead", John, those parking lot carnivals were a blast.

D

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