Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
We talk about the aching beauty of Nature. Sometimes, it’s not a metaphor.
The mole was dead upon the ground;
He did not move when he was poked.
His coat was sleek, his body round,
His life revoked.
His parts seemed not to coincide:
His hands were stuck on at the wrist;
He was long-nosed and squinty-eyed,
He looked too healthy to be dead;
His feet were white, his face was droll,
But he was tragic dust instead
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://lanternhollow.wordpress.com/store/ and order Stars Through the Clouds! Also look for Inklings of Reality and Reflections from Plato’s Cave, Williams’ newest books from Lantern Hollow Press: Evangelical essays in pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. And look for Williams’ very latest book, Deeper Magic: The Theology behind the Writings of C. S. Lewis, from Square Halo Books!
Donald T. Williams, PhD