My son’s back yard
yields prodigiously,
vegetable-glutted
because rabbit-free.
So I have tomatoes
in my grandma’s old bowl —
what better emblem
of summer’s warm soul?
Such joy to the eye,
such promise of bliss —
the Louvre should have
such beauty as this!
Beauty shocks, and steals our breath,
makes our neurons fizz,
forces us to contemplate
what can’t be real
is.
In solemn grace
amid death’s drums
something beautiful
this way comes.
With thanks to Shakespeare
and to whatever benevolence
sent the swans to the pond.
In no way, dear reader, do I intend this to be some saccharine comment
about how things aren’t as bad as they seem:
things ARE as bad as they seem.
But sometimes there’s a moment of reprieve.
It’s a wonderful thing
how we devise
the dressing of function
to please the eyes
thus the bed warmer
whose humble duty
the artist crowns
with touch of beauty
it isn’t enough
to warm our tosies
it must perforce
be painted with posies.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
If ever a bit of beauty
reached out
distilling itself from life’s blur
hailed us
this is it.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
