|
By That Child Wild Of Yore
by Philip F De Pinto
What I was
And am
Was nay a man
But a child
Thumb utilizing
Nay to pacify
Nor know
Which way the wind
But to advance him
On the road
Which would further
Of him
Make a riddle or maze
And what she was
Who ne'er quizzed puzzles
Or thumbs
Or where such a child
As I was and am
Would advance
Down such road
Was one who would
Respite her vehicle
And risk taking
On as fare - curiosity
As would slay or sate in her
The litter
And what are the odds
That in quelling such
There should be a moon
Squatting on its cumulus
Siddhartha like
Or ribbon
Yet running
In its spool?
And I a hitcher
Enigma by any other name
Would be likewise driven
Toward further befuddlement
By the child in her wild of yore
With her rosary slung o'er
A rear viewing mirror
And the crucifix
Pendular mimicking
Lances the trance in my boil
To ceasing wallflower posing and dance
And I would perchance
For a ride be taken or fool
Or the man that I am potentially
Until such as are children
Or ribbons are bidden to cease
Being wild
Ratcheting in their spool
Thumbs will e'er be of use
To bay the noose
Of oncoming man
And womanhood
12/06/2014 Posted on 12/06/2014
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by June Labyzon on 12/06/14 at 03:27 PM This may well be one of the most beautiful odes of yours I've ever had the chance to read. The image of the rosaries, such a common image in our childhoods in our neck of the woods, made to sound like a special rare treat. I love this, Philip, thank you so much. In my favorites it goes. |
|
