The Mad Dogs of Poetry
My eyes cross a snowy vista
where beneath
lay my unwritten works,
poems of genius.
But their paws dipple
a virgin snow
marking and teeth snarling,
Lurchers, Greyhounds and Wolves
vaulting across natural barirers,
tacking trees in desolation
and spoiling our natural glens
exposing the steepness of craggy tors,
all carniverous, howling growling
across a a landscape witnessing
an awful time
barking in my head
rushing for my mind
weird dogs, frothing wolves
just hurtling
through forests not caring
of a direction as they
scatter across rocky ledges
the mad dogs of poetry
in chase
of the verse of ultimate beauty
of the human condition, the human soul
personified ... the superb antlered deer
a gentle and beloved beauty.
It is a chase a hunt
that has no respite.
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