we broke the beautiful language
because we were petulant, bored with ourselves
between the wars or drudging toward the last one
gathering in the small cafes, life on the cheap.
was very sweet.
dissatisfied, ambitious for sure.
fuming at lilacs
dreaming of greasy chops
we made a name.
and scorned the blue fairy Hope
and left to the world,
the golden carriage without the spokes,
our crummy disdain.
our listless need
to paint ourselves into corners
to predict the apocalypse in a languid way.
we broke the beautiful language
thinking we could always call it back
it was ours, wasn't it? knowing its place.
blaming the war for our distemper, high dogies
we decreed
men should all desultory be
and we the kings of desultory lands.
or desultory poetry, at least.
no place for singing birds
but how we loved the absurd
oh we were kings.
we broke the beautiful language
sending it weeping away
we reconvened the human race as now
forever clinging to the wreckage
without God (-you SODS-I sobbed on coming to
your place in the road)
and had another cafe au lait, a few smokes left.
and we were pleased
with ourselves and our unease, our poseur's angst
foisted on future generations.
just a few dissatisfied poetasters
philosophers, feasted on gloom.
just about ruined
the English language and human fortitude
crushing the spirit of their time, already crushed.
and maybe yours right now, your spirit. Listen.
adrift in Paris, under the lime trees
with your clear brow furrowed thinking on vapid dirges.
who needs them.
mary angela douglas 13 june 2023;29 june 2023
note on the poem: I do mean dogies, as in motherless calves;I did not mispell doggies.
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