Glory be to Mother Earth for simplistic things,
For arabesques of single-stroke as a fluid stream
For cascades and creases of artless cloth, that variegates a plain of greater canvas
Wind that adorns the looking-glass sea; thrums of turquoise in monochrome ebbs
Cream-white paper recumbent in a leather-bound embrace - sallow with time
And their words, modest curlicue spires upon consonant pillars.
All things stoic, unornamental, austere
Whatever is void of guile, beguiles
With plain, pure; chaste, clear; comely, modest;
She fathers-forth without wish to coalesce her hues
Praise her.
This was a poem written for English class, as an "homage" to Hopkins' Pied Beauty. Like most of my poems, it makes me cringe, and I think very little of it. But, hey, when a blog is this empty, style's supersession of substance is indomitable.
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