at home with John Martin .. .

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We wrung the neck of life
slashed the face off it
i stumbled around in the dark
reached out my hands
found sheafs of crumpled paper
by a match I read the words
that burned my fingers raw
yet so inspired by what I saw
lines of text so long forgotten
they were not even born yet
thoughts I had begotten
Isaac begat Esau and Jacob
who was the younger son
these words I read again
they became living bread
manna from out of heaven
I sensed a thing I must do
and falling down
behind the spring
I smote the rock
out from it blood spewed
sentiment and feeling
the elements of truth
they were to me
fearfully astounding
or that I ever wrote
these words at all
me with no poetic grounding
and the rain on my face
that became hot spears
I smote the rock again
the mountain crumbled
and there was the path
I had been looking for
for years on years
and then my tears
they became laughter
it seemed the vision cleared
the distant rumble of thunder
pleasantness after rain has fallen
the sky much brighter
I had sat with John Martin
for an hour or two
I had read Dante’s poem
seen Scott’s antarctic
heard VW’s lark ascending
it was enough for me
to have been in Martha’s kitchen
to have ridden stapled to Moby’s back

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©edenbraytoday18.12.2024