Did Orpheus Have Wings?

 

Image: testere.com

Image: testere.com

Orpheus is what I would call him
were he mine to name—
this still figure, shrouded in a white hoodie,
sitting beside the even stiller waters
each morning—earlier than most.
I watch him from my kitchen window—
this offspring of gods. Why did they call him human?

He towers above his peers, peers down on them
with dark eyes and an expressionless visage.
Waiting for the words to come? For sudden inspiration
that once received, he accepts, incubates, and births?
Waiting in the stillness for his muse to show herself?
Or waiting for the wisdom of the gods
to nourish his own.

Is he, as I suspect, a poet?
Or is it that in his contemplative silence
I ascribe to him my sacred aspirations?
Would that I be bound to him, to this ephemera!
Would that, I too, drink deeply of this nature,
unfurl, then, my own white wings, and fly!

Photo: Graham Owen

Photo: Graham Owen

 

My last post was so negative and after reading “Steverino’s” interview on dVerse Pub Talk, I had to put up something more inspiring. Please drop over and enjoy Laurie Kolp’s conversation with Steve Elsaessar who blogs at The Fourth Dimension.

And if I”m slow to return your visits, check out this morning’s rant about my Internet providers.