I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

9 September 2009

Mourning the Goat

30 Poems in 30 Days: Day 7
Write a poem that involves an animal. 

There is no goat.
I can hardly believe it.
But it has been declared
on national TV
by the head man.
I must  accept it.

I remember my Dad
personally ironing
his white apron
with the blue and gold,
its tiny suitcase,
and my Mum poking fun.

Hearing the banter,
I loved to imagine
jolly half-naked fathers
riding that billy-goat
in their nice clean aprons
as it pranced, tossing its horns.

That must be when I first
heard the word “regalia”.
Much older, I liked to think
of an inner circle of Magic,
and the goat perhaps
a metaphor for Pan.

But to learn that there is no
goat, no ride, no dancing,
no half-nude cavorting
of any kind – that’s cruel.
No secrets, no mystery …
no more magic.
 

Note: Dan Browns’ next book will be about Freemasonry.
The Masons have pre-emptively revealed that they have no secret rituals.

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