August 2001

Not Lost In The New Age

 

Out of the quagmire at last

Transforming everything into fresh digits

And fractal wonderlands,

Decadently retro, delightfully D.P.W.

No eighties floor show sequins or feathers,

 

You ease your opinions

Rest eyes on anything beautifully tailored,

Life and love lines plunging,

Go wherever two or three

Necklines are gathered.

 

You were made for the naughty aughties,

Aquarian-cold nipples in shiny clothes.

I have seen you wearing the fashions 

Of terse language, hard factual numbers

While nursing the health of soulful being.

 

I know you by the quiver of antennae

How you once emerged from a world

Which obliquely reflects our own.

 

You are the rounded bottoms 

In a fountain of mythical nymphs,

Part sea creature, easily captured 

By the hazards of the land, the muck

In the too-tall reedy expanses.

 

You only have to eye the blue band 

Above the draw of an aqua pale reef 

To reveal the sense of your longing.

 

You appreciate a hand, however slight

And every slender finger in the mad

Handwritten scrawl of the search, and yet

You compose the quintessential poetry

Of neutered judgment, suspended belief.

 

Don't hide intensity, or any remaining

Smirk or troublesome quirk of personality.

Whatever triumph your soul strives for

Wherever that yearning takes you I pray

You'll leave a trail and I'll always find you.

  

©Jimmy Warner, 2011