Image: Unsplash, downloaded (https://unsplash.com/photos/7S80NSEEVqU) 08.10.2022.
Not a Lunatic, But a Moron
“I’m not a lunatic, but a moron.” – Ezra Pound
Not a lunatic, but a moron, he said of himself,
hoary shade, shadow-hidden, ancient seafarer
mounting the dais, more persona than poet,
deep eyes scanning the true, false, lost in the crowd.
Under furrowed brow, heavy lids, Tiresias, returned
from Hades, shuffles from his Stygian boat, breath still,
white hair, backlit with sun, wild after the fall from
apotheosis, yet still, after all, a giver of rain & grace.
His ship sails once again, sails to the sea’s shallows,
grounds there on sand to cheers, whispered rustle of
robes like the gust of a thousand arrows falling
from the sky, falling on the centaurs & their crimes.
About the Author: Eugene Stevenson, son of immigrants, father of expatriates, lives in the mountains of western North Carolina USA. An Eisenhower Fellow, Pushcart Prize nominee & author of the chapbook, The Population of Dreams (Finishing Line Press 2022), his poems have appeared in The Galway Review, The Hudson Review, In Parentheses, San Pedro River Review, Third Wednesday, Tipton Poetry Journal, & Washington Square Review among others.
