‘Manifesto’ by Damian Robin The Society October 19, 2013 Beauty, Poetry 1 Comment Clouds skip away from the full shine of the full moon The palace is lit up The maestro lifts his stick Majesty begins The richness of kings at least in human terms How quick things are Violins gone from the ballroom Metal heartstrings crushed at the crowded dance floor bar A slow-paced miss-matched lovers’ tryst empties a club A crowd vomits onto the kerb A moist eye mirrors a fist There are boot prints on the face of the moon The perfect is undone —or perhaps never was— but culture carries on answering the question “why?” with a loose “because.” So, we can say curtly: “This age will make a mark. Let it be light, not dark. An artist’s calm duty is to make clear beauty.” The poem’s form alludes to the strophe, antistrophe, epode of classical Greek choral/chorus tradition. Damian Robin is a journalist and poet living in England. Featured Image: “A Storm in the Rocky Mountains” by Albert Bierstadt. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) One Response Beau Ecs Wilder. October 26, 2013 Albert Bierstadt’s A Storm in the Rocky Mountains Arising from a break—Mount Rosalie—in th’ clouds, is almost evanescent in its faint azure and exquisite, pale, ghost-like presence in the shrouds, but still a literal existence, icy pure, above an Indian encampment, by a stream, of teepees, trees, and grassy meadow up and downs. Nearby run horses, deer and men, as in a dream. Small birds are fluttering beside a waterfall near flowers, plants and rocks. Throughout the waters gleam; and high above, an eagle, or a hawk, soars, small against the vast and mighty mountains, tall and sure, an infinite delicacy seen overall. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.