"Grand Canyon" by Thomas MoranExcerpts from ‘Bones of Earth’ and Other Poetry by Michael Curtis The Society August 23, 2017 Beauty, Culture, Poetry, Riddles 2 Comments Proem In rhyming, timing is everything. Rhymes in wrong places make awkward spaces. A rhyme in rhyming knows more than prose. Rhymes are the rings you hear in the mind’s ear. Nature’s rhymes are free: As you shall see, My rhyme’s beginnings are paid in endings. Excerpts from “Bones of Earth” II. God held we pebbles __Within his giant hand, Threw us into nothingness __And then time began, Like the turning of a watch, __By the spinning of the gears; Each point upon the measurement __The moment of a year. VIII. See, I hold the poet __Like the poet holds the pen; He writes a letter, __I write his death. Who writes the better __Of life and tragedy; He who writes a story, __Or I who write he? IX. Fleas on the paper, __Fleas on the skin, Fleas on the eyelids __Cannot see within. I hold the wisdom, __I hold the keys, I hold the answer __Eyes cannot see. X. Flying through forever __On a point in space, I the bones of earth __That form the human race. Silly little creature; __Part God, part man, part me; Born from part of nothing __Into eternity. XXI. I am the warm spring breezes __Sighing as I blow; I am the warm spring breezes __Chasing out the cold. I am the apple blossom __Flowering in white; I am the apple blossom __Reborn in winter’s night. I am the valley grasses __Growing lush and green; I am the valley grasses __Hopeful, new, and clean. I am the purple crocus __Rising through the snow; I am the purple crocus, __From winter’s death I grow. I am the robin’s music, __Joyfully I sing; I am the robin’s music, __Herald of the spring. All of the above originally published in The Life of Trees. Michael Curtis has 40 years of experience in architecture, sculpture, and painting. He has taught and lectured at universities, colleges, and museums including The Institute of Classical Architecture, The National Gallery of Art, et cetera. His pictures and statues are housed in over 400 private and public collections including The Library of Congress, The Supreme Court, et alibi; his verse has been published in over 20 journals. Mr. Curtis consults on scholarly, cultural, and artistic projects, currently: Curator, Plinth & Portal; Co-Director, The Anacostia Project; Vice-President, Liberty Fund, D.C.; Lead Designer on the 58 square mile city of AEGEA. 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 email@example.com. 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) 2 Responses Sultana Raza August 23, 2017 Excerpts from “Bones of Earth” has it’s own rhythm, and the ideas are quite interesting. Am wondering who the ‘I’ character in Stanza VIII is. Traditionally, it’s the Muses who make the poet, and they were much older than the Olympians. But I have a hunch that this poem doesn’t refer to them… Would be nice if you could comment on my idea. Thanks, Sultana Reply Michael Curtis August 23, 2017 Before the making of a poet is the making of its bones; yes, the Muses may inspire that flesh upon the stone, yet, here is the long-view from time-out-of-mind, magma, granite, calcium carbonate and little else. In these questions of the Muse, I am reminded of a friend, an obscure painter, a classicist of Dionysian origin, a genius, I am sure, who insisted that his Muse was a wizened, grumpy old-man. Wishing you rhyme and meter and pleasure, sincerely. 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.