Ezekiel I

Lately, I have been (in between worring about college and if I have even the slightest bit of writing talent) reading a lot of twentieth century English poetry. The past few days, it has been my old friend Bukowski, and I have been writing in his style. Unfortunately, I feel as if it is slightly immature, but still brillaint and incredibly effective, yet I think that I prefer a more structured work.

So, last week I read a book of "modern sonnets" entitled Tea With Osiris by Paul West. It was very well written, but I expected more of a discussion about Osiris. Upon completion, I got to thinking "who is my osiris. Of course, Fred came to mind, but that is too cliche; I needed an older figure. So I realized that the prophet Ezekiel was one which I was fascinated by, and he is my Osiris. I had a vision of a book of poems dealing with Ezekiel himself, but I am by no means ready to undertake that; wait about five years for that. However, I was inspired to write a poem about him, in that same Bukowskian style. At this point I have no title, but I plan to find one; most likely a quote from Ezekiel.


Ezekiel I

I wonder if
Ezekiel ever
Woke up in the middle
Of the night,
Wherever he was sleep;
Albeit in a cave, or
On the ground or
In the house of
A friend or
In a temple or
Wherever the hell
Else he might be
Staying
And wonder
Why the masses
Were so blind to
The truth and
Themselves
And ask why they
Wouldn’t just
Follow his lead
And act
Righteously.

How painful it must
Have been for him
To have such knowledge
And have such a burden
Placed on by some
Supreme power,
And still see the
ignorance of mankind.

No; they deny your
Categorical imperative;
Yokel-like and moronic,
Refusing to heed your
Wisdom.