made of madder stuff

[revolutionrabbit]

I use to read Nietzsche
now I don't read peachy
but he told of dancing with a star

and we still can't imagine
how many stars there really are

oh, I use to believe in poetry
made by all
now I know there will never be
another Dylan
Thomas
craft and sullen art
knows something is happening

he could sling a lot of Guinness, records
into the night of his holy grail cups, a bit fey
off the top of his bushy head, like a poem
a tad of Druid lore covered in blarney

those stuffy English poets
tried to follow on his faery dust heels
turning on the leaf tongue, a glower of green

people could drink a whale
and live to tell the tale
a poet like that had a lot
to ponder, when there were
so many imponderables
and that childhood pond
that we are out of, we are out of our pond

Bukowski was a different kind of drinker
he wrote about the ravages of the savage
average man, the moon in the can
while listening to Mozart
he could carry on a conversation with the wall-paper

was made of madder stuff
coming down that hose tube of spirit matter
was born out of that
flaunted a flamboyant style
could dance with the devil awhile
and play lost marbles with the marble losers

never could quite get the tremor of his voice
the trick was to gargle rut gut whiskey
while doing a little tightrope jig
and not care a fig, make the bar whores smile

except only to dig the amount of paradoxes
on the head of a bottle of ransacked estate wine

a philosopher-poet like Nietzsche knows about
how many stars
there really are, made of madder stuff
then we can dream

[dadio]

Ah, yes, Nietzsche, read him well from 1971 onwards. Dylan Thomas, Bukowski are my brothers-in- poetry. I found much in this poem to give me that feeling of reaching out and touching.

[judih]

love the playful line formations
the rhythm of quick thought and deep care