image borrowed from southernmetals.com
Warts and All
“There is a road from the eye to the heart
that does not go through the intellect.”
--Gilbert Keith Chesterton.
Behold the beauty
of things dead & discarded;
find your reflection.
Harmony or discord, gleaming gems or gruesome garbage, three coats
of hand-rubbed wax over four coats of metallic paint on a fender or the
rust pocks & pits on it decades later sitting in a forgotten corner of a
farmer’s field, a weather vane of an iron rooster bent in half from a bolt
of lightning, a pious pile of salvaged vehicle brakes, toothless gears,
and bent hub caps, a dead John Deere with flat tires covered mostly
with blackberry vines, a building after a fire, a castle keep or rampart
centuries after deterioration, shattered swords amidst antique weaponry,
acres of old planes, military & conventional, with wires & straps waving
in the breeze, row after row of mothballed ships of past wars, huge
wrecking yards where cars are stacked up like grotesque waffles, ivy-
choked moss-encrusted wrought iron gates hanging askance on broken
hinges, headless statues with missing wings & appendages, abandoned
houses, factories, & insane asylums still standing--filled with equal parts
pain & joy, discarded dreams, fat spiders & useless bedsprings, 100-year
old newspapers found as insulation in pioneer cabins, the sheen on
elk ribcages picked clean by predators, insects, & weather, log jams of
smashed trees clogging fast-flowing streams, lichen & fungal mushrooms
sprouting from trunks & branches, seedlings growing out of the rotted
hearts of dead-black stumps, perfect geometry created accidentally
on sidewalks & curbs, in train yards, & across rooftops, busted padlocks,
rings of unclaimed keys, patina that has eaten through solid steel doors,
a flag preserved & displayed despite its tattered edges & cannonball
holes, ship wrecks left on remote beaches, greasy wooden bins of
old car doors & hoods, the smiling chrome teeth in old grills & bumpers,
or powerful pallets of detached engine blocks, gutted transmissions, or
huge burlap sacks of metal washers.
Beauty can reside
in hellish haze, refuse orpatina’s embrace.
Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics
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