MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

! ! The Praisers

You might not spot them in a crowd –
but for that certain stillness of the self-contained:

in conversation, not until some detail
of an action, person, or a deed
sparks their mind; then from their heart -
not, pours – but rather, in a fine, fine stream
of exquisite precision, flows - their praise:

as if their whole self gives itself to you
in some new form of thought, in which
there is no longer, they and you –
you are united in exalted praise;

and their eye shines – inviting you to join
a world above: perhaps they sum the virtue
of a person, action, deed; and yet,
while they are speaking, praise is seated there
above the virtues; they are prophets, seers,
visionaries of that which in our praise, we are..

and perhaps, you try to join them in your speech –
how awkwardly praise sits upon your tongue!
you, who prided so yourself, a balanced judge
of all your fellow humans…find yourself
now at some sad and puny tongue-tied loss..

so, practise, in ourselves, a year or two –
(there’s silent praise – the eye gives that away…)
and praise the praiseful in their mighty work:
another world awaits: where we become
the prophets of ourselves in timeless life.

User Rating: 2,7 / 5 ( 12 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

M... stunned. In awe. What Larry said. t x
This is exquisite! Hands down, it's the most well-written poem I've read here, or anywhere, in months. Larry