had we but world enough, & time,that my carnal, juvenescent eyes
this coyness, lady, were no crime.
we would sit down & think which way
to walk, & pass our long love's day…
should find this carpe diem,
was no less an unsought prize
than the rich rewards given
the princes of serendip.
that i could reason at all, let alone
infer to the best of explanations,
how passing strange i took this poem
& its syllogistic argumentation
to seed my puerile poeting.
i who stole love’s lyrics
to voice my great desire
too fearful to press the heroics
of plain speech that might require
an honest show of feelings.
i who knew nothing of metaphysics
nor arcane & mystic explications
knew this poem a fertile mix
of seduction & celebration
of sexual delight.
its abductive logic did not belie
my puerile truth: yield to my sweet
manly charms for soon we may die.
a fitting mantra for men in heat
whatever age, race or era.
today i see that syllogistic stalking
horse for what it was & is.
my poems betray my errant walking
through the dramas, mysteries
& incoherence where
that logic took me by the hand.
now i desire to extend in time
& space beyond my earthly span,
my grown-up verse & rhyme
sings the brevity of happiness,
the fleetingness of pleasure,
& sweetness of eternal life.
oh if i could but measure
the steps i’ve taken from rife
indulgence to uncertain spirit
path, they would equal the count of
all my poems, written & unwritten,
spoken & unspoken, works of love
crafted by a perverse poet smitten
by a playful god.
© Joseph McNair; 2009