Poems from a Quotidian Mystic

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Thomas Banks, a classical educator and poet.

Lines on the Death of Earthworms

The earth-inquisitive children halve
The rain-aroused earthworms with spades.
Like pagan gods the younglings laugh
Til mother takes their ersatz blades

And drags them in for lunch. The slain
Meet no such change as dead men meet,
Earth-born, at last of earth again;
Earth was bread and being complete,

At last a grave, what was their all,
What was their dining board and bed,
A tomb to last till stars shall fall,
And earth shall render up her dead.


Blessing Narcissus

It would have been a tender thing
To skip a stone across that pool
And strike awake that lovely fool
Abruptly from his blossoming.


Late Spring

They take their time, the springtime shoots
And buds to blossom. Still we wait.
We try our patience on the roots.
We know, like Abram, soon or late
The promise in its ripening
Will come, and the uncoming spring.