The way of the optimist is always doomed
if preyful, out on the hungry veldt,
small in seas of bigger fish,
gentle step, conveyor belt.
It flickers weak as candle power,
mouselike by the jumbo’s stamp,
mosquito bite on vast spread skin,
the micro-virus, droplet, wind.
And there lies key beyond explain;
the lighthouse beam logged candlepower,
that pachyderm swirled by a squeak,
malaria through heart pump blood,
pandemic through breathing unmasked air.
As butterfly spins tornado storms,
ants move hills way over weight,
the patter rain lays mountains plain,
those pinprick evils multiply,
why not the good enough supply,
indeed through pinprick of reverse?
The value of hope thus quantify,
on quantum rays too small for eye,
and not the bellows, angry pride.
Not if, as dread, but guaranteed,
when good intentions collide, note
what is long written, mystery,
the louder evidence presides,
yet scattered seed pearls thrive, despite.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/
He is, like many, a nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net this year.