The ceremony must be found
Traditional, with all its symbols
Ancient as the metaphors in dreams;
“Speaking of Poetry,” John Peale Bishop
Life—inundated by gray drudgery—
Brightens from time to time in the sunlight
Of ceremony. History’s carnage—
For some few holy moments—put to flight
While we revel in joy—birthdays, weddings,
Anniversaries; while we flagellate
Ourselves, anxious to throw off baleful sins.
Life’s murky dread clears, anticipates
Fruit, ripe for ceremonial plucking!
But as for ancient metaphors in dreams
(Visions of flying high, falling, fucking)—
Better to settle for more earthly schemes.
It’s time to fashion some new traditions—
End weird, ancient, god-decreed commissions
Like that first ceremonial magic,
When adults sip schnaps, munch honeyed cakes, lick
Lips, while infants lose a quarter inch of dick!
(7/26/10)