I started this today. I plan to make it much longer, but let me know what you think of it so far:
<u>Natural Order</u>
Amuse me world, and show me the wonders
Within things, things disparate and various
That, altogether, full boggle my wit,
And cause canundrum by diversity.
Intent to classify these disp’rate things,
Bent to subsume them under principle,
Bent t’unite philosophy with nature,
I steeled myself to find the ends in things,
To encompass mother Earth by ratio,
And set out to sojourn through blithe downtown.
Broad avenues, winding, dirty side-ways!
Where do you lead, and to what purpose lay
Haphazard cross the curious terrain?
Puzzle me–why not array in nice squares,
And ease the navigation of dignant
Cars that traverse your boulevards, and quite
Simultaneous bring ordered standard
To yourselves, so the sojourner could full
Comprehend you without a second thought?
I’d fain fix you to a wondrous order!
What pleasant kind of shop lies behind these
Homely walls? I struggle now to discern
The purpose of sundry, arrayed items,
The function that typically unites them,
The common motion to justify this
Disjointed morass: a bold iron shovel,
Rusted noble; an elephant stampede
In sculpture; a downfallen wedding dress;
Wall-hanging, a dusty phoenix painting;
To what idle end should I linger here?
More productive, doubtless, this next outlet
Adjacent, riddled in strange charact’ry.
Eh?–what misaligned little world is this?
Familiar items of practical use,
These things seem, yet rendered wholly foreign!
These odd wooden utensils for eating;
Manilla goat-milk; why not fork and cow?
Fresh scents and alien artwork paint an
Odd purpose in my mind; but more or less,
The foreign appeal to me seems meaningless.
Ah–recluse to bookish sanctuary!,
Secluded a story ‘bove the market.
Intent to pursue a certain volume,
I traverse the serpentine rows squint-eyed,
Diverse walls of old letter and wan hue
That confound my efforts, and incite me
To search in vain for sections–fiction or
Non-fiction, poesy or prose–to search for
Divisions fully absent from these texts.
I browsed many a tome of old lore, ere
I abandoned my bootless endeavor
For noonday victuals at a hearthy bar,
Where students forbear fit studies for beer,
Wherein grown men forget their troubled years
And old, old friends rejuvenate mem’ries
Across round, oaken tables, with laughter
Sorrowf’ly sweet–like all longing. Empty
Bev’rage in hand, I eyed the blazing fire
Full focused and natural, till purposed thoughts
Removed me to search for some amusement.
Butterfly park–the words flutter across
The corner of my eye, and I venture
To view them a little longer, closer.
Black-orange wing-couplets frolic stately o’er
Neat-trimmed earth; the fountain’s watery
Warble, the sun’s glare on sparsely painted
Bench, three lasses and a red rubber ball;
I sense a sort of absent-minded joy;
Still, musing on idiosyncracies
Of mixed items makes poor philosophy.