A Poem by my Father: Rubáiyát of a Sailor©

Today, my father is 78 years old.
He lives in a nursing home. It sucks.
He has Alzheimer’s Disease. It sucks, too.
He was once a boxer, sometimes a sailor,
sometimes a preacher,
always a Texan, always a Democrat

and ALWAYS a poet.

My father, July 1956

Who gives a damn–this vessel of today
On tomorrow shall sink beneath the clay
To blend again with the basic element

And transmute to dreams — all dead yesterdays!

The fire of St. Elmo, aglow upon the mast,
Says to the vanity of youth – Avast!
Go to, and sail the limits of the sea

To new worlds where your destiny is cast!

Diana’s yellow head appears above,
The flashing, crashing, pyramidic wave,
And extra-sensory perception speaks

About the Grand-finale of — the Grave!

But what Johannic revelation — This?
My isle of Patmos leaves nothing amiss!
The Past — The Present — And the Future, too…

Is only to me — one long, state of bliss!

My sweet cup of Life — filled up to the brim,
I laughingly drink to the fair and the grim!
I’ll not even ask you, to fill it again!

The oil is consumed, but the wick is trim

©W. Ed…
April 20, 1969
(revised from 1968)

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