A Poem Written by a Genius

I’ve known Dobart, through the net, for years. He recently joined Redbubble, and I saw this poem of his. I’ve read many great poems here, but to be honest, none has moved me as this one has. There is genius in it. He is modest, and doesn’t do the usual things to attract attention to himself or his work. I wish he would. I am not doing ths to promote him. Perish the thought. Rather, this poem is so exquisite I want to share it with you. If you like it, I encourage you to visit his page and comment there. Here’s his poem:

Author: DOBART

How could he recount for her that tale so sad
of that shipwreck on those solemn shores?
There was no way, so it was up to me.
My heart wasn’t in it either,
and shrank to cinders from the depth in her eyes.
Instead I took her and set her in a coracle,
hiding my head in shame as its skin turned to air
and the water to steam.
So now only the gift, dusty on my mantle,
attests to her place in the past.
Somewhere on a desolate coast
where the wind blows cold
and the sun is a timid grey kitten,
rust the ribs
of the hopes and dreams and cries of agony
of 347 men women and children:
a random stonehenge,
unhappy convergence of the infinite vectors of fate;
now casts fingers of shade
across the fighting sea lions and smooth black stones,
handy perches for a horde of barbarian gulls
and a scratchy blanket
under which I toss and turn in restless sleep.

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