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Dave Bonta
the honest body is wiser
than any word
a presence without any reply
but the world
no novice to concurrence
it gives great content
and I am glad to be so
having done all my lying
I forgot that I loved you,
I forgot every time I wanted you,
Every memory I had with you.
I also forgot how to be honest,
I still lie,
I can never forget you, ny vivid dream.
But for you, I am a fading memory.
I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing
Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member—
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will—I am content.
I TELL them where the wind comes from,
Where the music goes when the fiddle is in the box.
Kids — I saw one with a proud chin, a sleepyhead,
And the moonline creeping white on her pillow.
I have seen their heads in the starlight
And their proud chins marching in a mist of stars.
They are the only people I never lie to.
I give them honest answers,
Answers shrewd as the circles of white on brown chestnuts.