William Blake with antique rhymes and meters
renewed and awakened Imagination.
Nothing he wrote was hip, avant-garde, or very witty.
He seemed out of touch with his own age,
a man for whom there was no Progress
of the onward march of Reason and Science,
a regress to the Dark Age of visionary madmen
who make no technical innovation, yet stun.
Children understand his words instantly & laugh with joy.
Schizophrenics look at his etchings and his colors
and flash instantly on how the parts cohere.
He saw reality as unknowable Light.
Long may you live, Blake, long live odd ones
and savages and aliens who speak from the deep.

-- Spencer La Moure
Befriending Death

As with death himself
I too sit close
to my father  
death all too close
I breathe hot to his cold
jealous we must share
my father, me exhaling,
death inhaling
No contest, 
just a rhythm
   -from When Hearts Outlive Minds

-- Ed Coletti