The Conspiracist by Dennis Allen Lange

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(with apologies to Joyce Kilmer)

I think that I shall never see
Something that’s not a conspiracy.

One whispered in my hungry ear,
Far more than what things first appear.

A conspiracy to ruin the day,
That only God and I can say.

Woe! Everywhere’s conspiracy,
Beneath each rock and ev’ry tree!

Its evil permeates the air
Like snakes writhe in Medusa’s hair.

Men dream conspiracies for fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

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photo by Michael and Christa Richert
@https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oSnvT84/spider+web

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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The Lamentation Of The Old Pensioner by William Butler Yeats

Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me. 

Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny;
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me. 

There’s not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.

 

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