Saul Bellow Cloudringed By Nymphs
In his JeansŪ, stood Jasper Johns
Alert, yet not awake
To all that beckons there in Mons:
Across the reeking lake
Dwelt flocks of wild rampaging swans
And mild, impassive hake
He gazed until the sky turned bronze
For dear old Nancy's sake
Against the dying of the light
Dylan Thomas crew
As dusk fell on the Isle of Wight
And all the world turned blue
We mingled with the sheepish droves
And wild, ingressive moors
Less mimsy than the borogoves
And safer out of doors
Stymied by opposing oils
Raphael did fume
Knowing that his weary toils
Corrupted half the room
As though entrapped in serpent's coils
Plato then did weave
A tablecloth depicting boils
Upon his bloated sleeve
Beyond the orbit of the skies
Blake sat all alone
A thousand angels thronged his eyes
Perceiving the unknown
And like a pebble from a pond
His parchment drew the dawn
And lingered on a world beyond
Where bishops pushed a pawn
| Contributors: | Apsley, Roland, Beefy, (trad), dok. |
| Poem finished: | 13th June 2005 by Roland. |