THE TRAMP POET

Posted by Admin on 31 March 2008, 12:00 am

He writes his poems out of doors,
content to drift, content to dream;
a cynosure for prying eyes,
outside, above, our complex scheme.
What does he know of warmth, of love,
minute and mute beneath the stars?
What muse inspires a lively skill
to entertain in public bars?
Where, set apart, as chalk from cheese,
he sits among convivial folk,
and plays – the purling notes appease
those fears engendered by the yoke –
his, theirs, and mine, in shared duress –
of universal loneliness.

T. C. Hudson