The flowers I offer are anyone's to give,
but seemingly cash can make them acceptable;
Yet how can one shout to a sleeping city
that peace can achieve what a war vitiates?
An Intellectual's dilemma:
thought is too slow,
action too fast:
both are unseasonable.
Within the mine of Truth, the hissing
seams collapse, exploding the galleries;
Stifled by panic I’m shouting and choking ...
ricocheted boots in the dusty light.
An Activist's dilemma:
in the darkness
which way is advance
and which retreat?
Diving from brain to body I float -
physical certainty still surprises me
(Ah, but of course I have to know why!)
for a doctor is he who least helps himself.
A Poet's dilemma:
if I could say it
would anyone listen;
worse, Is It Art?
12 v 1980