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A weekly video reading of poetry by the poet.

I Am the Poet
by Lucas Hunt

I am the poet who stays suffering,
Who works and wonders about all that ever was,
              what is now, what will be.
 
I hear the voices of people cry for change,
The history of struggle means more than we think,
              it is continually relevant
Because the world is unjust,
Future populations gasp in horror at what occurs,
A process of labor and reward exploits those
Who do not own the products of their toil,
Who give freely to those they serve,
Who face destruction by force,
Whose laughter is immortal as their sacrifice.
 
Heroes and villains
Everywhere, spread across the globe,
In the atmosphere, unconscious
Beings capable of extraordinary feats!
 
There is nothing left to sell, no more to advertise,
What comes now is greater than imagined,
A change in the chemistry of space,
An event that defies rational explanation
              becomes accepted fact.
We will soon discover it with the microscope
              and through the telescope,
An army of miracles comprises us,
The fiber, tube, knot and cord of the universe,
              these quirks enlarge us.
 
We absolute animals of flesh
Participate in puzzling equations,
The apparent order of things is illusory
              and there is more,
The layers are many, the well deep, the core
              only an initiation,
The part we play in the old graphic drama,
              our habitual scenes,
The tremendous vibration of blood that rocks
              then steals away,
None are too deaf to hear, nor able to counterfeit,
Though one day we may get it.
 
Listen to this natural rhythm,
Does it ask you to propagate revolutions,
Does it tell you to take a different path?
 
I serve the human function,
My poems correspond to the motions of planets,
Host abstract potential and humanistic ends,
              are not immune to evil
But beat the drum of love before war,
Seek no glory in death rather adore life itself,
Maintain the right to breathe, eat, drink, copulate
              and speak of exaltation.
 
To renewal, may words have powerful currents,
The crooked tide roll into surf,
Pass into sea born energy unbound,
Gather momentum, and charge the water
              of this sleepy harbor!
Watery undulations buried me in their nucleus,
To swallow this little song and vomit
              something greater yet!