The Poems of 2011: Keats

Almost immediately after deciding to become a poet, I bought the complete works of John Keats. This began an infatuation with the Romantics that has formed me as poet. All of his poetry, and especially his great odes revolutionized my entire poetic philosophy. Ode on an Oak Tree was one of many imitation pieces in Keats' form of ode.
Ode on an Oak Tree

August 30

I

O Knotted Oak thy shade is mine, to rest
And write these lines against thy ancient bark.
To greatness thine: thy root, thy limb, thy nest,
I’ll testify with rhyme as legal mark.
Thou grizzled and unyielding trunk of life,
Thy majesty, enthroned forevermore,
Is shining in the mist of sacred dawn.
Repeal nocturnal strife
And be that giant known in faerie lore;
Eternal, ‘mid thy sea of splendid lawn.

II

Thy fingers boring deep below the earth
Will travel far from thy green-leaféd head.
What magic do they seek with floral mirth,
What treasure buried low near River’s bed?
A hunt for life- the game they know so well-
Like toddling children playing hide and seek.
Thy tentacles of life are old indeed.
What stories will they tell
Of times I never knew? Those bloody, bleak
And solemn days, when first they rent thy seed.

III

Thy solid tower stepping for the sky,
Is like a scepter ruling o’er the land.
With mercy tempered justice let a sigh,
And satisfy creation from thy hand.
What dewy leaf has never stolen light
To cool the earth and fauna down below?
What bird or bat has been refused a limb
To rest throughout the night?
Now see thy angeled backbone softly grow
With humbled wisdom through eternal dim.

IV

Thy forkéd agents in this merry game
Go round and round in search of faerie maids.
No ordinary fays with local fame,
But captive sunbeams floating to the glades.
What joy within thy servants- in the brown
And green of serpents? Twisting in the air
For fun, and growing great in life and art.
I do not blame thy frown
Of age. For long the canvas has been bare;
And rare as pleasure in thy beating heart.

V

When setting suns are dying in the west
They act as priest- an arb’rous sacrament.
The dying light completes the mighty quest.
Surreal, vivacious- truly heaven sent-
I see thy mighty crest erupt, ablaze
With scattered faerie beams. Thy green is gold,
And life is there in full. Then Angels come,
As in a mystic daze,
To swiftly fill the golden chalice mould
And catch the drips of thy viaticum.