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                                 Bev Patterson

Arthur Paul Patterson

A poem to Mount Merton
fair-haired whelp of the Alps
fragile depth charge dodger
brought home to himself.

Through motherlessness
black virgin Alabama
to Madonna girl, child of the drama.

Through fatherfulness
securing nothing, liberation from France,
leads you in a desperate cheek to cheek dance.

Through dissipation's fatigue

you're brought home to God
lost layers of loneliness long to be heard.

 Through fancy and fantasy
a soul has descended
till evil ways are despairingly mended.

Though tricked by the process
you still tumble on
from dogma to dharma
you tell where you've gone.

Contented poor poet at last you've become
A peacenik prophet from Polonawara's son.
The Writer, the Hermit, a Seeker of love
you pattern our prospects on the wing of a dove.

Winging your way forward through statutes on shelves
from straw bed placeboes and unworthy cells.
Back to Mount Merton
and finally ourselves!

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