He Who Loves Here and Now

History is a loudmouth dunghill hen, Who so hid hind it were left to cavil, He who loves here and now’s a happy man. Past, a flightless bird, primes its wings in vain, A dodo buried under snowy chill, History’s no more than a dunghill hen. If what goes never may return again, If fleeting moments can’t a vacuum fill, Here and now’s a hinge for a happy man. The story of this world since time began Seems to end with mankind’s same old evil, A tale glorified by a dunghill hen. Not much has changed, not so dies more same than Hist’ry, a time-waster of wanton will, He who loves here and now’s a happy man. Time scorches, to pallor turns ruddy tan, And future gets frozen, good with evil, History’s ho hum yells like dunghill hen, He who loves here and now’s a happy man. _____________________________________________ Villanelle | 07.03.2022 | Poet’s notes: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. But we are here to create the history, not remember it, nor yet repeat it. And yet, history, written by the winners, is often not even truth. What this means is and as this poem says, history is a loudmouth dunghill hen. Further, talking about history, as someone said, some people feel the rain, and some get wet. As Churchill said, ‘history will be kind to me as I intend to write it. So, let us focus on creating history, and that process starts from here and now. Sure, he who loves here and now is a happy man