Short Outclassed Poems

If you think you dare not, you don't
If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think life's not worth it, it's not
If you think you are outclassed, you are...

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I don’t know how they do it
How do they write so fast
My writing goes so slowly
I sometimes feel outclassed

I’ve time and lots of talent
And inspiration too
But something must be wrong
I don’t know what to do

I’ll sit here for a while
My thoughts not quite connecting
Good starts, good ends, good in betweens
Not used, simply collecting...

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Hey there, high school teacher,
your talent to rebuff
but when you try imagining
your focus coarse and rough

Your feelings mostly borrowed,
your words ill-gotten gains
your hours spent in false critique
of someone else’s pain

You’re outclassed high-school teacher,
your envy on display
your pedantry a mocking tone
and pretense on parade

(To Wayne Miller: April, 1967)...

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I count you, that the day were first, thee last,
as in repaired diplomacy's repast.

A building up of time - restoring, chaste
or in contempt of cruelty, take fast.

I count thee - as tomorrow's faith outclassed
does blindly look for reason now surpassed.

I count thee, for that love not change its bast,
but counts - the sun, the moon, the ever last.

And counting ...feels as one in spacious massed!...

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