Boardwalk Fortune Teller
A POEM
Borne up by priestly hands beyond the dark
The clean oblation of the harvest moon
Draws no heart to it. Here the brute is stark,
Full-rationed on the rich, barbaric tune
Of jangling carousels, cheap bawdy shows,
Horrors in waxwork, snuffling furtive lust
Along the darkened sands. Yet still he knows
Enduring hunger, and a stronger thrust:
This child, this frightened huddler by the fire,
This prattler in the sun, this fool who mars
The beauty he may never understand,
Stirred by an old, implacable desire,
Traces a destiny in the lonely stars.
And fortune on the parchment of his hand.
You May Also Enjoy
As puny astronauts set out,
Sheathed in their metal skin,
Exploring vastnesses without,
So do…
When time was yet unmade nor seasons wrought,
Beginning’s birth unborn and unbegun,
Then God’s…
Many of Vanauken’s poems are reminiscent of Browning, Donne, the early Charles Williams, and others, in style, tone, and theme.