Two Poems by Sam Hazo

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For a Poet Who Writes and Wonders Why

Because you are not what you will become
and cannot stop becoming what you are,
you never see that nothing but the lot
of being human summons you to write.

Perfect, you could know the world without a word.
Imperfect but perfectible, you must
unscroll your revelations line by line
to prove on paper what you sense at sight

as you are drawn to mirrors to confirm
that what you see reflected is yourself.
The need to be assured is nothing worse
than every poet's best apology.

Inspired, you must wait as consciously
as any actor playing dead on stage,
letting the world's quick purposes spin out
around you while you fidget with a thought

that will not let itself be brought to light
too easily or sooner than it must.
This much you owe to what the blood demands
but what the mind finds difficult to form

this side of Judgment where the mirror keeps
its darkness and the grave its victory.
Perfect as God, the final poetry
is silence, but that is still a death away.
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God and Man

After casting the first act, checking sections
of scenery and mastering His rage
because the female lead blundered on page
one, He left the actors to themselves on stage
without a script and fretting for directions.