Old Fashioned

I love when sculpture captures nature’s best
As if an artist working hand in hand
With God, a work of magic- clay caressed
Forms beauty that we all can understand.

But then there is this stuff called, “Abstract art.”
Materials and shapes unrecognized.
When I see these it damages my heart,
As if what’s real has now become despised.

I don’t know what it is that I should see…
An alien? Or some big piece that fell
Out of their UFO to land near me?
What ever these things are, I just can’t tell.

I do not find that ignorance is bliss,
Or like to look at things that I can’t name,
And keep on thinking, “What the heck is this?”
But no one else admits they feel the same.

So I’m the only one who’s out of touch-
And poetry affects me this same way,
When poetry can tell the world so much.
I read the words but don’t know what they say.

Oh nice big words get scattered on the page,
And praised as if all people think it’s fine.
But I would need confer with some grand sage
For any meaning or perhaps design.

I guess I’m just a relic from the past
Who still adheres to metered words that rhyme.
But maybe what I write for you will last,
If love and truth can stand the test of time.

John H. Bidwell