The act of writing a poem, or painting a picture or composing a song or making a sculpture, always seems to me an act of hope. Art is inherently optimistic that there will be a future, but also draws on the past. And what’s to come, if history is any guide, will be scary, difficult, and unpredictable.
With all that in mind I thought this poem by Lemuel Robertson would be the perfect one to finish National Poetry Month. Like his namesake he ventures out among Lilliputians and Brobdingnagians, Yahoos and Houyhnhms.
Unlike his namesake his travels haven’t diminished his optimism.