I’ll wear my best set
of clothes, comb my hair and wash my features


no one will suspect I don’t belong.


I’ll quote only the profoundest passages from ancient sources,
tell of the deeds of heroes bent on survival
and augment discussion with notions
of unsurpassed sincerity


anyone who listens
will believe I am trained to hold an audience in suspense.


When they serve dinner
I’ll take care not to slurp my soup,
spill beans
on my napkin or let loose
with unbecoming noises that suit a lonely man
when he thinks no one is about


I’ll be taken
for a gentleman.


When someone asks me what I do
I’ll refrain from the truth
that I lie around in bed a lot of the day,
refuse to sweep the cobwebs under the eaves
and swat flies for pleasure


rather,
with focus on the lines I jotted down yesterday,
answer that I work at creating a new vision
for humanity


somehow, with the effort
I put into things,
street lights will grow a little brighter,
rain pass by without wetting foundations
and obedience to higher realms burst forth
in red droplets
on a yellow sheet, lemon scent in mist
and sugar sweet tweets from a forest


no one will think I am deluded.


What if the music begins
and we are meant to choose a partner?


Anxious foreboding
will not pervade the ritual of selection


there will be someone
whose rhythm and timing feels awkward as my own


we’ll rise to the occasion,
dance out onto the floor
with our hearts extended,
eyes seeking light beyond our dreams


steps in time
with the beat that makes the room shudder,
the dresses rustle
and the whirl so concentrated in deference to the melody
aim at non-stopping until exhaustion


I’ll be one with the crowd.


When the oration representing everything the organisation wants to hear
about extraordinary flights surpassing its original intention,
fulfilled vows and good deeds ends
with smoke curling toward the ceiling
I’ll applaud with the others
even though the ticket was given me
by a salesman who passed by
on the off chance, who couldn’t make it




who thought I could do with a good night out.

especially like the "dancing" part
I believe that Stephen Karcher calls Hexagram 58 "The Joyous Dancer"

also like the reference to unswept cobwebs, having only recently started looking up enough to notice those that are spun in wall corners that meet ceilings

Hi there,

thanks again for your observations. I think I may have danced at least once in my life as depicted in the beggar poet's imagination. I was, though, relieved that finally I could glimpse a sense of humour. Many of the hexagrams have been so serious, and some even daunting 36, 12 and 23 for example. Hexagram 13 I have found, too, elicits humour and I hope to post that some time as well.
All the best
Steve

I look forward to the Hexagram 13 poem