The Ancient Modern

Celestial Cartography / Joshua Alan Sturgill

Some orient themselves by lines
on paper maps, and some by signs
along the concrete roads they walk.

Some men think by precepts taught
in classrooms under artificial light.
But I can’t figure where I am, til night

reveals the stars.  What better clock
to tell the time?  Or door to knock
upon, when asking for the real East,

the address of that endless Feast? 
Not the East of compass turning, no!
the ever-East, were dawn is burning

always, on the Planets and the Moon,
who blush, embarrassed, drunk at noon.
Their dance, a spiraled inspiration;

it calls to me, a wild, cosmic invitation.
Some are looking for the next event;
some wonder where the money went;

and some are looking for relief,
for any moment free of grief. And
I am, likewise, shadowed by the Earth.

So I’ll align my life with Heaven’s mirth


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2021 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

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