Treasure Island

Harry Kemp

(15 December 1883 – 8 August 1960 / Youngstown, Ohio)

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Blind


The Spring blew trumpets of color;
Her Green sang in my brain --
I heard a blind man groping
"Tap -- tap" with his cane;

I pitied him in his blindness;
But can I boast, "I see"?
Perhaps there walks a spirit
Close by, who pities me, --

A spirit who hears me tapping
The five-sensed cane of mind
Amid such unguessed glories --
That I am worse than blind.

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

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Comments about this poem (Blind by Harry Kemp )

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  • Alistair Graham (1/15/2014 2:56:00 AM)

    Blind Man’s Bluff


    Bust for inequality
    Framed and hung in poverty
    Subject to authority
    Citizen no more

    New world probability
    Pact agreed society
    Can-do possibility
    Fore the days of yore (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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