Clutching At Straw
An unexamined life, thought Daniel,
settling for the night on an eiderdown
of lions, is not a life at all.
I was hardly born until a little while ago,
testing the hunger of these beasts,
daring my ten-to-the dozen heart
to beat as never before.
Not anymore, he thought. Not anymore.
No more Daniel what’s-his-name
with television seven nights a week,
and adventure – someone knocking
at the door. Not anymore. Not anymore.
Up like a lark, he thought. Up like a lark.
I’ll pace the cage and gauge my space,
and I’ll not clutch at strands of straw
but roar, like them, for meat and even bite
the hand of anyone that feeds me.
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Comments about this poem (Clutching At Straw by Brian Wake )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1923 - 1998)
(8 December 65 BC – 27 November 8 BC)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Edgar Albert Guest
(20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959)
(27 July 1870 – 16 July 1953)
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