One False Move
One false move, your world explodes,
one more turn down endless roads,
love that conquers lust expired
in a vacuum fear has sired
by the witch whose beauty turned
first your head and then had burned
God to dust by faded light
in the sorrow of the night.
One kiss stolen, one to please
angels with a sweet disease,
fever wrought by her intent,
she who breaks two backs now bent
in a dance of passion born
of a hunger which had torn
God to dust by faded light
in the sorrow of the night.
One last look at mortal fault,
when my form must turn to salt,
when my heart becomes a stone
buried where the weeds have grown,
where my chance and luck have died,
where the man and child have cried
God to dust by faded light
in the sorrow of the night.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Bald Mountain Breakdown
Bald Mountain Breakdown
Apollyon has come and gone,
Old Scratch is on the rise.
He haunts your tortured fear of dawn,
your wretched reddened eyes.
He makes you hate the heat of late
that robbed you of your luck,
that kept you from a blessed date,
and stalled your pickup truck.
Beelzebub has made you drub
and beat your wand from fright.
His dybbuk rubs a wicked club
on your Walpurgis Night.
He cannot hide the evil bride
who tempts you to a kiss,
who rides alive your natal pride
but makes your motor miss.
The Succubae will make you play
until your speed is spent,
and when they sway your need away,
you'll know what love has meant:
it comes and goes and fades and grows,
its joys will show or hide
what only time shall last disclose
before the spark has died.
Apollyon has come and gone,
Old Scratch is on the rise.
He haunts your tortured fear of dawn,
your wretched reddened eyes.
He makes you hate the heat of late
that robbed you of your luck,
that kept you from a blessed date,
and stalled your pickup truck.
Beelzebub has made you drub
and beat your wand from fright.
His dybbuk rubs a wicked club
on your Walpurgis Night.
He cannot hide the evil bride
who tempts you to a kiss,
who rides alive your natal pride
but makes your motor miss.
The Succubae will make you play
until your speed is spent,
and when they sway your need away,
you'll know what love has meant:
it comes and goes and fades and grows,
its joys will show or hide
what only time shall last disclose
before the spark has died.
Highway Nine
Highway Nine
Nine hundred miles and not a sign
of God or His benign design;
just Man with gun and pickup truck,
and sin that shoots a hole in luck.
Eight hundred miles of twisted fate,
infinity a sleeping eight
that rises from the steamy tar
and calls her light down from her star.
With seven tens times ten again,
this highway bends to now and then
mirage deformed by parallax,
a sainted beast with many backs.
Six hundred miles that curses mix
from broken bones to stones and sticks,
to hatred for that hijacked Name
who takes the heat and takes the blame.
Five hundred miles, and five to drive
to peace that leaves its charm alive,
for love that takes us to the chance
of shattered dream and drunken dance.
With four to go before I know
the wreck which kills us from below
a Hell of speed and brutal greed
where in the night our devils breed.
Three hundred miles of fantasy
distorted into you and me,
a phantom rent by what was sent
to bleed us in our discontent.
Two hundred miles, two hundred due
before I drive my love for you
away from strain and waning night,
the charnel mares of false delight.
With ten times ten my travel then
will end and once begin again
in search of what we must resign
along our ride down Highway Nine.
Nine hundred miles and not a sign
of God or His benign design;
just Man with gun and pickup truck,
and sin that shoots a hole in luck.
Eight hundred miles of twisted fate,
infinity a sleeping eight
that rises from the steamy tar
and calls her light down from her star.
With seven tens times ten again,
this highway bends to now and then
mirage deformed by parallax,
a sainted beast with many backs.
Six hundred miles that curses mix
from broken bones to stones and sticks,
to hatred for that hijacked Name
who takes the heat and takes the blame.
Five hundred miles, and five to drive
to peace that leaves its charm alive,
for love that takes us to the chance
of shattered dream and drunken dance.
With four to go before I know
the wreck which kills us from below
a Hell of speed and brutal greed
where in the night our devils breed.
Three hundred miles of fantasy
distorted into you and me,
a phantom rent by what was sent
to bleed us in our discontent.
Two hundred miles, two hundred due
before I drive my love for you
away from strain and waning night,
the charnel mares of false delight.
With ten times ten my travel then
will end and once begin again
in search of what we must resign
along our ride down Highway Nine.
Little Darling
Little Darling
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show;
what we want we need to hide
from our chimera of pride.
I took you down, I pulled you up;
I put my honey in your cup,
I pinned you back to better feel
your tender hand and softer heel.
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show,
with a lie we fantasized
while another fiction died.
I made you moan, I made you weep;
I kept you from your peaceful sleep,
I mixed my salt deep in your wine,
my hands upon your rising spine.
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show,
what we wish we seldom get
without worry and regret.
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show;
what we want we need to hide
from our chimera of pride.
I took you down, I pulled you up;
I put my honey in your cup,
I pinned you back to better feel
your tender hand and softer heel.
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show,
with a lie we fantasized
while another fiction died.
I made you moan, I made you weep;
I kept you from your peaceful sleep,
I mixed my salt deep in your wine,
my hands upon your rising spine.
Little Darling, don't you know,
love is mostly tell and show,
what we wish we seldom get
without worry and regret.
Good Man Down
Good Man Down
If he do nothing new,
he will tread and drown.
If he ape goat and drake,
he shall wear the crown
of the cloven kingdom
of the wrinkled frown,
of the expostulate,
safe until he down.
If he do nothing new,
he will know reknown
as the late man of prate,
poor but on the town,
with his girlie squirming
hot inside her gown,
and his face froze in place,
smiling when he down.
If he do nothing new,
he will tread and drown.
If he ape goat and drake,
he shall wear the crown
of the cloven kingdom
of the wrinkled frown,
of the expostulate,
safe until he down.
If he do nothing new,
he will know reknown
as the late man of prate,
poor but on the town,
with his girlie squirming
hot inside her gown,
and his face froze in place,
smiling when he down.
Driven Rain
Driven Rain
Five streets torn by driven rain
for a love and artless pain;
for our home, a garden grown
from a seed so random thrown.
Water runs in gutters strewn
with dark tears of wasted ruin,
two bright streams of blood anew
in a dream both false and true.
Lightning stripes the clouded sky
where a moon somewhere is high.
My three Fates in heavens shine
on a girl who once was mine.
Thunder breaks my reverie
of those days when I was free
of my Sirens' deadly song
to a life both right and wrong.
Wind blows now so softly warm
on this night of driven storm,
on my way which must remain
five streets torn by driven rain.
Five streets torn by driven rain
for a love and artless pain;
for our home, a garden grown
from a seed so random thrown.
Water runs in gutters strewn
with dark tears of wasted ruin,
two bright streams of blood anew
in a dream both false and true.
Lightning stripes the clouded sky
where a moon somewhere is high.
My three Fates in heavens shine
on a girl who once was mine.
Thunder breaks my reverie
of those days when I was free
of my Sirens' deadly song
to a life both right and wrong.
Wind blows now so softly warm
on this night of driven storm,
on my way which must remain
five streets torn by driven rain.
Faith
Faith
Yahweh come to see me,
bring me bread and law;
give me ninety-nine years
fearful dread and awe;
make me hate the cloven,
make me kill the least;
take me to the river,
take me to the priest.
Shiva come to see me,
bring me fire and war;
give me life unending,
cruelty and gore;
make me shun the victim,
make me claim his life;
take me to his home and
take me to his wife.
Buddha come to see me,
bring me pain and light;
give me time to suffer
ceaseless second sight;
make me seek extinction,
make me free the free;
take me to the shade of
blessed banyan tree.
Jesus come to see me,
bring me joy and peace;
give me sweet contrition,
give me sweet release;
make me do the right thing,
make me love the least;
take me to the river,
take me to the feast.
Yahweh come to see me,
bring me bread and law;
give me ninety-nine years
fearful dread and awe;
make me hate the cloven,
make me kill the least;
take me to the river,
take me to the priest.
Shiva come to see me,
bring me fire and war;
give me life unending,
cruelty and gore;
make me shun the victim,
make me claim his life;
take me to his home and
take me to his wife.
Buddha come to see me,
bring me pain and light;
give me time to suffer
ceaseless second sight;
make me seek extinction,
make me free the free;
take me to the shade of
blessed banyan tree.
Jesus come to see me,
bring me joy and peace;
give me sweet contrition,
give me sweet release;
make me do the right thing,
make me love the least;
take me to the river,
take me to the feast.
Not At All
Not At All
Bridges burn and idols fall,
everything is not at all.
Men awake in gentle hell,
waiting for the wedding bell.
Souls shall gather at a wall,
everything is not at all.
Women whisper on their knees,
suffering in wicked ease.
Beauty thrives on beck and call,
everything is not at all.
I have known her telling knell
ringing when my dreaming fell.
God may bless her bridal pall,
everything is not at all.
Men will take their place in line,
suffering her kiss of wine.
Souls will weep dry at a wall,
everything is not at all.
Girls bequeath what I refuse
for the comfort of my muse.
Bridges burn and idols fall,
everything is not at all.
Men awake in gentle hell,
waiting for the wedding bell.
Souls shall gather at a wall,
everything is not at all.
Women whisper on their knees,
suffering in wicked ease.
Beauty thrives on beck and call,
everything is not at all.
I have known her telling knell
ringing when my dreaming fell.
God may bless her bridal pall,
everything is not at all.
Men will take their place in line,
suffering her kiss of wine.
Souls will weep dry at a wall,
everything is not at all.
Girls bequeath what I refuse
for the comfort of my muse.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Skunks
Skunks
Bears are rare in open air
until they need a snack.
Tigers keep to jungle deep
and never do attack
men with guns unless their buns
are plump and clad in plaid,
tubby guys who are too wise
to every passing fad.
Elephants do not wear pants
with pleat nor garish check.
Rhinos pin their jowly chin
behind their stumpy neck.
They won't part with stinky fart
like Hippopotamus,
who will flood his primal mud
with crud and nasty pus.
Boys who wipe their dinner tripe
upon their Sunday shirt;
girls who nap on Uncle's lap,
and in their miniskirt;
they will find their lame behind
alive with biting fleas.
They shall squat to take a shot
to cure them of disease.
Skunks are good and always should
the best example set
for girls and boys who make a noise,
but never good beget.
Skunks are neat and most discreet,
they keep their noses clean;
and unless they are distressed,
they're never bad nor mean.
Bears are rare in open air
until they need a snack.
Tigers keep to jungle deep
and never do attack
men with guns unless their buns
are plump and clad in plaid,
tubby guys who are too wise
to every passing fad.
Elephants do not wear pants
with pleat nor garish check.
Rhinos pin their jowly chin
behind their stumpy neck.
They won't part with stinky fart
like Hippopotamus,
who will flood his primal mud
with crud and nasty pus.
Boys who wipe their dinner tripe
upon their Sunday shirt;
girls who nap on Uncle's lap,
and in their miniskirt;
they will find their lame behind
alive with biting fleas.
They shall squat to take a shot
to cure them of disease.
Skunks are good and always should
the best example set
for girls and boys who make a noise,
but never good beget.
Skunks are neat and most discreet,
they keep their noses clean;
and unless they are distressed,
they're never bad nor mean.
Cold Narrow Bed
Cold Narrow Bed
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She has long golden hair and her eyes are pale green.
I am twenty years old then, still steady and strong,
with a life full of promise, a life without wrong.
She is all I will think of, and all I will dream
in the night when the banshee arises to scream,
when Old Nick lights the fire that burns in my head,
when those bones of desire will rattle my bed.
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She lives free without care, with no chaff left to glean.
I am thirty years old then, and filled with disdain
for a life without glory, a life without pain.
She is all I can think of, and all I can see
in the night when my angry self-pity sets free
the tormented delusions that fetter my dread
to the damp caul surrounding my cold narrow bed.
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She walks slow with the flair of a woman between.
I am too old for counting, too old to be wed
to the wraith who is haunting my merciless bed.
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She has long golden hair and her eyes are pale green.
I am twenty years old then, still steady and strong,
with a life full of promise, a life without wrong.
She is all I will think of, and all I will dream
in the night when the banshee arises to scream,
when Old Nick lights the fire that burns in my head,
when those bones of desire will rattle my bed.
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She lives free without care, with no chaff left to glean.
I am thirty years old then, and filled with disdain
for a life without glory, a life without pain.
She is all I can think of, and all I can see
in the night when my angry self-pity sets free
the tormented delusions that fetter my dread
to the damp caul surrounding my cold narrow bed.
She is young, she is fair, she is almost sixteen.
She walks slow with the flair of a woman between.
I am too old for counting, too old to be wed
to the wraith who is haunting my merciless bed.
Speckled Bands
Speckled Bands
Hearts of darkness, hearts of clay,
souls who scatter night through day,
causing all to stall and stay
by their hand the freer way;
crime and wicked punishment
ease the fear of those who spent
careful days that they resent
when the fall has waned and went;
speckled bands of crawling snakes,
serpents dwell on their mistakes,
hoarding all their cups and cakes
for the feast when fasting breaks;
on the road once paved in gold,
where I saw the boy grow old,
where I crafted tales untold;
they are now what I behold.
Hearts of darkness, hearts of clay,
souls who scatter night through day,
causing all to stall and stay
by their hand the freer way;
crime and wicked punishment
ease the fear of those who spent
careful days that they resent
when the fall has waned and went;
speckled bands of crawling snakes,
serpents dwell on their mistakes,
hoarding all their cups and cakes
for the feast when fasting breaks;
on the road once paved in gold,
where I saw the boy grow old,
where I crafted tales untold;
they are now what I behold.
#4 Bus
#4 Bus
He's that nice young man who sits
in his room and counts the fits
and the starts of what he writes.
He sees spirits in their flights
of a fancy free of wits.
He's that man who rides the bus
and he looks at you and us
from his window through the rain
and he wants you once again
without bother or much fuss.
He's that nice young man who drinks,
he's that nice young man who thinks
he will get you in his bed.
He hears voices in his head
from the land of nudge and winks.
He's that man who walks the street
seeking what will be your treat
from the trash or alley vine,
from the crass or the divine,
in his chill or in his heat.
He's that nice young man who sits
in his room and counts the fits
and the starts of what he writes.
He sees spirits in their flights
of a fancy free of wits.
He's that man who rides the bus
and he looks at you and us
from his window through the rain
and he wants you once again
without bother or much fuss.
He's that nice young man who drinks,
he's that nice young man who thinks
he will get you in his bed.
He hears voices in his head
from the land of nudge and winks.
He's that man who walks the street
seeking what will be your treat
from the trash or alley vine,
from the crass or the divine,
in his chill or in his heat.
Namvulu Vumu
Namvulu Vumu
From his dry hill on highest land,
a man call rain to arid sand.
He call for water, call for life
to barren field and barren wife.
He pray the grass be thick and tall,
he pray his cattle fat for all;
he shake his rattle, ring his bell;
he cast his last unearthly spell.
And if the sun still burn above,
he beg his woman for her love.
He beg for time, he beg for life;
he beg away the waiting knife.
She come to him, she dark and long,
with charmed eye, with ghastly song.
Namvulu Vumu live in fear;
he watch the sky, he pray to hear
a sudden thunder, blacking sky;
a storm without a charmed eye.
He pray for water, call the cloud
from heaven's dry unholy shroud.
He shake his rattle, blow his horn;
he pray the calf be healthy born.
He see the harvest dry and dead;
he see his barren narrow bed.
He see his woman cold and hard;
she hold a sharp and bloody shard.
She come to him, she dark and long,
with fatal knife, with ghastly song.
From his dry hill on highest land,
a man call rain to arid sand.
He call for water, call for life
to barren field and barren wife.
He pray the grass be thick and tall,
he pray his cattle fat for all;
he shake his rattle, ring his bell;
he cast his last unearthly spell.
And if the sun still burn above,
he beg his woman for her love.
He beg for time, he beg for life;
he beg away the waiting knife.
She come to him, she dark and long,
with charmed eye, with ghastly song.
Namvulu Vumu live in fear;
he watch the sky, he pray to hear
a sudden thunder, blacking sky;
a storm without a charmed eye.
He pray for water, call the cloud
from heaven's dry unholy shroud.
He shake his rattle, blow his horn;
he pray the calf be healthy born.
He see the harvest dry and dead;
he see his barren narrow bed.
He see his woman cold and hard;
she hold a sharp and bloody shard.
She come to him, she dark and long,
with fatal knife, with ghastly song.
Kitty Regrets
Kitty Regrets
Kitty regrets your wasted life,
expresses concern for your strife.
She sends some wine and fancy food,
with regards for your present mood.
You were her tom, she was your bitch;
you made her scratch, she made you itch.
She licked her claws and cleaned her face,
while you smoked and spoke to space.
Kitty regrets your rendered time,
espouses respect for your rhyme.
She sends her love and warm support
for dreams real life must cold abort.
You were her tom, she was your bitch;
she watched you struggle in your ditch
of delusion and aged pride.
She licked the wound you tried to hide.
Kitty regrets your empty plate,
your bloodshot eyes and pointless fate.
She sends her luck, she sends the charms
which once redeemed you in her arms.
Kitty regrets your wasted life,
expresses concern for your strife.
She sends some wine and fancy food,
with regards for your present mood.
You were her tom, she was your bitch;
you made her scratch, she made you itch.
She licked her claws and cleaned her face,
while you smoked and spoke to space.
Kitty regrets your rendered time,
espouses respect for your rhyme.
She sends her love and warm support
for dreams real life must cold abort.
You were her tom, she was your bitch;
she watched you struggle in your ditch
of delusion and aged pride.
She licked the wound you tried to hide.
Kitty regrets your empty plate,
your bloodshot eyes and pointless fate.
She sends her luck, she sends the charms
which once redeemed you in her arms.
First Light
First Light
We knew the first dawn shining
on a strange dark April night.
We heard a herald chanting
this world into the light.
I'll work to keep the flowers,
I'll work to keep the thorn.
I'm waiting all my hours
for a beauty to be born.
We knew the first light shining
when a Spring rose by her right.
We heard an angel singing
a love to end the night.
We knew the first dawn shining
on a strange dark April night.
We heard a herald chanting
this world into the light.
I'll work to keep the flowers,
I'll work to keep the thorn.
I'm waiting all my hours
for a beauty to be born.
We knew the first light shining
when a Spring rose by her right.
We heard an angel singing
a love to end the night.
Glass
Glass
Now and then, it's all the same,
it's something that I'm after.
All the smoke and mirrors cloak
the glass that is my laughter.
Once again I smile and then
I must obscure my rapture,
hidden from the only one
whose heart I long to capture.
What was new and pure and true
has faded from the picture.
All that's left is loss bereft
of fear and pain and anger.
Once again I smile and then
I must avoid the pleasure
reflecting in the game I win,
that glass which is my measure.
Now and then, it's all the same,
it's something that I'm after.
All the smoke and mirrors cloak
the glass that is my laughter.
Once again I smile and then
I must obscure my rapture,
hidden from the only one
whose heart I long to capture.
What was new and pure and true
has faded from the picture.
All that's left is loss bereft
of fear and pain and anger.
Once again I smile and then
I must avoid the pleasure
reflecting in the game I win,
that glass which is my measure.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Regarding Mr. Scott
Regarding Mr. Scott
Love is lost and left alone,
laughter turns to air or stone.
God becomes what beauty buys
for his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Word is fire, word is wind,
word creates what men rescind.
God becomes a dull surprize
in his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Nerve is lost without regain,
spirit drowns by Hurricane.
God becomes a fear that flies
through his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Word is water, word is smoke;
word creates what men revoke.
God becomes a death that dries
on his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Watch him while he limps alone,
hobbled by hard cobblestone.
Tell me when he falls and dies.
I will close his rheumy eyes.
Love is lost and left alone,
laughter turns to air or stone.
God becomes what beauty buys
for his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Word is fire, word is wind,
word creates what men rescind.
God becomes a dull surprize
in his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Nerve is lost without regain,
spirit drowns by Hurricane.
God becomes a fear that flies
through his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Word is water, word is smoke;
word creates what men revoke.
God becomes a death that dries
on his ghostly rheumy eyes.
Watch him while he limps alone,
hobbled by hard cobblestone.
Tell me when he falls and dies.
I will close his rheumy eyes.
The Gifts
The Gifts
A pauper brings his simple gift,
the saint his hour of need.
A sinner brings his soul adrift,
the Boss brings only greed.
A child is born upon the thorn
of blossom and decay.
A life is made for life forlorn,
one gift to light the way.
A poet brings his ragged smile,
the king his plague and flood.
A sinner brings his twisted mile,
the Boss brings only blood.
A pauper brings his simple gift,
the saint his hour of need.
A sinner brings his soul adrift,
the Boss brings only greed.
A child is born upon the thorn
of blossom and decay.
A life is made for life forlorn,
one gift to light the way.
A poet brings his ragged smile,
the king his plague and flood.
A sinner brings his twisted mile,
the Boss brings only blood.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Bill Hill
Bill Hill
This room is dark, the air is thick
with smoke and smell of swill;
but with us all there sits a man,
the mighty cool Bill Hill.
His barstool is a sacred throne,
his glass is filled at will;
and all behold that handsome man,
the prince who is Bill Hill.
Both virgins and those careless girls
approach him with a thrill;
they crave the heart and love of him,
the beat of sweet Bill Hill.
You heroes here with gold or fame,
or dodging artful skill;
should reckon with that cowboy man,
obstreporous Bill Hill.
He knows the twang of life and death,
he's heard his angel trill;
she sings a hymn of graceful mirth
and joy for her Bill Hill.
One time everyone of us
will fear the time we kill;
and he shall give us comfort then,
the wise and good Bill Hill.
So lift your glass and drink to him,
you know that blessed drill,
and praise the light now flowing from
the eyes of our Bill Hill.
This room is dark, the air is thick
with smoke and smell of swill;
but with us all there sits a man,
the mighty cool Bill Hill.
His barstool is a sacred throne,
his glass is filled at will;
and all behold that handsome man,
the prince who is Bill Hill.
Both virgins and those careless girls
approach him with a thrill;
they crave the heart and love of him,
the beat of sweet Bill Hill.
You heroes here with gold or fame,
or dodging artful skill;
should reckon with that cowboy man,
obstreporous Bill Hill.
He knows the twang of life and death,
he's heard his angel trill;
she sings a hymn of graceful mirth
and joy for her Bill Hill.
One time everyone of us
will fear the time we kill;
and he shall give us comfort then,
the wise and good Bill Hill.
So lift your glass and drink to him,
you know that blessed drill,
and praise the light now flowing from
the eyes of our Bill Hill.
Wasted
Wasted
Wasted fortune, wasted pain,
one man's loss your devil's gain;
one man's gold thrown to the floor
makes a bride another's whore.
Greet your demon, pay your fine;
wait your turn down on the line
for the ghost who always knows
why your fear or worry grows.
Take the poison of your choice;
fill your chalice, and rejoice
in your morbid sacrament,
grace defiled, and beauty spent.
Wasted fortune, wasted pride;
one man's whore another's bride;
one man's girl so good and bright
gone to seed in solemn night.
Wasted fortune, wasted pain,
one man's loss your devil's gain;
one man's gold thrown to the floor
makes a bride another's whore.
Greet your demon, pay your fine;
wait your turn down on the line
for the ghost who always knows
why your fear or worry grows.
Take the poison of your choice;
fill your chalice, and rejoice
in your morbid sacrament,
grace defiled, and beauty spent.
Wasted fortune, wasted pride;
one man's whore another's bride;
one man's girl so good and bright
gone to seed in solemn night.
Hares And Bears
Hares And Bears
Hares and bears do catch a care,
but most times they're unaware
what to do when they are blue:
fit a foot into a shoe,
stuff a thumb into a glove,
kiss a girl and call it love;
stick a snout within, without
any fear or any doubt.
Hares and bears do take a dare,
but they always play it fair
if the game be good or foul,
if they grunt or snort or growl;
if they find a future spent
in a life of merriment,
or the corner of a room
with a dunce's vacant gloom.
Hares and bears do take a share
of lairs deep, and open air;
in both shade and summer sun,
where the berries have begun
ripening with ruby gleam,
and the fruits are what they seem:
all the kisses warm and wet,
all those girlies welcome met.
Hares and bears do catch a care,
but most times they're unaware
what to do when they are blue:
fit a foot into a shoe,
stuff a thumb into a glove,
kiss a girl and call it love;
stick a snout within, without
any fear or any doubt.
Hares and bears do take a dare,
but they always play it fair
if the game be good or foul,
if they grunt or snort or growl;
if they find a future spent
in a life of merriment,
or the corner of a room
with a dunce's vacant gloom.
Hares and bears do take a share
of lairs deep, and open air;
in both shade and summer sun,
where the berries have begun
ripening with ruby gleam,
and the fruits are what they seem:
all the kisses warm and wet,
all those girlies welcome met.
Hoodoo Everything
Hoodoo Everything
The man he come with royal gun;
he hold it to my head.
He say you beg for one more dreg
or face my deadly dread.
He say you take the poison snake,
he say you eat the pig.
He say you trade your plow for spade,
and in my boneyard dig.
My woman she look up to me;
she say the baby dead.
She say the cow be empty now,
and all the hens they fled.
She say the corn of husk be shorn,
she say the locust sing.
She say the rat and feral cat
done eaten everything.
The man he come before the sun,
he come beneath the moon.
He say you pray for what I say,
or you be buried soon.
He say you sick with politic,
but you be healthy when
you drink my wine of columbine,
and taste the blood of men.
My woman cry and wonder why
life murder and deceit.
She say the end shall surely send
my god into retreat.
She say the man do what he can
to make the devil king.
He wave his hand and curse the land
and hoodoo everything.
The man he come with royal gun;
he hold it to my head.
He say you beg for one more dreg
or face my deadly dread.
He say you take the poison snake,
he say you eat the pig.
He say you trade your plow for spade,
and in my boneyard dig.
My woman she look up to me;
she say the baby dead.
She say the cow be empty now,
and all the hens they fled.
She say the corn of husk be shorn,
she say the locust sing.
She say the rat and feral cat
done eaten everything.
The man he come before the sun,
he come beneath the moon.
He say you pray for what I say,
or you be buried soon.
He say you sick with politic,
but you be healthy when
you drink my wine of columbine,
and taste the blood of men.
My woman cry and wonder why
life murder and deceit.
She say the end shall surely send
my god into retreat.
She say the man do what he can
to make the devil king.
He wave his hand and curse the land
and hoodoo everything.
War Is Peace
War Is Peace
War is peace; the dead men cease
to hunger for their ground.
War is joy for every boy
who loads his fatal round.
War is play, the dead men say,
and circus for the crowd.
War brings home the rabid foam
in grins that shield the shroud.
War is peace; and dead men lease
their souls cheap to the throne.
War pretends to make amends
for every buried bone.
War is gold; the dead men hold
their medals and their pride.
War returns to kill and burn
the Infant and the Bride.
War is peace; the dead men cease
to hunger for their ground.
War is joy, a fetal ploy
to turn and turn around.
War is peace; the dead men cease
to hunger for their ground.
War is joy for every boy
who loads his fatal round.
War is play, the dead men say,
and circus for the crowd.
War brings home the rabid foam
in grins that shield the shroud.
War is peace; and dead men lease
their souls cheap to the throne.
War pretends to make amends
for every buried bone.
War is gold; the dead men hold
their medals and their pride.
War returns to kill and burn
the Infant and the Bride.
War is peace; the dead men cease
to hunger for their ground.
War is joy, a fetal ploy
to turn and turn around.
Cynthia
Cynthia
You never kissed me, never cried,
nor scorned me I if I whitely lied.
You filled my glass and gratified
the hunger of my damaged pride.
You never kissed me, never said
your love would live when I was dead.
You filled my glass and softly fed
a heart from which all hope had fled.
You never kissed me, never made
a promise that in time must fade.
You filled my glass and you forbade
all tendering good fortune paid.
You never kissed me, but you gave
the love I shall forever crave.
You never kissed me, never cried,
nor scorned me I if I whitely lied.
You filled my glass and gratified
the hunger of my damaged pride.
You never kissed me, never said
your love would live when I was dead.
You filled my glass and softly fed
a heart from which all hope had fled.
You never kissed me, never made
a promise that in time must fade.
You filled my glass and you forbade
all tendering good fortune paid.
You never kissed me, but you gave
the love I shall forever crave.
Amy 3
Amy 3
Each stem shall once again renew
to drive a bloom from icy thrall,
and always shall I think of you
when looking at that flower small,
which breaks the unforgiving earth
of Winter and his deadly spell;
his curse a wretched hurtful dearth
of joy and love from frozen Hell.
All hope is cradled by the Spring,
and in her warm enticing air
a life that shall by budding bring
shall bring a beauty wild and rare.
Always I see a blossom new
whenever I envision you.
Each stem shall once again renew
to drive a bloom from icy thrall,
and always shall I think of you
when looking at that flower small,
which breaks the unforgiving earth
of Winter and his deadly spell;
his curse a wretched hurtful dearth
of joy and love from frozen Hell.
All hope is cradled by the Spring,
and in her warm enticing air
a life that shall by budding bring
shall bring a beauty wild and rare.
Always I see a blossom new
whenever I envision you.
Don't Help Me Take You Down
Don't Help Me Take You Down
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know what game
feeds the blues which we crown
in honor of no shame.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know he plays
such a fool, such a clown,
a cat who never strays.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know Daddy's gold
gets you out far from town,
where you must cut and fold.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know what glows
is glitter when we drown
a love that never grows.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know what game
feeds the blues which we crown
in honor of no shame.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know he plays
such a fool, such a clown,
a cat who never strays.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know Daddy's gold
gets you out far from town,
where you must cut and fold.
Don't help me take you down.
Don't help me take you down.
Baby, I know what glows
is glitter when we drown
a love that never grows.
Don't help me take you down.
Odd Man Out
Odd Man Out
This man, he rich and fat,
he got some shiny shoes.
He ain't done scraped his plate
until he got the news,
what the beggar up to,
and what the orphan said,
what the odd man paid for
the voices in his head.
This man, he warm and safe,
he go to home and then
he button up his pants
and figure out just when
time done bought his ticket,
and fate done paid the freight
for the odd man's passage
down to that pearly gate.
This man, he be my friend,
he father to my bride.
He ain't done shined the plate
until the groom be tied
to the turning wheel that
obliterates all doubt
who is now sacred cow,
who be the odd man out.
This man, he rich and fat,
he got some shiny shoes.
He ain't done scraped his plate
until he got the news,
what the beggar up to,
and what the orphan said,
what the odd man paid for
the voices in his head.
This man, he warm and safe,
he go to home and then
he button up his pants
and figure out just when
time done bought his ticket,
and fate done paid the freight
for the odd man's passage
down to that pearly gate.
This man, he be my friend,
he father to my bride.
He ain't done shined the plate
until the groom be tied
to the turning wheel that
obliterates all doubt
who is now sacred cow,
who be the odd man out.
Little Sister Of The Blind
Little Sister Of The Blind (For Barbara)
My little sister of the blind,
who cared to guide me in my night,
who with your comfort warm and kind
provided surrogates for sight:
to you alone these words must wind,
by you alone I know the light.
My little sister of the poor,
who gave me bread, who gave me wine,
who knocked upon my secret door
with promises of One divine:
to you alone these words are for,
with you alone I crossed a line.
My little sister of the lame,
who helped me up when I was weak,
who told me that I must not blame
the crutch for what I had to speak:
to you alone these words will name
for you alone what I must seek.
My little sister of the mute,
who made my silence turn to rhyme,
who by your grace made me refute
a guilt obscuring phantom crime:
for you alone these words will root,
for you alone I bide my time.
My little sister of the blind,
who cared to guide me in my night,
who with your comfort warm and kind
provided surrogates for sight:
to you alone these words must wind,
by you alone I know the light.
My little sister of the poor,
who gave me bread, who gave me wine,
who knocked upon my secret door
with promises of One divine:
to you alone these words are for,
with you alone I crossed a line.
My little sister of the lame,
who helped me up when I was weak,
who told me that I must not blame
the crutch for what I had to speak:
to you alone these words will name
for you alone what I must seek.
My little sister of the mute,
who made my silence turn to rhyme,
who by your grace made me refute
a guilt obscuring phantom crime:
for you alone these words will root,
for you alone I bide my time.
Dooley's Tomb
Dooley's Tomb
She will fall, and fall again.
She will hide her loving side.
She'll deny she ever cried
in the presence of my pain.
I will love, and love again.
I will keep my spark inside.
I'll remake the true and tried
to a rough and wild refrain.
I awoke within her womb,
senses drenched then by my dream,
took the knife of my own scheme,
cut a rose from Dooley's Tomb.
She will meld her master's bane
to a trick above her knees,
made to mother, made to tease
turgity from wasted wane.
I will love, and love again.
I will keep my spark inside.
I'll remake the lover's ride
to a song that will remain.
I awoke within her womb,
covered by her virgin pride,
took the knife from there inside,
cut a rose from Dooley's Tomb.
She will fall, and fall again.
She will hide her loving side.
She'll deny she ever cried
in the presence of my pain.
I will love, and love again.
I will keep my spark inside.
I'll remake the true and tried
to a rough and wild refrain.
I awoke within her womb,
senses drenched then by my dream,
took the knife of my own scheme,
cut a rose from Dooley's Tomb.
She will meld her master's bane
to a trick above her knees,
made to mother, made to tease
turgity from wasted wane.
I will love, and love again.
I will keep my spark inside.
I'll remake the lover's ride
to a song that will remain.
I awoke within her womb,
covered by her virgin pride,
took the knife from there inside,
cut a rose from Dooley's Tomb.
Morning Glory
Morning Glory (for Barbara)
Evensong
Always when the third one
follows close beside me,
always when my ego
snakes its deadly venom
to a wicked pleasure
that evades the nexus
of a true redemption
in a waxing ghastly
night of black renewal,
of a fear that visits
with its evil horror
all the sinful pleasures
of the fire of Moloch
burning up our children,
then I know His blessing.
Always when the worldly
sirens of illusion
offer their enchantment,
offer me a music
rooted in a sneering
pose of smooth deception,
fashioned by a cabal
small within its logic,
but with monumental
greed and aspiration
to a voguish Babel,
to a central casting
lavish and romantic,
empty of all wisdom,
then I know His blessing.
Always when the hunger
of that creature sleeping
deep within my dreaming,
tragic, melancholic
in a twisted rapture,
mystery unraveled
from this web of reason,
and a magic blasted
by one nasty answer,
drains all my misfortune
on the stone of glory,
wasted seed that nurtures
nothing with its zero,
void and dead and barren,
then I know His blessing.
You were mine, but then you fled
on a day I wanted bread,
water for my arid soul,
dreams to fill my beggar's bowl.
You were mine, but then I paid
dues to him; I was afraid
of my unexamined life,
of your sacrificial knife.
You were mine, but then I spent
talent on my devil's rent
for a room where I could hide
with my false ungodly pride.
You were mine, but then alone
I was chained upon your stone,
on a night I cried for death,
for my final drunken breath.
You were mine, but you were gone
when the night gave birth to dawn,
when your sun arose to shine
on this world that is not mine.
One music in the fallen night
is all that I will ever make
to keep me from the waxing blight
that is the challenge of the snake.
A serpent whispered his way here.
He offered me a golden tree
alive with crystal apples clear
of her unsanctioned mystery.
I took her hand, I held her close;
I kissed her lips, I prayed that she
would be the one song in my heart
that sang with perfect clarity.
A serpent cursed my three good eyes.
He said with one I would not see,
he said with two I must reprise
each unseen awful vagary.
By music in the fallen night,
I took her body, it was mine;
I held her close, her eye was bright,
bright with the challenge of her vine.
Walpurgis Night
When the monster who has made me
in his image rank, infested
by his filthy corpus bleak and
in decay; when any fault was
mirrored through a glass that still is
tainted from the mouth of strangers,
tasted by the unclean in their
demon's rapture, in their manic
passion to unseat a victor
thirsty but forgiving, and his
shadow hunting each victim with
his reprisal, with his evil
weapons of greed and vanity;
then I know his foul unearthly
curse has fallen now into me.
When the monster who has taught me
where to hide my pleasure, how to
build a structure weak, fatally
doomed by cool distraction, logic
that is wanting faith, charity;
negative, defining past and
future blessings by a stigma
bloody, that remains infected
by the toxic apples of the
tree of knowledge, of my naked
guilty shameful piety; then
drought, disease, and fire, feeding
him his vile unholy banquet,
then I know his cruel and brutal
curse has fallen now into me.
When the monster who has guided
guilt and unrelenting sorrow
to a true and mortal burden,
to a vision that vacated
honor, love, and sacred light which
we must see; that burns the shadow
brightly into a mystery;
then I know his weapon, then I
see the question, then whatever
answer must become prophesy
of the coming glory of my
night of horror, of my secret
longing for a sweet redemption
from his curse that scatters wretched
fear, unhallowed by misery.
I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
knowledge of all wrong and right
born upon Walpurgis Night.
I was who you wanted when
greed was given to all men,
money etched with image of
you instead of Noah's dove.
I was who you wanted when,
taking up my bloody pen,
made a song for father Cain,
who must kill and kill again.
I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
shame replaced my innocence
with disease and pestilence.
I was who you wanted when
evil festered in all men,
good the glory thrice denied
by my false ungodly pride.
A silence that once set me free
to dream alone my wicked way,
to yield to fear, morbidity,
is now the promise of the day.
An angel gave her grace to mine.
She said that I must only know
what centers in the ripened vine,
what love must always tell and show.
I touched the hand she offered me,
so soft with life and tenderness,
so strong in faith and charity,
such comfort in this wilderness.
An angel blessed my talent shorn
of mockery and masquerade.
She said the scourge and bloody thorn
for only One was cruelly made.
A silence that once made me weep
between the night and rising day,
is now a quiet I must keep
to hold my angel close to me.
Morning Glory
When the Third One beckoned
with a light proceeding
from a girl whose beauty
rose beyond the carnal
images confusing
my night and its decay;
when the bloom was fastened
slow upon the stem and
held there by her fragile
force of strong and gentle
loving, by her tender
knowledge, wisdom softly
given in a whisper,
given without rancor,
then I know His blessing.
When the Second leaving
life behind His passion
brought the morning glory
bright upon our future,
gave me what was only
life and life alone, not
sanctity nor safety,
not wanton innocence;
never peace by number,
never strength by fraction,
nor luck in randomness
measured once by weighted
talents that must balance
failure, fear, and success;
then I know His blessing.
When the First commanded
me to build the fire,
and to burn my pages,
turn them all to ashes,
metaphoric dust of
temporary pleasure;
weeping for my children,
weeping for those victims
heaped upon the pyres
of our earthly triumph,
things that do not matter
to immortality;
then I know His wisdom,
then I know His power,
then I know His blessing.
You were Whom I wanted when
fear had made my bed and then,
turned my dreams to scattered swine,
turned my head and struck it blind.
You are Whom I named a price
to save me from artifice,
to take me with You alone,
as the beggar begs the throne.
You were Whom I wanted when
all my pride was wasted, spent
on an alchemy, whose prize
only toil and truth just buys.
You are Whom I denied thrice,
when the toll but taken twice,
rang the herald and the choir,
rang a heaven from this fire.
You were Whom I wanted when
time was stalled a time again,
day was held against the morn,
and the glory quiet born.
Coda
That music in the fallen night
soon became my soliloquy,
and internalized by fright,
the beast no one would ever see.
An angel sweet once came to me,
an angel gifted and alive,
she asked that I must only see
the river to its other side.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close, and I would find
my twisted darkened destiny
that with the light must be entwined.
That music in the fallen night
which whispered in its gravity,
has taken to its wings in flight,
and taken all my fear from me.
An angel sweet once came to me,
she was so good and strong and kind,
she gave me bread and set me free,
she gave me sight where I was blind.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close until the night
had quit its ghastly symphony,
until the morning turned to light.
That music in the fallen night
which kept my devil's harmony
alive in dreams and their delight,
is now a song of ecstasy.
He filled my heart, He made it right,
He showed the way to come to peace,
He gave His blessing that I might
now find my path to sweet release.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would in her life forever find
the hope and joy she gave to me
when she first led me to the Vine
Evensong
Always when the third one
follows close beside me,
always when my ego
snakes its deadly venom
to a wicked pleasure
that evades the nexus
of a true redemption
in a waxing ghastly
night of black renewal,
of a fear that visits
with its evil horror
all the sinful pleasures
of the fire of Moloch
burning up our children,
then I know His blessing.
Always when the worldly
sirens of illusion
offer their enchantment,
offer me a music
rooted in a sneering
pose of smooth deception,
fashioned by a cabal
small within its logic,
but with monumental
greed and aspiration
to a voguish Babel,
to a central casting
lavish and romantic,
empty of all wisdom,
then I know His blessing.
Always when the hunger
of that creature sleeping
deep within my dreaming,
tragic, melancholic
in a twisted rapture,
mystery unraveled
from this web of reason,
and a magic blasted
by one nasty answer,
drains all my misfortune
on the stone of glory,
wasted seed that nurtures
nothing with its zero,
void and dead and barren,
then I know His blessing.
You were mine, but then you fled
on a day I wanted bread,
water for my arid soul,
dreams to fill my beggar's bowl.
You were mine, but then I paid
dues to him; I was afraid
of my unexamined life,
of your sacrificial knife.
You were mine, but then I spent
talent on my devil's rent
for a room where I could hide
with my false ungodly pride.
You were mine, but then alone
I was chained upon your stone,
on a night I cried for death,
for my final drunken breath.
You were mine, but you were gone
when the night gave birth to dawn,
when your sun arose to shine
on this world that is not mine.
One music in the fallen night
is all that I will ever make
to keep me from the waxing blight
that is the challenge of the snake.
A serpent whispered his way here.
He offered me a golden tree
alive with crystal apples clear
of her unsanctioned mystery.
I took her hand, I held her close;
I kissed her lips, I prayed that she
would be the one song in my heart
that sang with perfect clarity.
A serpent cursed my three good eyes.
He said with one I would not see,
he said with two I must reprise
each unseen awful vagary.
By music in the fallen night,
I took her body, it was mine;
I held her close, her eye was bright,
bright with the challenge of her vine.
Walpurgis Night
When the monster who has made me
in his image rank, infested
by his filthy corpus bleak and
in decay; when any fault was
mirrored through a glass that still is
tainted from the mouth of strangers,
tasted by the unclean in their
demon's rapture, in their manic
passion to unseat a victor
thirsty but forgiving, and his
shadow hunting each victim with
his reprisal, with his evil
weapons of greed and vanity;
then I know his foul unearthly
curse has fallen now into me.
When the monster who has taught me
where to hide my pleasure, how to
build a structure weak, fatally
doomed by cool distraction, logic
that is wanting faith, charity;
negative, defining past and
future blessings by a stigma
bloody, that remains infected
by the toxic apples of the
tree of knowledge, of my naked
guilty shameful piety; then
drought, disease, and fire, feeding
him his vile unholy banquet,
then I know his cruel and brutal
curse has fallen now into me.
When the monster who has guided
guilt and unrelenting sorrow
to a true and mortal burden,
to a vision that vacated
honor, love, and sacred light which
we must see; that burns the shadow
brightly into a mystery;
then I know his weapon, then I
see the question, then whatever
answer must become prophesy
of the coming glory of my
night of horror, of my secret
longing for a sweet redemption
from his curse that scatters wretched
fear, unhallowed by misery.
I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
knowledge of all wrong and right
born upon Walpurgis Night.
I was who you wanted when
greed was given to all men,
money etched with image of
you instead of Noah's dove.
I was who you wanted when,
taking up my bloody pen,
made a song for father Cain,
who must kill and kill again.
I was who you wanted when
love had died to you and then,
shame replaced my innocence
with disease and pestilence.
I was who you wanted when
evil festered in all men,
good the glory thrice denied
by my false ungodly pride.
A silence that once set me free
to dream alone my wicked way,
to yield to fear, morbidity,
is now the promise of the day.
An angel gave her grace to mine.
She said that I must only know
what centers in the ripened vine,
what love must always tell and show.
I touched the hand she offered me,
so soft with life and tenderness,
so strong in faith and charity,
such comfort in this wilderness.
An angel blessed my talent shorn
of mockery and masquerade.
She said the scourge and bloody thorn
for only One was cruelly made.
A silence that once made me weep
between the night and rising day,
is now a quiet I must keep
to hold my angel close to me.
Morning Glory
When the Third One beckoned
with a light proceeding
from a girl whose beauty
rose beyond the carnal
images confusing
my night and its decay;
when the bloom was fastened
slow upon the stem and
held there by her fragile
force of strong and gentle
loving, by her tender
knowledge, wisdom softly
given in a whisper,
given without rancor,
then I know His blessing.
When the Second leaving
life behind His passion
brought the morning glory
bright upon our future,
gave me what was only
life and life alone, not
sanctity nor safety,
not wanton innocence;
never peace by number,
never strength by fraction,
nor luck in randomness
measured once by weighted
talents that must balance
failure, fear, and success;
then I know His blessing.
When the First commanded
me to build the fire,
and to burn my pages,
turn them all to ashes,
metaphoric dust of
temporary pleasure;
weeping for my children,
weeping for those victims
heaped upon the pyres
of our earthly triumph,
things that do not matter
to immortality;
then I know His wisdom,
then I know His power,
then I know His blessing.
You were Whom I wanted when
fear had made my bed and then,
turned my dreams to scattered swine,
turned my head and struck it blind.
You are Whom I named a price
to save me from artifice,
to take me with You alone,
as the beggar begs the throne.
You were Whom I wanted when
all my pride was wasted, spent
on an alchemy, whose prize
only toil and truth just buys.
You are Whom I denied thrice,
when the toll but taken twice,
rang the herald and the choir,
rang a heaven from this fire.
You were Whom I wanted when
time was stalled a time again,
day was held against the morn,
and the glory quiet born.
Coda
That music in the fallen night
soon became my soliloquy,
and internalized by fright,
the beast no one would ever see.
An angel sweet once came to me,
an angel gifted and alive,
she asked that I must only see
the river to its other side.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close, and I would find
my twisted darkened destiny
that with the light must be entwined.
That music in the fallen night
which whispered in its gravity,
has taken to its wings in flight,
and taken all my fear from me.
An angel sweet once came to me,
she was so good and strong and kind,
she gave me bread and set me free,
she gave me sight where I was blind.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would hold me close until the night
had quit its ghastly symphony,
until the morning turned to light.
That music in the fallen night
which kept my devil's harmony
alive in dreams and their delight,
is now a song of ecstasy.
He filled my heart, He made it right,
He showed the way to come to peace,
He gave His blessing that I might
now find my path to sweet release.
I took her hand, I prayed that she
would in her life forever find
the hope and joy she gave to me
when she first led me to the Vine
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Next Day
The Next Day
Sun he rise slow on the land.
Rain she waits for God's command.
Woman feeds the son of man.
Man he does the work he can.
I will keep the golden bough.
I will love you not to know.
I will plough the ground I've sown.
I will grace the dreams you own.
Sun he falls upon the man.
Rain she gives all that she can.
Woman makes her bed of straw.
Man creates his deadly law.
Sun he rise slow on the land.
Rain she waits for God's command.
Woman feeds the son of man.
Man he does the work he can.
I will keep the golden bough.
I will love you not to know.
I will plough the ground I've sown.
I will grace the dreams you own.
Sun he falls upon the man.
Rain she gives all that she can.
Woman makes her bed of straw.
Man creates his deadly law.
The Wedding Guest
The Wedding Guest
I assume a diamond flawed
by a world the most at best
comforts one she ever awed,
when he was the Wedding Guest.
I demand a flower culled
from the garden where his cries
echoed to the often dulled,
by them forged to lullabies.
I construct a dream whose walls,
made of cloud and made of clay,
vanish when the curtain falls,
when the night returns to day.
I pretend a man who tried
keep her love until love died.
I assume a diamond flawed
by a world the most at best
comforts one she ever awed,
when he was the Wedding Guest.
I demand a flower culled
from the garden where his cries
echoed to the often dulled,
by them forged to lullabies.
I construct a dream whose walls,
made of cloud and made of clay,
vanish when the curtain falls,
when the night returns to day.
I pretend a man who tried
keep her love until love died.
Circus Boy
Circus Boy
This cage has set me free
from what was wasting pain,
from chains I did just see
fall with a gentle rain.
My demon's cruel regard,
his gilded burning prod,
his lessons grim and hard,
fell with the tears of God.
This cage is comfort now,
a sanctum and the crux
of my unbidden vow
to stem a morbid flux.
In Good and Bad Mouse Town
those girls are all my joy,
so I will do my tricks,
and be their Circus Boy.
This cage has set me free
from what was wasting pain,
from chains I did just see
fall with a gentle rain.
My demon's cruel regard,
his gilded burning prod,
his lessons grim and hard,
fell with the tears of God.
This cage is comfort now,
a sanctum and the crux
of my unbidden vow
to stem a morbid flux.
In Good and Bad Mouse Town
those girls are all my joy,
so I will do my tricks,
and be their Circus Boy.
Fatal Flaw
Fatal Flaw
He built his house by common law,
and made a bed of burning straw;
he rubbed his bloody wound to raw;
he made her love his fatal f law.
His leg was lamed to twisted gimp;
he loved to pose his famous limp;
his heart was his Achille 's heel
to hide something he did not feel.
He wrote a book, he sang a song
about a life that went all wrong;
he craved the pain she offered him,
he claimed his fate was mean and dim.
He lived to die a poet's death,
imploring her with final breath
to take the dust his life must yield
and put it down in potter's field.
His eye was blind, his spine was weak;
he lied each time he tried to speak.
He stacked the deck before the draw,
to force the ace, his fatal f law.
He built his house by common law,
and made a bed of burning straw;
he rubbed his bloody wound to raw;
he made her love his fatal f law.
His leg was lamed to twisted gimp;
he loved to pose his famous limp;
his heart was his Achille 's heel
to hide something he did not feel.
He wrote a book, he sang a song
about a life that went all wrong;
he craved the pain she offered him,
he claimed his fate was mean and dim.
He lived to die a poet's death,
imploring her with final breath
to take the dust his life must yield
and put it down in potter's field.
His eye was blind, his spine was weak;
he lied each time he tried to speak.
He stacked the deck before the draw,
to force the ace, his fatal f law.
Kathleen
Kathleen
On meadow bright by love and light,
all angels praise their queen;
in grove so fair with candied air
there sleeps my sweet Kathleen.
Her dreams enfold a man of gold,
a prince, but not a king.
Her auburn hair and beauty rare
shall bring her everything.
In bower soft with lilac bloom,
the swallows prance and preen;
and serve with song a goddess there,
my grace who is Kathleen.
Her heart is pure and slow to sin,
her eyes as clear as star and moon.
Her gaze revives the blossom's fade
that wavers once to sway, to swoon.
The sky was clear, and dew so dear,
with comfort warm between.
I spied her there, a girl so fair;
one I adore, Kathleen.
Her form revealed such loveliness,
so peaceful in her dreams.
I suffered then in loneliness,
or what it often seems.
A songbird settled on my hand,
its eye both kind and keen;
and spoke the words I loathed to hear,
"You'll never have Kathleen."
I stole away in splendid pain,
my soul rich as a king,
for love is ripe upon the vine,
to bring me everything.
On meadow bright by love and light,
all angels praise their queen;
in grove so fair with candied air
there sleeps my sweet Kathleen.
Her dreams enfold a man of gold,
a prince, but not a king.
Her auburn hair and beauty rare
shall bring her everything.
In bower soft with lilac bloom,
the swallows prance and preen;
and serve with song a goddess there,
my grace who is Kathleen.
Her heart is pure and slow to sin,
her eyes as clear as star and moon.
Her gaze revives the blossom's fade
that wavers once to sway, to swoon.
The sky was clear, and dew so dear,
with comfort warm between.
I spied her there, a girl so fair;
one I adore, Kathleen.
Her form revealed such loveliness,
so peaceful in her dreams.
I suffered then in loneliness,
or what it often seems.
A songbird settled on my hand,
its eye both kind and keen;
and spoke the words I loathed to hear,
"You'll never have Kathleen."
I stole away in splendid pain,
my soul rich as a king,
for love is ripe upon the vine,
to bring me everything.
Suzy
Suzy
I can't keep my careless sham
of the beast below the lamb.
I don't know, but I've been told
kings of Hell are cruel and cold.
We must serve the false divide,
counting fears we have to hide.
Suzy wore a short red dress,
such a joy to slow undress.
I can't hold you close to me,
what is now is meant to be.
I don't know, but what I hear
angels come to sooth and clear.
We must weigh what truth sustains
with the bones of our remains.
Suzy gave me what I need
on my grave of stone and weed.
I can't wait to hear the call
of her wailing at the wall.
I don't see, but then I'm blind
to the love I left behind.
I can't keep my careless sham
of the beast below the lamb.
I don't know, but I've been told
kings of Hell are cruel and cold.
We must serve the false divide,
counting fears we have to hide.
Suzy wore a short red dress,
such a joy to slow undress.
I can't hold you close to me,
what is now is meant to be.
I don't know, but what I hear
angels come to sooth and clear.
We must weigh what truth sustains
with the bones of our remains.
Suzy gave me what I need
on my grave of stone and weed.
I can't wait to hear the call
of her wailing at the wall.
I don't see, but then I'm blind
to the love I left behind.
Rats' Alley
Rats' Alley
Dead men do not throw sticks or stones,
nor cast their fate by scattered bones,
nor read the truth in random trope,
in crystal globe, in horoscope.
We wait below our lovers' sleep,
we keep our silence six feet deep,
where rotten flesh must fall to free
us from the god of vanity.
Dead men cannot recant their lies,
they have no dance of alibis;
they hide no stone to be unturned,
no lesson needs to be unlearned.
We wait below while lovers keep
their secret safe, their final leap
from love's brief life to frightful death
a matter of a moment's breath.
I knew the love once in your eyes,
a song that can have no reprise;
the verse which once composed was set
in stone, and I cannot forget.
Dead men do not for fortune wait,
nor in their dreaming contemplate
a future reaped from promise sown
of seed that they in sin have thrown.
We wait below our lovers' groans,
where we have lost our lucky bones
to vermin and those curses that
pervade the alley of the rat.
Dead men will turn no prophesy
to visions that the living see
in ravings of the supplicant
who begs for love with tattered rant.
We wait below our lovers' lives,
beneath the vine their beauty drives,
the fuse that burns from brided beast
to blast the flower of the feast.
Dead men do not throw sticks or stones,
nor cast their fate by scattered bones,
nor read the truth in random trope,
in crystal globe, in horoscope.
We wait below our lovers' sleep,
we keep our silence six feet deep,
where rotten flesh must fall to free
us from the god of vanity.
Dead men cannot recant their lies,
they have no dance of alibis;
they hide no stone to be unturned,
no lesson needs to be unlearned.
We wait below while lovers keep
their secret safe, their final leap
from love's brief life to frightful death
a matter of a moment's breath.
I knew the love once in your eyes,
a song that can have no reprise;
the verse which once composed was set
in stone, and I cannot forget.
Dead men do not for fortune wait,
nor in their dreaming contemplate
a future reaped from promise sown
of seed that they in sin have thrown.
We wait below our lovers' groans,
where we have lost our lucky bones
to vermin and those curses that
pervade the alley of the rat.
Dead men will turn no prophesy
to visions that the living see
in ravings of the supplicant
who begs for love with tattered rant.
We wait below our lovers' lives,
beneath the vine their beauty drives,
the fuse that burns from brided beast
to blast the flower of the feast.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Word Made Flesh
Word Made Flesh
No words can now engage
your love for me a day;
but I will be the page
who turns, and turns away.
The word who has no ends
is born this judgement day;
and what the flesh transcends
will comfort, and will sway.
No words will ever save
my love for you a day;
but I'll go to my grave
in love, and to love's clay.
No words can now engage
your love for me a day;
but I will be the page
who turns, and turns away.
The word who has no ends
is born this judgement day;
and what the flesh transcends
will comfort, and will sway.
No words will ever save
my love for you a day;
but I'll go to my grave
in love, and to love's clay.
Clementine
Clementine
Turn your hair into the wind;
with your care I did rescind
all my worry, fear, and doubt,
of a world I lived without.
Clementine, you were so wise,
loving shined dark in your eyes.
What still keeps my burden clear
are those girls I hold so dear.
Take your turn once in my days,
where your sweet and charming ways
cast a spell to make me be
child of grace and poetry.
Clementine, you taught me well
how to kiss and never tell.
What still keeps my burden clear
are those girls I hold so dear.
Turn your hair into the wind;
with your care I did rescind
all my worry, fear, and doubt,
of a world I lived without.
Clementine, you were so wise,
loving shined dark in your eyes.
What still keeps my burden clear
are those girls I hold so dear.
Take your turn once in my days,
where your sweet and charming ways
cast a spell to make me be
child of grace and poetry.
Clementine, you taught me well
how to kiss and never tell.
What still keeps my burden clear
are those girls I hold so dear.
Amy 2
Amy 2
If we ever find a way
to say the words we should say:
this is love, and it will stay
one way forever.
If we ever have the chance
to find a path to romance,
we will dance our secret dance
always together.
If we ever lose our blues
to a joy which we shall choose,
we will never once refuse
love's sweet endeavor.
If I ever hold you tight,
and kiss your lips, my respite
will last until this dark night
is day forever.
If we ever find a way
to say the words we should say:
this is love, and it will stay
one way forever.
If we ever have the chance
to find a path to romance,
we will dance our secret dance
always together.
If we ever lose our blues
to a joy which we shall choose,
we will never once refuse
love's sweet endeavor.
If I ever hold you tight,
and kiss your lips, my respite
will last until this dark night
is day forever.
Mulberry And Main
Mulberry and Main
His shadow may be either one,
a blessing or that dread design
which rattles when the day is done,
and turns to chaff the final line.
His shade who in the alley fades,
when preyed upon by jaded eye,
shall work again those fatal trades
which age and waste intensify.
His phantom chanting at the moon,
recanting with erratic tongue,
shall stake his chances late or soon
on those in trance he walks among.
His trembling spectral hand extends
to own what strangers deign to give,
for charity which condescends,
and pity which will not forgive.
His shadow may be either one,
a blessing or that dread design
of demon drunk from love, undone
by damaged fruit on ravaged vine.
His shadow may be either one,
a blessing or that dread design
which rattles when the day is done,
and turns to chaff the final line.
His shade who in the alley fades,
when preyed upon by jaded eye,
shall work again those fatal trades
which age and waste intensify.
His phantom chanting at the moon,
recanting with erratic tongue,
shall stake his chances late or soon
on those in trance he walks among.
His trembling spectral hand extends
to own what strangers deign to give,
for charity which condescends,
and pity which will not forgive.
His shadow may be either one,
a blessing or that dread design
of demon drunk from love, undone
by damaged fruit on ravaged vine.
John Keats
John Keats
All love is won
redone in dreams.
Above his gyre
my golem screams.
John Keats is dead,
water took him down.
Look at your sun,
pray again for rain.
This vortical
is swept by Sleep.
Before his throne
my angels weep.
Truth held his head,
beauty did him drown.
Look at your moon,
burning in its wane.
You save my heart
with softer spin.
You turn me slow
to graceful sin.
John Keats is dead,
with his rusted crown.
Look at my soul,
pray it shall remain.
All love creates
a turning king.
Above my bier
my angels sing.
All love is won
redone in dreams.
Above his gyre
my golem screams.
John Keats is dead,
water took him down.
Look at your sun,
pray again for rain.
This vortical
is swept by Sleep.
Before his throne
my angels weep.
Truth held his head,
beauty did him drown.
Look at your moon,
burning in its wane.
You save my heart
with softer spin.
You turn me slow
to graceful sin.
John Keats is dead,
with his rusted crown.
Look at my soul,
pray it shall remain.
All love creates
a turning king.
Above my bier
my angels sing.
Children Of The Least
Children Of The Least
Baby, who has made you
so warm in comfort clear;
who has made a soul new,
and blessed it with her tear?
Boss, he built his house far
from grounds of his domain,
where the beggar's bones are
still buried by his gain.
Baby, who has laid you
among your man and beast;
who has given good to
the children of the least?
Baby, who has made you
so warm in comfort clear;
who has made a soul new,
and blessed it with her tear?
Boss, he built his house far
from grounds of his domain,
where the beggar's bones are
still buried by his gain.
Baby, who has laid you
among your man and beast;
who has given good to
the children of the least?
Georgia Avenue
Georgia Avenue
When the bride whom I once faltered in
complains that I am dead,
object that I'm quite vigorously
dreaming in your shed.
All the quiet that I bartered for
still breeds inside my head,
her garden soft and wonderful
beyond my narrow bed.
My own creature I contended, she
shall nurse a lesser dread;
her moon shall burn upon the dirt
where worms and flies have fled.
And when she offers light to you
about the life I led,
then tell her she may visit me
forever in your shed.
The woman who shall comfort me
will dance where devils tread;
and she shall bring her beauty,
and shall bring me wine and bread.
I curse that wretched avatar
of time which must be bled,
he shall not bleed the one to whom
my love has lastly wed.
She wonders why I left behind
my shadow made of lead;
reveal the god who came of me
in darkness, in your shed.
When the bride whom I once faltered in
complains that I am dead,
object that I'm quite vigorously
dreaming in your shed.
All the quiet that I bartered for
still breeds inside my head,
her garden soft and wonderful
beyond my narrow bed.
My own creature I contended, she
shall nurse a lesser dread;
her moon shall burn upon the dirt
where worms and flies have fled.
And when she offers light to you
about the life I led,
then tell her she may visit me
forever in your shed.
The woman who shall comfort me
will dance where devils tread;
and she shall bring her beauty,
and shall bring me wine and bread.
I curse that wretched avatar
of time which must be bled,
he shall not bleed the one to whom
my love has lastly wed.
She wonders why I left behind
my shadow made of lead;
reveal the god who came of me
in darkness, in your shed.
Zoe
Zoe
So alone on the basement floor,
down a hall where the dark wants more,
and in a room that wounds are for,
toils my charming princess.
When knots are what we need to fray,
I only while my time away,
still working on a spell to say
to a lonely princess.
Her spirit darkened in the night,
a heart so clear by Moon's cool light,
just risen once in dark delight,
phoenix now a princess.
I must rephrase a song that sings
of grace to her unfolding wings,
and all in life a goodness brings
to a gentle princess.
So I shall spin and I shall weave;
these words are now my last reprieve,
a web which I shall cast and leave
for my charming princess.
So alone on the basement floor,
down a hall where the dark wants more,
and in a room that wounds are for,
toils my charming princess.
When knots are what we need to fray,
I only while my time away,
still working on a spell to say
to a lonely princess.
Her spirit darkened in the night,
a heart so clear by Moon's cool light,
just risen once in dark delight,
phoenix now a princess.
I must rephrase a song that sings
of grace to her unfolding wings,
and all in life a goodness brings
to a gentle princess.
So I shall spin and I shall weave;
these words are now my last reprieve,
a web which I shall cast and leave
for my charming princess.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Laughing Eyes
Laughing Eyes
I can't keep my cool disguise
hiding what her beauty buys.
I can't hold my breath and say
all of this will fade away.
Life she turns slow on the wheel,
life she is to which we kneel.
Safety is what must suffice,
falling on the same love twice.
I can't know the one and all
who has held my time in thrall.
I can't hold my breath and say
give me just another day.
Life she is what we must steal
lonely on her turning wheel.
Warm her mouth with soft surprise,
kiss her open laughing eyes.
I can't keep my cool disguise
hiding what her beauty buys.
I can't hold my breath and say
all of this will fade away.
Life she turns slow on the wheel,
life she is to which we kneel.
Safety is what must suffice,
falling on the same love twice.
I can't know the one and all
who has held my time in thrall.
I can't hold my breath and say
give me just another day.
Life she is what we must steal
lonely on her turning wheel.
Warm her mouth with soft surprise,
kiss her open laughing eyes.
Good Mouse Town
Good Mouse Town
Go pack your bag and find your hat;
conceal your pout and veil your frown,
and tell those friends who matter that
you'll soon be gone to Good Mouse Town.
The rat and weasel, fox and stoat,
the boy who puts his thumb in germs;
the rooting pig and billy goat
will stay at home with bugs and worms.
Go clean your teeth and wash your face,
and shine your shoes to black and brown;
obscure your tracks to leave no trace
that you are bound for Good Mouse Town.
The spider and the poison snake,
the girl who lets her knickers drop
just for the dog and randy drake
will stay at home with gruel and slop.
Go comb your hair and pick your nose,
and sniff your mother's bridal gown;
but never to her once disclose
that you're away to Good Mouse Town.
The princess and the dragon queen,
the boy who make the others ill,
the girl who loves to prance and preen,
will stay at home with trash and swill.
So pack your bag and bide your time,
and never let your defense down,
until you hear that church bell chime,
and start your way to Good Mouse Town.
Go pack your bag and find your hat;
conceal your pout and veil your frown,
and tell those friends who matter that
you'll soon be gone to Good Mouse Town.
The rat and weasel, fox and stoat,
the boy who puts his thumb in germs;
the rooting pig and billy goat
will stay at home with bugs and worms.
Go clean your teeth and wash your face,
and shine your shoes to black and brown;
obscure your tracks to leave no trace
that you are bound for Good Mouse Town.
The spider and the poison snake,
the girl who lets her knickers drop
just for the dog and randy drake
will stay at home with gruel and slop.
Go comb your hair and pick your nose,
and sniff your mother's bridal gown;
but never to her once disclose
that you're away to Good Mouse Town.
The princess and the dragon queen,
the boy who make the others ill,
the girl who loves to prance and preen,
will stay at home with trash and swill.
So pack your bag and bide your time,
and never let your defense down,
until you hear that church bell chime,
and start your way to Good Mouse Town.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Corrupt Domain
Corrupt Domain
Five times I now have told you
to break my ball and chain.
A man's desire is always true
to his corrupt domain.
Four horses pull the hearse now
to take my baggage home.
A woman makes her own vow,
and weaves it with her comb.
Three seasons with the doctor
has cured me of my pain.
I need no unknown proctor
to parse what will remain.
Two women know the curse who
came once to shelter me.
A man's last fine is always due
before his bond is free.
One time I had the power
to reason and abide,
but now I fear the hour
from which I have to hide.
Five times I now have told you
to break my ball and chain.
A man's desire is always true
to his corrupt domain.
Four horses pull the hearse now
to take my baggage home.
A woman makes her own vow,
and weaves it with her comb.
Three seasons with the doctor
has cured me of my pain.
I need no unknown proctor
to parse what will remain.
Two women know the curse who
came once to shelter me.
A man's last fine is always due
before his bond is free.
One time I had the power
to reason and abide,
but now I fear the hour
from which I have to hide.
Boy And Man
Boy And Man
It's a long and stony road
to the place I take my load,
low and weary, tired and cold,
in the night where dreams unfold.
I have seen the boy and man
mastering a careful plan,
lover of those girls who burn
fire to fuse, then wait their turn.
It's a long and stony trip
to the place where I must grip
all the comfort left to me,
ending quiet, vagary.
I have seen the boy and man
falter in a careful plan,
lover of those girls who say
I am yours, then fade away.
It's a long and stony road
to the place I take my load,
low and weary, tired and cold,
in the night where dreams unfold.
I have seen the boy and man
mastering a careful plan,
lover of those girls who burn
fire to fuse, then wait their turn.
It's a long and stony trip
to the place where I must grip
all the comfort left to me,
ending quiet, vagary.
I have seen the boy and man
falter in a careful plan,
lover of those girls who say
I am yours, then fade away.
Moan And Sing
Moan And Sing
You are the one for me,
what I forever see,
deep in the night of you,
where love always is true,
where stars obscure all blue.
When I first called you mine,
those words were ripe and fine,
they spoke my soul who waits
counting the wasted fates
time murders and creates.
We were such careful flirts,
naming those secret hurts
that force the bloom to spring,
fledglings to take to wing,
lovers to moan and sing.
You are the one for me,
your love has set me free
to measure all my hours
above your softer powers,
among your hidden flowers.
You are the one for me,
what I forever see,
deep in the night of you,
where love always is true,
where stars obscure all blue.
When I first called you mine,
those words were ripe and fine,
they spoke my soul who waits
counting the wasted fates
time murders and creates.
We were such careful flirts,
naming those secret hurts
that force the bloom to spring,
fledglings to take to wing,
lovers to moan and sing.
You are the one for me,
your love has set me free
to measure all my hours
above your softer powers,
among your hidden flowers.
Five Dark Miles
Five Dark Miles
Day be over, be off and gone;
be like water too quickly drawn
be like money once cast upon
the temple of old Babylon.
Day be easy, be good to take;
be like loving, and sweet like cake;
be like heart we so easy break
for that devil, that old king snake.
Day be happy, be like song;
be like river when he roll along;
be like baby, she do no wrong;
she so pretty, she weak and strong.
Five dark miles and I walking slow;
five dark miles to that place below,
where wind he cold, he always blow;
five dark miles I do darkly know.
Day be over, be off and gone;
be like water too quickly drawn
be like money once cast upon
the temple of old Babylon.
Day be easy, be good to take;
be like loving, and sweet like cake;
be like heart we so easy break
for that devil, that old king snake.
Day be happy, be like song;
be like river when he roll along;
be like baby, she do no wrong;
she so pretty, she weak and strong.
Five dark miles and I walking slow;
five dark miles to that place below,
where wind he cold, he always blow;
five dark miles I do darkly know.
Pride
Pride
One afternoon, dear,
we'll walk down the street.
Angels will swoon, dear
they'll kneel at our feet.
People will bow, dear,
and scrape as we pass;
people of wealth, dear,
and people of class.
Two pages turned, dear,
and to our dark side;
dry leaves will burn, dear,
where bright lights abide.
Time is the hand, dear,
the face of the Thief;
he deals our cards, dear,
of sorrow and grief.
Three bridges crossed, dear,
and burned in the night;
each one a loss, dear,
to love in moonlight.
Fate is the bloom, dear,
and fate is the vine;
fate is the knot, dear,
completing the line.
Four horses wait, dear,
to take us to ride
beyond the gate, dear,
to the other side.
Angels will swoon, dear,
and call out our name;
they'll sing and praise, dear,
and chant our acclaim.
One afternoon, dear,
we'll walk down the street.
Angels will swoon, dear
they'll kneel at our feet.
People will bow, dear,
and scrape as we pass;
people of wealth, dear,
and people of class.
Two pages turned, dear,
and to our dark side;
dry leaves will burn, dear,
where bright lights abide.
Time is the hand, dear,
the face of the Thief;
he deals our cards, dear,
of sorrow and grief.
Three bridges crossed, dear,
and burned in the night;
each one a loss, dear,
to love in moonlight.
Fate is the bloom, dear,
and fate is the vine;
fate is the knot, dear,
completing the line.
Four horses wait, dear,
to take us to ride
beyond the gate, dear,
to the other side.
Angels will swoon, dear,
and call out our name;
they'll sing and praise, dear,
and chant our acclaim.
Sacred Ground
Sacred Ground
Once I had the power
to swindle and elide.
Once my words did flower
across a cold divide.
When I held the hammer
to nail my coffin down,
then the girls' cool glamor
became a mourning crown.
Once I had a reason
to be in love always.
Once my summer season
did capture all my days.
When I held the spade down,
down to my sacred ground,
then the girls did chatter
and blossom all around.
Once I had the power
to swindle and elide.
Once my words did flower
across a cold divide.
When I held the hammer
to nail my coffin down,
then the girls' cool glamor
became a mourning crown.
Once I had a reason
to be in love always.
Once my summer season
did capture all my days.
When I held the spade down,
down to my sacred ground,
then the girls did chatter
and blossom all around.
Parkwood
Parkwood
I love a girl whose veils undrawn
must hold me sweetly captured,
and in the death of golden dawn
my heart is done, enraptured.
Your words, so quiet in the night,
shall keep my fire burning
for life who wants her carbon bright,
and worms all twisting, turning.
Now underground, we'll root around
and dig a dream together;
but all we lost someday is found,
to bind us to its tether.
I love a girl whose veils undrawn
must hold me sweetly captured,
and in the death of golden dawn
my heart is done, enraptured.
Your words, so quiet in the night,
shall keep my fire burning
for life who wants her carbon bright,
and worms all twisting, turning.
Now underground, we'll root around
and dig a dream together;
but all we lost someday is found,
to bind us to its tether.
Entropy
Entropy
Fire will call my chatelaine
from the mansion of her pride.
Fire will be her flowing train,
fire the master of her ride
to the station of the Bride.
Fire will be her veil and crown,
and the ring now near her hand.
Fire will be her wedding gown;
she will wait for my demand,
she will kneel at my command.
Fire will take her then supine
to my barren narrow bed;
fire in nature so malign,
fire the breeder of the dead,
burning in her maidenhead.
Fire will be her joy and shame,
and the master of her vice.
Fire will call her to my flame;
she will beg for paradise,
she will crave my kiss of ice.
Fire will call my chatelaine
from the mansion of her pride.
Fire will be her flowing train,
fire the master of her ride
to the station of the Bride.
Fire will be her veil and crown,
and the ring now near her hand.
Fire will be her wedding gown;
she will wait for my demand,
she will kneel at my command.
Fire will take her then supine
to my barren narrow bed;
fire in nature so malign,
fire the breeder of the dead,
burning in her maidenhead.
Fire will be her joy and shame,
and the master of her vice.
Fire will call her to my flame;
she will beg for paradise,
she will crave my kiss of ice.
Salome
Salome
I once had a love,
an angel above this wicked fray.
She gave me her smile,
she loved me a while, my Salome.
The Boss bid her bring
my head as a thing bloodless and gray.
He promised her time
and beauty sublime, my Salome.
I once had a love
as soft as a dove, tender and sweet.
She sang to my heart,
she was without art, her soul complete.
The Boss told her lies,
both wicked and wise, damning my fate.
He said I was cursed
by history's worst prattle and prate.
She danced to the moon
with maddening swoon of dark delight.
She caressed her knife
of anger and strife, of evil blight.
She begged for my blood,
for fire and the flood, famine and plague.
She begged for my cross
of treasure and dross with promises vague.
I once had a love
with sweet movements of unholy sway.
She gave me her charms
each night in my arms, my Salome.
The Boss bid her bring
my head as a thing bloodless and gray.
He promised her thrice
a rich paradise, my Salome.
I once had a love,
an angel above this wicked fray.
She gave me her smile,
she loved me a while, my Salome.
The Boss bid her bring
my head as a thing bloodless and gray.
He promised her time
and beauty sublime, my Salome.
I once had a love
as soft as a dove, tender and sweet.
She sang to my heart,
she was without art, her soul complete.
The Boss told her lies,
both wicked and wise, damning my fate.
He said I was cursed
by history's worst prattle and prate.
She danced to the moon
with maddening swoon of dark delight.
She caressed her knife
of anger and strife, of evil blight.
She begged for my blood,
for fire and the flood, famine and plague.
She begged for my cross
of treasure and dross with promises vague.
I once had a love
with sweet movements of unholy sway.
She gave me her charms
each night in my arms, my Salome.
The Boss bid her bring
my head as a thing bloodless and gray.
He promised her thrice
a rich paradise, my Salome.
Venus
Venus
Plato and Plotinus
say my little Venus,
in her umbra vinous,
flowers here between us.
Venus does enripen
farrow gifts of good men,
and she drives my ghost pen
slow upon Ben Bulben.
Water and her fire
drive my cycled gyre,
high above and higher
than your bloody spire.
Venus and her flower
bloom beneath my tower,
give the stone its power,
bless my counted hour.
Plato and Plotinus
say my little Venus,
in her umbra vinous,
flowers here between us.
Venus does enripen
farrow gifts of good men,
and she drives my ghost pen
slow upon Ben Bulben.
Water and her fire
drive my cycled gyre,
high above and higher
than your bloody spire.
Venus and her flower
bloom beneath my tower,
give the stone its power,
bless my counted hour.
Reverie
Reverie
The Tower has its charms for me,
its stone enthralls all sanctity,
but I shall trade that form austere
now for the land I hold so dear.
I shall prepare a bed of leaves,
and lay my head where spirit reeves
this life to God, my heart to thee,
near Drumcliff Bay, in alchemy.
And when my sleep has rested me
I'll raise my stick, and walk the lea,
through grasses damp with fairy kell,
close by the road to Lissadell.
My path is marked by regimen,
by stones unturned on fabled fen,
by magic sign that does now seem
a remnant of a darker dream.
The Tower has its charms for me,
its stone enthralls all sanctity,
but I shall trade that form austere
now for the land I hold so dear.
I shall prepare a bed of leaves,
and lay my head where spirit reeves
this life to God, my heart to thee,
near Drumcliff Bay, in alchemy.
And when my sleep has rested me
I'll raise my stick, and walk the lea,
through grasses damp with fairy kell,
close by the road to Lissadell.
My path is marked by regimen,
by stones unturned on fabled fen,
by magic sign that does now seem
a remnant of a darker dream.
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Swan
The Swan
I dream the fate of lovers twining
in rich embrace, by kiss combining
a rapture bright and dark together,
beneath the moon, above the heather.
A man must make his best of living,
until he knows the first forgiving;
but he must bind his heart forever
unto the grace of love's endeavor.
I dream the whisper of the maiden,
her sigh a wish for love sweet woven
from history and storied pleasure,
a tapestry of life's long measure.
A man must form of fertile passion
a garden wrought in dreamy fashion,
with paths that lead to hidden bowers
beneath the moon, among the flowers.
The swan he dreams his lover waiting,
warm in the spring of their first mating;
but she is gone, and he must borrow
her song of grief, and sing his sorrow.
I dream the fate of lovers twining
in rich embrace, by kiss combining
a rapture bright and dark together,
beneath the moon, above the heather.
A man must make his best of living,
until he knows the first forgiving;
but he must bind his heart forever
unto the grace of love's endeavor.
I dream the whisper of the maiden,
her sigh a wish for love sweet woven
from history and storied pleasure,
a tapestry of life's long measure.
A man must form of fertile passion
a garden wrought in dreamy fashion,
with paths that lead to hidden bowers
beneath the moon, among the flowers.
The swan he dreams his lover waiting,
warm in the spring of their first mating;
but she is gone, and he must borrow
her song of grief, and sing his sorrow.
Fear
Fear
He know how to stumble,
he know how to fall,
he take to his tumble,
he wait for the wall,
he wait for his curses,
he wait for his pain,
he think up some verses,
he write a refrain,
he catch himself crumble,
he watch himself crawl,
he be good at humble,
he pull up his pall,
he fight off his slumber,
he shake himself clear,
he call out his number,
he name his own fear,
he think up a story,
he think up a rhyme,
he wrestle with worry,
he fight for his time,
he talk to his devil,
he speak to his life,
he make himself level,
he dream of his wife,
he dream he is sorry,
he hope he was wrong,
he sing his old glory,
he sing an old song,
he twist and dissemble,
he hate what he hear,
he twitch and he tremble,
he taste his own fear,
he count out the hour,
he look to his clock,
he hide and he cower,
he fidget and rock,
he throw off his cover,
he rise up and fall,
he think of one lover,
he reach for the wall,
he take himself under,
he break himself through,
he weave and he wonder,
he false and he true,
he listen to voices,
he write what he hear,
he struggle with choices,
he know what to fear.
He know how to stumble,
he know how to fall,
he take to his tumble,
he wait for the wall,
he wait for his curses,
he wait for his pain,
he think up some verses,
he write a refrain,
he catch himself crumble,
he watch himself crawl,
he be good at humble,
he pull up his pall,
he fight off his slumber,
he shake himself clear,
he call out his number,
he name his own fear,
he think up a story,
he think up a rhyme,
he wrestle with worry,
he fight for his time,
he talk to his devil,
he speak to his life,
he make himself level,
he dream of his wife,
he dream he is sorry,
he hope he was wrong,
he sing his old glory,
he sing an old song,
he twist and dissemble,
he hate what he hear,
he twitch and he tremble,
he taste his own fear,
he count out the hour,
he look to his clock,
he hide and he cower,
he fidget and rock,
he throw off his cover,
he rise up and fall,
he think of one lover,
he reach for the wall,
he take himself under,
he break himself through,
he weave and he wonder,
he false and he true,
he listen to voices,
he write what he hear,
he struggle with choices,
he know what to fear.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Hang Dog Boogie
Hang Dog Boogie
He was a boorish pedant and iconoclast;
he always parsed a sentence with a spiteful cast.
He felt a bit resentful at a world which turned
beyond the old concentric where his life was learned;
he was a trifle bitter but no more or less
than his mongrel mother, though I won't digress.
He was a mangy bastard with a wealth of fleas.
He loathed to love his Master but he tried to please
every stranger passing with his wagging tail;
he smelled a little nasty and his breath was stale,
and where he voided supper is a futile guess;
he never used a scooper, though I won't digress.
He was a brutal lover and misogynist;
he wouldn't wear a cover if the bitch was pissed;
he always had an answer with a wicked twist;
he'd rather drool and slather till he got her gist;
he was corrupt and lazy, but a big success
with all the girly puppies, though I won't digress.
He was a boorish pedant and iconoclast;
he always parsed a sentence with a spiteful cast.
He felt a bit resentful at a world which turned
beyond the old concentric where his life was learned;
he was a trifle bitter but no more or less
than his mongrel mother, though I won't digress.
He was a mangy bastard with a wealth of fleas.
He loathed to love his Master but he tried to please
every stranger passing with his wagging tail;
he smelled a little nasty and his breath was stale,
and where he voided supper is a futile guess;
he never used a scooper, though I won't digress.
He was a brutal lover and misogynist;
he wouldn't wear a cover if the bitch was pissed;
he always had an answer with a wicked twist;
he'd rather drool and slather till he got her gist;
he was corrupt and lazy, but a big success
with all the girly puppies, though I won't digress.
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