Poem #57 With upward eyes to the ground

No, no make your partners mystery’s-

wakeful shadow when heaven weeping

drops cutting a morning rose

rave peerless eyes

beauty whose had pleasure sips

delight has seen none

against the sadness of trophies

that time claims but has not won

immortal verse leaving no moral

youth still another hundred pages

woo thee thy smiles where sought

by the unheard murmuring men

and other worshipers of the day

passion and mirth before

 fair maid of your soul

heaven too see them

seated under daisies

their heads in summer spring and fall

not a senseless philosophic number

histories high teach us earth born

speak sorrow passion glory shame

every day wisdom left your soul

lived in regions new

ail thee wither sing

fall has come

ail thee harvest’s done

anguish fast

met full beautiful a child

dreamed pale

who cried warming gasping wide

the last four lines

withered no bird sings

discovery the realms of gold

she holds them pure serene

watcher of the new planets and stars

silent perhaps for her there is hope

flowers mind the pleasant weed

he rests beside there shrills

a strange warmth as they cling to him

to keep bright stars with them

soft-fallen mask to gaze endlessly

sweet unrest to bathe within emotion

and avoid its death

souls happy

drink the wine of daisy and smelling the rain

that had come

a new old sigh,

tavern of the minds spoke filled with

the ancient story felicity

you cannot north go,

the east does not please you

the west a cruller slumber settling

the south a passed joy

steel it from the rosary

his prayer strange words

that know only stone castles

and not the barren maiden

the sculptured dead sweet Venus

imprisoned in black

Northward

Aged and poor only wearing golden tongue

The joys still sung upon pages

With pictures of landscapes

The door was wide

Angels did come

All to human their wings crossed

Triumphs gay

Of old romance

Old dames speak

Their beauties, lily white, passed

With upward eyes to the ground

This whim

Pass by to be the child

That picture the petals

And sigh at the passing of another year

Breathing quick and short

She sighs pain restored

Fair fancy each moment still young

Beside him worship unseen

But read so easily

Old beldame she knew his face

Cursed thee tame like a ghost

Away good saints follow me

Brushing secret pillars

In a witches mind

Full of mazes of times

A simple enemy to defeat

The aged word the riddle book

Because they could not understand

Enchantments legends old

Pray good angels

No harm come to her

Find grace a poor prayers gentle speech

burning deep of sorrow of promise

pale never do demons pay their depth it seemed

that they to shared in wishes

lady stood slowly passed

eyes dim she turned she comes

out went 

Poem #54 Gathering Swallows

Think summer hath not

seen the cold ground

the seasons are all one

 dressed in different faces

fume of poppies look steady

 spring hast they music too

mourn winter lives or dies in light

at our gazes gathering swallows

 for the weeping fall. 

Poem #45 Little Box of Obscenities

Symphony of the smell of rain

Sea sad, boil lazy

Stop summers shadow,

Swim away and away

Withering want

Fall fast fall harvest

Scare of the summer sun

Leaves light

And the lips of chocolate chant

A squirrels borough

Couldn’t ask

The bar is open

Here’s to good spirit

Hung a thousand things

Little box of obscenities

Like a warm hug.

Soon season rest

Over musty water

Watch winters spring blossoms

On white blanked of

Fleshy fears. 

Poem #42 Single men sometimes fall behind . . .

single men sometimes fall behind

trouble walking in front

guns begin anything you sees

take my fun rouge pickin’

a woman the wife of an ill omen

white with a ,lot of aggie sin

Older than me like a mother

ordered in a tidy life

buying yellow teacup

they play can’t wait to be lied about

give way to natural good hating

impostors to knaves the things you stood and built

one heap turn of your begging’s

a word your heat long hold

exile will virtue wake with common hurt

none too much distance everything more

flatten words with false promises

so to make mornings bright

and broken nights

fools broken worn out tool

dealt in lies

you can dream

every once in a while

pitch and toss off all your wings

hold on

if all men count. 

Poem #39 Who Spilled Life?

Cleansed washed among haven

Black and grim not shaved

Man with a wild faithless lark

Heard sing before lonesome day

Mighty wind coarse bare

First weep my secret

Sprite drown by dark stones

of life’s heavy medicine

Years rotted dreams, and bore

But strange face and names

world now awake with a dizzy brain

Misery the thick roof the trodden year

Stones still covered in their footprints

Of the elevated right handed red glove

it strings wound to woman wrists

but guided not by it.

Lying there dead man called

O God, My head my heart my soul

Groaned but twice a guilty man

Nothing lifeless yet feared

Who spilled life

Guilt drew round pledges

Of Stronger temptation

A Horrid hint at yearning

Impulse the slave of one’s thought

Buried deep within our own glory

Burned upon our stakes

Loves flesh delicate so easy does it bleed

Fathoms of our fancy armed by silly words

And who is to save them

The gloomy shrubby chumps of dreams

O stage desolate of players

A board checkered painted white

The enemy banished by so simple words

This had been our battle

Words still old unchanged

One grows weary of them

Archaic ideals to some aesthetic ideal

Draped behind purple curtains

Vanished leisure of plain whisper

That so pleases one

To the fountains of dry words

Of dull useless study

Shatter words of principle

That none seems to hold

In the house of our woe.