If You Would Be Heard Pain is much too personal for verse.

Dont curse The reader with your anger-anguished words: Rhyme flowers, sun and birds. 1966 * All Hallows Eve Epilogue You say this little book of verse Is stranger that the rest youve seen? Remembernothings ever worse Than being born on Halloween. A poets birthday shouldnt be A holiday to raise the dead, And yet my anniversary Is when the greedy ghouls are fed. 01-13-67 * October Odds When I was splashing in the lane, The colors of the rain Were ribboning my April sky Bright hues of years gone by. Too soon, the boy became A gambler in a game Of crushing odds and devil-loaded dice, The weather weeping ice. Maturity. I damn the dice that roll And dare not probe my soul

Where equilibrium is reaved in half, Where perching gargoyles laugh. 07-04-67 (rev. 1988) * April Rainbow She comes in like the early Spring, She finds a place beside my pillow, Shes like a robin on the wing, I call her April Rainbow. April Rainbow. Shes softer than the gentle breeze, She makes the winter wind go, She takes me walking through the trees, I call her April Rainbow, April Rainbow. Some things are too fragile to survive. Without her, its hard to feel alive, Why is love a passing state of mind? Summer comes, she leaves me far behind. She goes out in the month of June, She leaves a note beside my window, She says, I loved her all too soon, Its over, April Rainbow, So goodbye, April Rainbow, Goodbye. 07-16-67 *

Dawn-Rite Out along the east The grey goes orange at last Deliciously, like vast Fruit at some gods feast. We adore the sun With pagan piety, And wait for Man to see Ancient faiths have won. 09-01-67 *

Byronic My senses are a symphony Of violent disharmony, Enjoying any melody Thats sad. Self-pitys always sweeter than Remembering that Im a man, And sentimental verses can Be bad. 09-27-67 * Magic Mistress A gypsy offered me An olive-colored kiss, Below a wispy, willow tree: Bodies full of bliss. And after we were done, She left me in a daze As sad as sinking sun In the twilight haze. So how can I ignore A gnawing urge to light Another pipe, and soar Back to her tonight. 09-67 *

Dark Highway Seattle summertime is all Forgotten, in an ugly fall Of fog, and ever-soaking rain That hammers heavy down Upon a womans window-pane, As I am leaving town. Her only souvenirs are some Of my romantic poems from Illusions of an August love, That left her out of breath Before her artist-image of Me died an autumn death. October teaches her that I

Had my ambitions up too high, Imagining Id ever be Remembered by a book. But all of her was offered free For taking, so I took. 11-08-67 * Wishful Writing A poem is an easy way Of urging freshmen girls to say Theyd rather read some more with me, At their apartments willingly. And even handier than this, The poet knows the better bliss Of being left alone to shirk The drudgery of common work. 11-08-67 *

Vacant Verse I havent anything to say, Or any tale to tell, Admitting that I might as well Refuse to write today. There isnt any crueler crime Or evil any worse Than writing nothing in a verse, And setting it to rhyme. But other poets I have read Have often written to Impress themselves, or else a few Professor-friends instead. 11-10-67 * Now(1) A spinning, whirling waste of space, A useless Earth allows a race Of humans swarming on its face Like animals

Attacking one another for A festival of war, we bore Into each other to the core, Like cannibals. We human maggots only mill In circles senselessly, until We make believe we have free will, Forgetting the Magnetic moon and mighty sun And stars can cancel anyone, And anything weve ever done Or dared to be. And anyway were only a Possession of the far away Forbidding parasites of prey About to make Another meal off mankind! Invading aliens remind Us human happiness is blind, And a mistake. 12-21-67 *

Bad Goodbye We tried to tie the time, But now I find that Im A drifter down a road of make-believe. We tried so hard to care, But still we didnt bare Our secrets for the other to receive. So finish up your drink and look tomorrow in the eye, Youre thirty-five, and you dont need another bad goodbye. And now our futures past, For flowers never last, They bloom, and then they wither in a year. For flowers are not real They bloom and then they peel Their petals to the ground and disappear. I think we played too free, I think we tried to be The hero and the queen upon the stage, But now the curtains down, And you can pawn your crown,

Too late for love, we learned to act our age. So finish up your drink and look tomorrow in the eye, Youre thirty-five, and you dont need another bad goodbye. 1967 * Balanced Books He shouldered all the shame, Bore the blame Of his name. The debt his father made He has paid With his blade By cutting his own skin All too thin, purging sin. Then his ghost took flight In the night. Now no more Dead upon the floor Wet with gore. The ledger showed See no debt is owed, Kinfolk blood, freely flowed. 1967 * Brief Lifting glasses of Burgundy above Tables wet with wine, Wasting youth and love, Toasting friends of mine. Friends are only now, No one worries how Time will cut us free; Moments still allow Drunk dear company. 1967 *

Frolic The children gather on the green At night, unseen, And chant the elder rites by rote, Dancing to each note

With the Piper-Goat. The ancient words are uttered shrill In the autumn chill; While older eyes are fast asleep Children dance and leap To the Pipers peep. 1967 *

Once Again Id rather wander crazy, All alone instead Of following a lazy Loser who is dead. But anything Im saying You could say to me: Wed better let the graying Twilight cut us free. 1967 * Road Rhyme No gods to please No soil to seize And spread my roots, Just gypsy boots. No chains to link Just sky to drink And sun to feast On like a beast. For life is best That rambles west Till roads erase My sense of place. 1967 * Guess Who?

My mother says Im fooling When I say I saw A silver lizard drooling Over something raw. And father says Im lying, When I warn him of A giant lizard flying Hungry up above. As long as I am under Covers and a sheet, The lizard has to wonder Who else can I eat? 01-31-68 * Snap! Im fond of foolish poetry As any silly girl, And love a laughing summer sea Around me in a swirl. I run the shoreline like a boy: However, if you wreck A sandy castle I enjoy A man will break your neck. 03-30-68 *

Lullaby Youd better finish eating this. Your mother threatens you, Whenever Sunday dinner is A nauseating stew. A little later in your room A Princess of the Night Is weaving wishes on a loom Of eerie yellow light. She has a silver lizard who Is asking to be fed, Until you send him drooling to

Your parents room instead. 04-14-68 * Easy Lover No one ever stops the seasons, No one made of flesh and bone, No one tells you half the reasons: Better learn them on your own. Life is like an easy lover, Loyal till its time to leave; Later, when youre thinking of her, Take a little time to grieve. Treat her like a lady through Clear and cloudy years: Even if shes cheated you, Thank her for her time and tears. Life is like an easy lover, No one tells you what shes for: Just as soon as you discover, Love her, when she cries for more. 07-28-68 *

The Oldest Song I The rhythm of war is the ancient roll Of the tattering, martial drum, The slick of the bootsand the perfect salutes The drummer boys dum-da-dum. II The lyrics of war are the usual ones Politicians can spout with aplomb:

God bids us beginand this war we can win He blesses our cause and our Bomb. III The tune of the war is the ancient cry Of mothers and sisters moan (And the childrens and wives) with the heart of their lives Down under a flag-draped stone. 08-09-68 (rev. 04-25-82) *

Aloha Street The others always set her high And latter dirtied her to die, Until the only thing I found Was Carol crippled on the ground. I lifter her a little late For any of her love or hate, When all she wanted me to touch Were tears that trickled down her crutch. And when I kissed her mirror clean Of all the images between Tomorrow and the past she made, I found her quivering and afraid. And so I fled the heavy gloom Of Carol in her furnished room, Where musty memories still feed Her feelings till they burst and bleed. 08-27-68 *

The House Beyond the Hill I shall make my last abode

In the house beyond the hill Where there runs no further road And the winds are hushed and still. There the sun will shine no more And the moon will not be seen. Locked, the windows and the door; Shut, the shutters and the screen. In the house beyond the hill Very lonely I will be. Praised though once I was for skill, None will come to visit me. Then my home will look so bare, And its halls will seem so chill, None will knock or seek me there In the house beyond the hill. 09-01-68 *

Sick Circle We cut the country up in two, Till family and friends I knew Were reddening the street Beyond the barricade we threw Up blocking their retreat. And after we had over-run The ancient order and begun Another one as great, I fathered fighting in a son, Becoming what I hate. 09-23-68 * Thirsty Troops Youd better fear the phantom feet Of warriors who will not retreat A step until youre dead: Imaginary little elves Invading you to make themselves A home inside your head. As soon as you have heard the tramp Of infantry who come to camp,

Youll tremble at their tread, Remembering theyre coming in A mighty flank, to suck your sin Until your soul is bled. 10-15-68 *

Gibbet The witch-tree stands on the hanging-hill Children shun it still! Where limbs that lifted flesh to dry Writhe against dull sky. Its there my shamed and convicted kin Swung in a cage for sin. Todaywere cautious in our rites, Held on moonless nights. 10-31-68 *

Badland Ballad The sun is scarletting the land, Bloodying a dead And skull-encrusted sea of land, Once an ocean bed. Another visitor to see Fossils all around Another order soon to be Bleaching on the ground. Instead of everlasting bliss, Only yawning doubt, Till even Gods afraid that His Time has trickled out. 12-23-68 *

Bredon Hill On Bredon Hill at summer Lads and maidens lie, And hear the fife and drummer Calling lads to die. But army bunks are laden With love of lad For lad, and not for maiden: Love that Hausman had. Love he hoped he hid from People who might see, Love that one day did come Forth in poetry. 1968 * Burgundy Morning Burgundy morning, too early for drinking, no one tells me what to do; I see your face in that half-empty bottle, purple reflections of you; Burgundy morning says goodbye to moonlight, opening doors on the dawn; Lavender curtains you bought for the window, keep out the light when theyre drawn. Burgundy morning, the neighbors are noisy, wives kissing husbands goodbye; Wonder what they say about me behind me, they think I dont even try; Too young for pity and too old for quittingguess Ill write you one more time; Almost ten-thirty, the mailman is missingservice like that is a crime. Burgundy morning, some children are playing baseball right next to our yard; I hope theyre careful and watch where theyre throwing, dont hit that ball too damned hard; I should be selling this house and be moving no one would miss me thats right; Maybe if I just re-read your last letter, Id see things in a new light. Burgundy morning and Im feeling drowsy, wine reaching up to my brain; I should be with you, but you kept it secret, making sure I would remain; Noise in the street wont keep me from my sleepingsirens and whistles they scream; Burgundy morning becomes afternoon and I only hope I wont dream. 1968 *

Desert Bloody rose-red sun, Gory drops that run Crimson on the sky, Till they scab and dry. Later, moonshine pales Skies as sunlight fails, And the dusk brings night, Freezing all the light. 1968 * Feather on the Sea It wasnt very long ago Tomorrow was my friend, Life was like a river rolling lazy round the bend. Wasting time and then I found that Time was wasting me: Took me and it tossed me like a feather on the sea. Following a fading star I know Ill never find, Like a drunken sailor never looking once behind. Floating like a feather on an ocean full of foam: One more dream-struck drifter whose horizons are his home. Feather on the sea, thats me, without You, Jesus rescue me from the seatake me through. Feather on the sea. You can be my compass with Your wisdom and Your will, Jesus help me travel when I feel Im standing still. You can be my map and help me reach that far off shore: Help me weather every storm no matter whats in store. Till I found You I was on an ocean of despair, Using up my future like it really wasnt there. Facing every wind of fate no matter how it blew: Feather on the sea without a friend till I found You. Feather on the sea, thats me, without You. Jesus rescue me from the seatake me through. Feather on the sea. 1968 (Rev. 7-74, 1986) * Full Circle Fly the flag of fury high On the red-washed sky,

Trumpet all your anger loud At the cringing crowd, Empty all your cannon at Them, and they fall flat. Later, realize that you Have to suffer too: Cowardice and death can fall On you after all; Drop your battered, bloody blade, Wishing that youd prayed. 1968 * Growing A little boy is playing With his wooden gun; Already he is saying, Wheres a better one? And How long must I settle For this paper hat? My hat must be of metal, Bullets must be flat. When theyre flat they spread out Wide inside the wound, Its hard to get the lead out Once it has ballooned. For though hes just eleven, When hes seventeen Hell send some men to Heaven Like a good Marine. 1968 * Linda Did You Ever Change Your Name? Across a crowded room I heard your name, But nothing in the sound could fan the flame, It flickered and it died so long ago; But still there are these answers I must know. I looked inside my drink and saw the light Reflected from a love that once burned bright, But cigarettes and noise had filled my mind; But still there are these answers I must find. Linda, did you ever change your name? Are the letters in your last name still the same? Linda, did you ever change your name?

I thought I saw your face across the floor, A fading phantom from the life before, It lingered like a lamp across the room, But then it vanished in the ghost-like gloom. I wanted to remain but it was late, I finished up my drink, I couldnt wait; I wandered home and wondered if youd found Another man to keep you on the ground. Linda, did you ever change your name? Are the letters in your last name still the same? Linda, did you ever change your name? 1968 *

Night Caress Ulaylas floral essence scents the room: Funereal-sweet perfume Enticing you to stay And pass an indolent erotic night, Dallying with slow delight Until the nighted sky meets day. You linger with Ulayla, vampire-queen, Limpid on a couch of peacock green, Arousing and caressing you With kisses carnal and corrupt. Suddenly she haltsabrupt!... Then vanishes as the day breaks new. 1968 * Night-Knell Drums of morning beat their tune, Tapping on the dying moon, Welcoming the sun; Rhythms of the day keep time, Rapping on my brain till Im Happy night is done. Happy that the mournful sound Of the evening is drowned Dumb before the day; Melancholy music taunts

Me each evening, and haunts Dreams as werewolves bay. Now theyre silent, stifled, still, Muzzled, muffled, till Twilight once more groans; And the restless banshees wail Hits the shutters hard as hail, Rattling them like bones. 1968 *

Tree-Limb Jurisprudence The hempen rope chokes As you manage some jokes With your wrists bloodied, thong-lashed behind, And your bandanad eyes, bound and blind. They shoot off a gun And your horse jerks to a run, And suspends you to lurch off the ground. You gurgle. Men ride. Thenno sound. 1968 * \\ Wolf-Meal The witches wolves prowl, They yelp and they howl On Hallow-Mass Eve, And savagely prowl: Next morningswives grieve. 1968 * Teenage Taps When all the rosy ribbons fade A bloody red to brown, The military wreathes they made Are rotting on the ground.

Im in a heros heaven now With warriors who have died: A bed of lead that wont allow A single worm inside. Instead of gathering to grieve, Agreeing war is bad, You women-hearted men believe: What fighting fun I had! 01-11-69 *

Friends Farewell When carings like a cancer Carving you apart, Your wife has got the answer Coffined in her heart. So any time you mutter How youre really glad Im living in the gutter Know your wife is sad. Forgive her wicked weeping When Im out of sight Remember who Im keeping Company tonight. Another friend is making Room for me to rest Another wife is baking Biscuits for a guest. 2-17-69 * Red Rhymes Another would-be writer, Wrapping up a fist Of fingers fading whiter, Razoring his wrist.

Instead of decent dying, He begins to think Excitedly of trying Crimson-colored ink. Hes prettying the pages Scarlet, with a spurt, Imagining the Ages Care about his hurt. 02-23-69 *

Misty Ellen Summer-yellow sunlight Coloring your hair Golden like the air. Drifting dizzy sunlight, Dusty summer air Hanging everywhere. Summer in your footsteps Summer in your hair Departed when I left you: Summertime was through. 3-24-69 * Seismic Prophecy (for Bruce Boston) If ever Everafter seems Inscrutable to you, Remember, visionary dreams At times come all too true. The city by the bay will fall, Its Golden Gate to lie Submerged, with skyscrapers once tall Metropolis must die! The angel-city farther down The shifting shore will be Another, underwater town, Punished presently.

So heed the Bardic omens no Mere scientist dare read Pacific coastal millions will go Help the fishes feed 03-29-69 *

Anne (1) Your heart is a fjord haven, Cove on a ragged coast, And Im your buccaneer, Lifting a pirate toast. My heart is a brigantine, Tossed by a corsair sea, And you are its figurehead Carved from a pliant tree. 05-15-69 * East Aloha Street I call her Carol, cause shes bad And good and crazy, either sad Or smiling in a lazy grin, A pretty face, a double chin. Shes not an angel on a cloud, Shes not a harlot with a crowd Of lucky customers to meet Shes Carol of Aloha Street. And if you follow where she goes, To all-night restaurants and shows, And tell her youre a friend of mine, Shell take you home, for some cheap wine. Madonna in a furnished room, She gathers up your guilt and gloom, And lights a candle to your pain, That dries up all Seattles rain.

5-29-69 *

No Words for Anne She hasnt any answers, but she covers me with questions all the time, They never seem to rhyme, For Im not a white magician, just a man, And there aint no words for Anne. She never even listens to the lyrics of the latest, greatest song, Shed rather sing along With a melody shes stolen from the birds, Who aint got no use for words. Shes shouting in a whisper in my ear, Making all the ringing disappear With any demons she can ban Oh, there aint no words for Anne. Shes waiting at the temple, for the carnival thats coming through the town, Worshipping her clown In a chapel that could use a coat of paint, For Im her pander and her saint. Shes holding up a mirror to my mind, Punishing my preaching with a kind Of prayer, as best she can No there aint no words for Anne. 05-30-69 * Susans Soldier When I was young, I thought I knew the answer To the riddles written in the sand, I stumbled like a drunken dancer In and out of Susans hand.

Yes, I confess that I was Susans soldier, Marching like a martyr in a line, Her conscience carried on my shoulder Scribbled on a cardboard sign. And I fought for her so well, But her enemies that fell On the ground refused to die, And their laughter split the sky. Our Carolina summertime is wasted Like the flags I flew when I was young, All the battle-cries we tasted Soon were bitter to the tongue. Instead of soldiering your youth to ashes, Listen to the lesson that I sing, And run before her cannon crashes And your soul is in a sling. Am I warning you too late? Are you finding out your fate? Paper soldier, up for hire, Is your uniform on fire? 07-21-69 * Star-Street Evening is like a shroud: Winters winding sheet Of frost, and twilight-tinted cloud, Coffining the street. Walk the windy air, and sweat From the icy blaze Of stars, that glitter with their wet Metal-melted rays. Wander reckless on a stroll Down the starlit stones, Do not admit you have a soul Shackled in your bones. Easier to never face All you hid behind, And let the moonlight of this place Burn your vision blind. 09-19-69 * Paper Tomb

Scholars squander sunny days Coffined in their cloistered nooks, Where a wise man never stays Buried, bored, by books. 11-09-69 * Biblio-Blaze The Book-Ship it wrecks on the reef, Cargo floats onto the sand, The Captain is giddy with grief, Watching the doom close at hand. The savages storm toward the loot, Battering boxes with stones, But water-logged pistols wont shoot: Captain stands by and he groans. They ravage the books from the ship, Vellum and parchment are torn And hand-crafted bindings go rip! Captain stands sick and forlorn. And volumes of romance and myth Blaze in a pyramid spire For roasting the Book-Captain with Cannibals dance at his pyre. 1969 *

Gypsy Ghost Still cant find 8/19/11

Harvest Moon Rite Enchantment is sown in the early Spring. Planted by poets who till and sing, While later they water the crops with tears, Wept with the pang of years. Their fantasies rise like ripened yield, Bountiful, filling the field,

So sowers of wonder return and reap Magic to glean and keep. 1969 * Seashore Scene Riders on the cliffside, ocean below, Banners from their lances, see the flags blow Billowed on the breeze. Pennants painted red, streamers of white, Colors of the ancient Order, born to fight Demon enemies. See the riders on the beach by the bay, Sabers flashing anything in their way Dragons, water-elves, Serpents, devils, all fall to their blades, Victims of the Riders on their fierce raids, Slain by tens and twelves. 1969 * Self-Evaporation The vaporous, blurring drift Of malaise over-masks your mind With a gauze of fatiguing grey. The cumulous gloom wont lift, But intensifies. Clouds loomlined In your brain as you grope your way In the haze of a dissolving mist. And you noticeyou no more exist! 1969 *

Soon If ever Everafter seems A mystery to you, Remembervisionary dreams Often tell whats true. The city by the bay will fall, And all its towers lie

Inside an ocean, after all Its tomorrows die. An angel-city farther down The shifting shore will be Another, underwater town Punished by the sea. Forget about the omens no One even wants to read, Forget how millions have to go Where the fishes feed! 1969 * Harbingers Echoes of Spring from the streets, Laughter and shouting greets My ear, in a jubilant noise Raucous, wild neighbor boys. 02-27-70 *

I Wouldnt Try (If I Were You) I wouldnt try if I were you, I wouldnt try to be so true; Marianne, you know your feet Prefer the freedom of the street Underneath a night of blue. Just so the morning turns to flame And builds a bonfire to your game, As the burning corpse of night, Turns up your secrets to the light They scald you with their shame. While the fickle afternoon Returns the twilight just as soon As you see the colors die, And theres nothing left to try Underneath a neon moon. But then before the summers through, It might be me who wants it too; When the gold begins to grey It might be your turn to say, I wouldnt try if I were you. 3-28-70 *

Melindas Mask The mask you wear Of clay and hair Is flesh-colored pink: A painted smile and steady stare Of eyes that never blink. And under it An inky pit Of infinite sad space. Melinda, tell me how you fit Your mask, where youve no face? 04-10-70 *

Dumb-Show Puppets pouting, cursing, Snarling on the stage, Manic marionettes rehearsing Comedies of rage. Puppet-master beaming Let the show go on, Ignore the boos and screaming-Dance till Time is gone. Puppet-master working Strings until they fray, Painted manikins stop jerking: Curtain on the play. 04-30-70 (rev. 09-13-90) * Balbathon (for Lord Dunsany. 1878-1958) Ancient towers streaming Shadows on the sand The Citys doomed to dreaming, Unlikely long to stand. See the City crumbling, Fissures breeching walls, As towers, spires, come tumbling, And rubble fills the halls.

Thus a sad, sad City Offers up its prayer. And so the gods take pity, And topple it with care. 05-30-70 (rev. 1990) * May Eve All thanks for May-Eve for The Arkham Collector August Derleth, June 12, 1970 Little Laurie cannot sleep, Only eight years old; Moonlights making Laurie creep Out into the cold. Dancing dizzy on the heath Round the standing stone, Lauries sweating underneath Necklaces of bone. Then before the morning breaks Burning overhead, And her family wakes Lauries home to bed. 06-01-70 * Spring is Fall West of dawn the day is tall, Towering up bright blue; Everythings old, and nothing is new, Summers winter, spring is fall. Hear the unicorns faint call Hear the fairies tune; Daybreak is dusk, and midnight is noon, Summers winter, spring is fall. 06-01-70 * The Festival (for H. P. Lovecraft, 1890-1937) Witches on the west wind, Goblins on the east: Everybody destined For the ancient feast. Will-o-wisp and ghoul ride With the poltergeist, Toward the rite of Yuletide,

Older than the Christ. Spirits soon are dancing See them weave and wind Patterns in their prancing Older than mankind. 06-01-70 * James Dean at Paso Robles, CA, 09-30-55 Youth and broken glass Smearing Highway 101: Other cars just pass 06-19-70 * Cold, Cold Hank (1924-1953) The saddest man you ever saw Sang through his nose, his notes were raw, His teeth were bad, his voice was flat; Hank Williams wore a cowboy hat. A hundred songs upon the shelf, He loved us more than loved himself: He sang of you, he sang of me, To set our shackled spirits free. His tritest titles bragged of pain, Your Cheatin Heart, You Win Again, And Weary Blues, I Saw the Light, And Therell Be No Teardrops Tonight. He loved to drink, but he loved more Composing melodies meant for The words he couldnt always spell, But sang so well that they still sell. A limousine, gold in the bank, Were not enough to ease old Hank: He cursed his loves, and feared his Lord Would pay him back the debts he stored. The debts were cleared on New Years Day, The coroner could only say: That chloral hydrate took its toll From Hanks poor self-tormented soul. You hear that yodeled freight-train whine? Its just a ghost, aged twenty-nine, That left his flesh in Fifty-Three, But still he haunts Montgomery. 07-13-70

Lost Mistress London, Nineteen-Fifty-Eight Marian and I Learning just a little late All there was to try. Hampton Court and Kensington, Galleries and guides, Learning landmarks, one-by-one, And some more besides. Such as learning to admire Art that bored us plain, Such as damning up desire After her last train. First editions purchased cheap, Coffee bars and blues, Now the books are all I keep, All that I can use. Dreaming for her for a year, Maybe even more! (Not Marian, but dear Londonmy sweet whore) 09-16-70 *

Sweet Armaline Down in the town of Nuevo Laredo The riders of Don Carlos came: They kidnapped a captive to take to their leader, And sweet Armaline was her name. And I had to run, I hadnt a horse or a gun, I was seventeen, Like sweet Armaline. I worked for a year, and I bought me a saddle, A horse, and a gun of my own, And everyone saw from the look in my eye, and The way that I walked, I was grown.

Down Old Mexico, I asked everyone, Do you know, Has anyone seen My sweet Armaline? Onside a cantina I finally entered, I knew that I wouldnt look far: A Mexican woman who looked six months pregnant, Was wiping the beer from the bar. She drew me a beer, But otherwise wouldnt come near, My border-town queen, It was Armaline. Don Carlos came up with a Remington rifle, But he bought my beer and he smiled; I drank to his health, and I drank to his woman, And drank to their soon-born child. He said, Better ride, Or else commit suicide If you come between Forget Armalene! My hand it was quick and my rifle was ready, But Armalene laughed in my eyes; I waved them farewell and I rode out of town then, Back under wide-open skies. 09-27-70 *

White Witch Northwest of the night-land, Over on the edge Of dreams, her white hand Clawing at the ledge Is slipping fast: The White Witch is slipping fast. Finger nails of bony Hands upon the cliff Of ice, and shattered stony Shale, she wonders if Her hour is past. The White Witch tumbles toward the past. Body of the whitened Sorceress, on rocks That hold her, moonlit-lightened, Till all Time unlocks

Her soul, and breaks his fast; The ghoul of Time will break his fast. 10-03-70 * Unless You Want It To Love you like a cavalier, swords and poetry And anything to take me near where I want to be. Love you like a troubadour, second-hand guitar And just three chords, and nothing more, take me where you are. Love you like a sorcerer, spells to hold you fast For just as long as you prefer: nothing has to last. 10-13-70 * Once Friends are west and very far; Seas are hard to cross, Blanketed by sky and star: Ocean full of loss. Friends are north, and lying cold Underneath the ice Of forgetfulness and old Times that wont live twice. 11-17-70 *

Proud Pinnacle Tower on the plane: Sun and driving rain Alike to kiss the stones Rising in a spire, Spearing clouds of fire, Or clouds as grey as bones. Tower of the grey Monks, who pray and pray Inside the polished wall, Slippery to climb, Worn by winds of Time And Faithone day to fall. 11-30-70 * One or Two

Of all the songs you write and sing Before your wife, before your king, You wonder which will still be known When you are under sod and stone? Not the ones for coins in hand Nor for flag and fatherland, Just the one or two you play To ease yourself, at end of day. 12-14-70 * Bone Yowl Skull-face above a camp fire, White bone nailed to a stick, Flames flaring like a lamp spire, Skull-face burns down like a wick. Skull-face falls down and crashes Savage eyes see it fall, Some hear it scream, in ashes: Dead warriors fierce last call. 1970 *

Take Back Your Tears Take back your tears, you gave them to me. Give back your years that used to be. Leave me alone for a long while, Thanks for the loan of your fake smile. So take back your tears, The dream disappears, Go, take back your tears. Take back your frown, take your tears, too. Polish your crown, a smile will do. Take your tears back, cry on the train, Ill help you packdreams down the drain. 1970 * Vaingloria Vaingloria, chieftainess imperial Hums a tune of love and springtime lost, For now the seasons of her graying hair is Fall Flecked with harbingers of coming frost.

And yet she reminisces of her early years, Courtesan of rare erotic arts, Remembering she left a king and courtiers in tears, Aristocratic, regal broken hearts. And she recalls Zemorda who she couldnt win, Sorcerer who spent a night with her Of ecstasies and spells no man should spin, Rousing shapes no man should disinter. Zemorda told Vaingloria, Vanity Governs petty human hopes and aims. And sneered at her as she moved temptingly, Cold to her sincerest passion-flames. He left her in the graying phantomed gloom Thick with spirits that hed raised, Vaingloria, naked in her satin-bedded room, Weeping all alone, unloved, afraid. Zemordas ghosts and curses haunt her yet: Poor Vaingloria lives with them as well. An empress who sleeps with tears of old regret Shed for him who slept with her from hell. Vaingloria, empress, attempts to smile, Watching armies with her banners in review. But then the saddest word returns to her the while Vanity, and with it pangs and poignancy anew. Vanity, Zemorda told herand the necromancer knew. 1970 *

The Elder Fear Tallow fueling up the pyre, Bodies flaring in a spire Of yellow candle-light: Our kinsmen at the stake Centuries ago, to make Bright beacons in the night. Centuries have blown away; Still we dance the rites of May, Our sacrifices hid In the ancient ring of rocks, Fearful every Equinox To die as careless kinsmen did. 04-20-71 * Shaftesbury Avenue

(Street in Soho: 1895) Put the cigarettes away, Blow the gobs of smoky-grey Illusion from the room. Put awaywhere they belong Purple wine and purple song That celebrates the gloom. Rise, and try to brush aside Powdered verses, crushed like dried Flowers in a yellow book. Clear your head, and never think Of tears you tried to drink, Or laudanum you took. Rise, and open windows up, Overturn the oily cup Of eveningand then creep Weary, westward, down the clear Early-dawning air, and hear The sound of Sohos sleep. 04-21-71 *

The Wild Geese The tame birds are silent tonight, And under the grey sky, alls white, Except for the crows soon to dive On them, and stain silver snow red. But hear all the noise up ahead: A flock of geese soon to arrive! An arrow of birds splits the air In two, as they hurtle past there And hammer their wings on the sky. The bird who guides them over trees And deserts, hot sands, and cold seas Is making sure with his fierce cry His birds fly much faster away. Like ribbons that ripple alive, And loud, as they dip and they dive: A triangle wedge made of grey. But below them, down on the plain, Their tame brothers, come what may, Press forward, so frozen with pain,

Like heavy-weighed ships that but sway Under the shrill cries overhead. They look up above at each row Of birds till the last one has fled, Then they sadly rise up to go, To try all in vain still to fly, Aware that theyre grounded to stay No matter how often they try Escaping to freedom today. They fail and but fail as before. So over the snow fields they wail, And cry as their brother-birds sail Away for a distant warm shore. 5-31-71 De Maupassant *

Just Like Joanne Everybody has somebody, buried back behind Someone far to loyal, someone much too kind Like a phantom floating in a circle round your pride Opening an unmarked grave of tears you thought were dried. Why are the ones that we cannot repay Never demanding their dues anyway? Just like Joanne, never counting the cost Of the books that she loaned me and lost. Met her on Friday evening, she was drinking apple wine Introduced her very slowly to that wife of mine. Guess she never realized how Id stumble on this far; Told her how I even tried to sing and play guitar. Why are the ones who have helped us to climb Always the losers whove wasted their time? Just like Joanne, never counting the cost Of magazines loaned me and lost. Back in Sixty-Seven, it was crawl along or quit; But Joanne stayed there to help the sentence fit Rhythms in the stories I was turning into songs. Wont somebody help Joanne find out where she belongs? Isnt it cruel of someone to show Feelings she should have killed, four years ago? Just like Joanne, never counting the cost, Of the years she loaned me and lost. 05-71 * Ice Dwarf

Eleven thousand feet or more Of ice you have to pass, To reach a mountain elfs front door Glacier slick as glass. And if you havent begged the right Of climbing up his slope, The ice dwarf in his anger might Loosen up your rope. 08-13-71 *

Red and Grey(1) Youre looking deep inside for Sentimental blue We maybe should have tried more Colors than just two. But two are all were living, Red and empty grey. Red is for the giving Back and forth each day. Grey is for the going, Empty, without pain; You might as well be knowing Feeling blues in vain. Red is the color of grocery-store wine, Grey is a bus station waiting-room line. But blue is when youre singing In a minor key, Pretending that youre bringing Tears to you and me. 08-18-71 * Second Cup of Coffee Youre sitting in your bathrobe at the dawn, Sunrise painting yellow on the lawn, Your second cup of coffee almost done, Telling you your headaches just begun. Another empty morning coming true; Theres nothing in a love songs really new: Youve heard this one, how many times before? When youre over thirty, its a bore.

Im sitting in a restaurant far away, Eating one more breakfast off a tray, My second cup of coffee tasting good Everything inside of me is wood. I guess we taught each other not to feel; The songs upon the jukebox dont sound real, I play them one by one, just like a game Coffee, tea, and songs, they cost the same. 08-20-71 *

Never We fight for God or glory, Which, I cant recall; The second oldest story The first was Adams fall. The second was a killing, Brothers fighting fierce; A story were fulfilling As blades and bullets pierce. We never stop to wonder Never hear the cry Of conscience, muffled under, The stifled, sobbing Why? 08-28-71 * No Matter The best is bad, the bad is worse, You hear the poets say Inside a suicidal verse, Or a one-act play. It doesnt matter if your life Is beautifully at bliss; The world is happier in strife, Poets trade on this. 09-26-71 * All Hallows Eve Wind in trees, Rain on eaves, Fire in grate,

Hour is late, TillfinallyHalloween Shapes are seen! 10-31-71 * Cursed (For Lord Dunsany) Ancient towers streaming Shadows on the sand: City doomed to dreaming, Wishing not to stand. Gods go on forgiving All the citys guilt, So it goes on living, Bitter it was built. 1971 * Evensong Steeple slashed with shadows Scales the twilit sky, Aspiring like an Angelus. Below, the traffic hurtles by Indifferent to bricks upthrust so high. 1971 * Gem-Siren Amethyst eyes and a garnet grin Beckon you from your home Marble-white woman with star-spun skin, Shimmering in the gloam. Tourmaline facets of light revolve, Cycles of dazzling bliss Brilliantly blind you, till you dissolve Lost in her jeweled kiss. 1971 *

Hard Homecoming A wanderer was weeping Sorrowing to see A sycamore was keeping

Human company. His father and mother, Vomiting in air, Were facing one another, Puppets in a pair. He caused us quite a problem, Questioning us why We ever had to rob them, Roping them up high. And when he tried forgiving Some of us instead, We had to fill his living Body up with lead. 1971 * The Death of August Derleth (2) (1909-1971) Wisconsin winds are chill Hawk and whippoorwill Are mourning in the skies When their poet dies. And at the Lonesome Place Spirits fill the space With whispers on the breeze Billowing the trees. Wisconsin winds will blow Summers into snow, But winds of Fame will sing Evening in Spring. 1971 * The Oldest Battle Time is a wine that you drink to the dregs, Love is a shackle that locks to your legs, But which of the two is best? Time is the enemy Love tries to kill, Over a lifetime of battle, until The sun of your life sinks west. 01-20-72 * Choice Battle-flags unfurled, Bombs and books are hurled

Hard against the world That only lets one win. Cannon-balls are more Loud, so men ignore Books, and let the roar Of bursting bombs come in. 01-28-72 * Red Clouds Rusted plow upon the field Farmers furrows, all are healed Scars upon the sod. Nothing planted there but dreams, Buried, watered not by streams, Nor by tears of God. Fields and fathers, all asleep: Sons have other crops to keep Kept by force of arms. Cindering the foreign skies Billowing white clouds to rise Poisoning strange farms. 03-04-72 *

Vain Hope I hope you love the land Enough to raise your hand And beat a warning drum Of fiery rains to come. I hope you are sane Enough to see the pain Our kings can only hide With palaces and pride. I hope you hear the clash Of warnings, and the crash Of Destiny down hard, That deals the demons card. I hope you see the fate And miss the jaws of hate, And stand outside your Age, To laugh as others rage. 03-10-72

* Rubble The hand of Art writes small Across the crumbling wall Of human years: But bullets burst and spark Engrave a deeper mark Than poets joys or tears. 04-29-72 * Purple-Clouded Prose (1865-1947) Amazing M. P. Shiel To read him is to feel The pulse of pounding poetry, And surging ecstasy. His heroes dart and dash Whole nationsraces!...clash In cataclysmic fervid prose As fancy grips and grows. A prophetnovelist, A seer-scientist, Eccentric Shiel endures through Time. Perverse. Bizarre. Sublime. 04-72 (rev. ~1990) * The Answer The ruins loom and leer At travelers through here; And still we push ahead When all our hopes are dead. Does anybody know Whatever makes us go Through all the doom and dust, And why we think we must? The answers in the rain, The answers in the pain Of every footsore mile; Well learn it in a while. The answers everywhere, The answers in the air And in the grass and sod-Our journey reveals God. 05-01-72 (rev. 1987)

* So Can You Inside the cinders of the town Are modern battlements of brown That try to circle me, as if I feared to climb the cliff. But I can climb up to the Son Of all Eternity, and run A silver-sanded shore of joy Where Times a toy. 05-17-72 * Now (2) Your life is like a brief Elusive, wind-blown leaf, So grab it, March or May Dont even wait a day. For leaves are hard to hold In autumns coming cold, They crumble to the touch So never wait that much. 06-29-72 *

Faithful in His Fashion (1867-1900) Ernest Dowson was a singer of the saddest, tritest tune, Of the fawning, futile love that poets blame upon the moon, And his lyrics all were painted on the margin of the page, So his water-colored lines were barely noticed by his Age. Wine-and-roses, and Cynara, floating lonesome in the air Of the foggy yellow Nineties, in a Soho restaurant where An Italian fickle waitress cracked a poets dream, yet made His exquisite, fragile verses faintly flower, not to fade. 07-01-72 * Law The fruit of life is sweet, Juicy, till you meet The apple underneath, Acid, to your teeth.

And danger, at the core, Eternal worms will bore, Following Times law Evermore to gnaw. 07-30-72 * Dream-Hill (1863-1947) The fairies face a moon That dims and pales, And chant their ancient tune Of Roman Wales. The Mystery will last For we still need The Grail and glories past, And dreams to read. So Arthur Machens art Will murmur on, Till all the elves depart, Till Pan is gone. 08-03-72 *

Lost Lady (1865-1945) The Nineties were the age for Poets of the night, Outside a Soho stage door In the yellow light. So Arthur Symons waited Waited till the time The dancer came and stated, Write me in a rhyme. But that forgotten writer Cursed her very name She faded, ever whiter, Prostitute called Fame. 08-11-72 * Storybooks and Treasure Maps

The kings and their crusaders are forgotten, No one reads about them anymore, The flowers that the princess held are rotten, Crushed beneath her slipper on the floor. The chivalry of knights-in-armors ended, Fading like a fable into Time, The castles and the walls are undefended, Empty like an ancient nursery rhyme. Lets you and I be brave, and not surrender, Keep those dreams of yesterday we knew, The grown-ups better listen and remember: Storybooks and treasure maps are true. The dragons and the demons all are sleeping, Cinderellas hair is turning grey, The witches and the wizards now are weeping, Pining for those years of yesterday. So you and I must stand against tomorrow, Fighting off the fear of growing old, And dreams arent something you can steal or borrow, You cant beg them back once theyve been sold. 08-29-72 *

Too Few Everybodys dreams get sold, Even poets growing old, All but those who ride the wind Free and floating, like Bob Lind. See the others trade their gift For the gold too great to lift; Lind, and all too few remain, Owned by sunlight, owned by rain. 09-09-72 * New Order Let the open, rolling rains of reason Wash the lies to sea, Let the tyrants treachery and treason Pay the penalty.

Let the pulsing, pounding waves assemble Truth and Time as one, Hear the shattered shoreline shake and tremble, Now the floods begun. Let the ruler of defeated man be driven Drowningdoom to him. Now the ocean-elves are grandly given Glory, where they swim. 09-29-72 (rev. 07-04-91) * Dream Dust Beyond the plains of Yet-To-Be Hills of Evermore Are towered, tall above the sea Splashing Times sad shore. And yet the sands of What-I-Had Blow and storm my brain And batter me with golden glad Sands of youth in vain. For sand is sad and ever dry, Bleaching out my dreams Beneath a parching, white-hot sky, Where my pale skull gleams. 09-30-72 *

Tomorrows Rain Indians and trappers now have parted, The trading posts a ghost-town in the sand; I wonder if they saw it when they started How theyd lose their freedom and their land? The open range is prisoned now with fences, Therere no more antelope left to kill, The sound and smell of rawhide leaves your senses, Now the cowboys work down at the mill. The rivers that we used to swim are flowing As muddy like the color of the sky, The birds that used to gather here are going North to find a cleaner place to fly. But whats the use of standing softly singing, Theres nothing really changed by one more song, Tomorrows getting closer and its bringing, Showers that are overdue too long.

Everybody knows the frontiers faded, Everybody says its worth the gain, No one sees the paradise weve traded Now is melting in tomorrows rain. 10-23-72 * The Sea-Shell Game The tide came in and took our towers made of sand, Like some mad giant smashing castles with his hand, While our drifting dreams were drowning in the waves, The ocean took our castles to their graves. I wrote the letters of your name upon the shore, But the tide erased my message with a roar, And after it had rolled away, it left behind A shifting beach of shining shells for us to find. One of us has changed, and one is still the same: We really never win or lose the sea-shell game. We tried to hear ourselves above the pounding sea, All we heard were echoes of what used to be; Our bodies came together like they used to do, But all we heard was silence after we were through. One of us has changed, and one is still the same: We never really win or lose the sea-shell game. 11-09-72 * Beverage(1) Id rather rhyme and meter my dreams, But you like your verse jagged, And ugly-built. Ill try it loose and anti-styled, Formless as pooled tears In maudlin drops. Drink them! 1972 * Black Betrothal Your pleas amuse me, utterly, Seeking answers from the King of Cynics, me. Your tears each freeze upon my palm. My lacerating laughter is your poisoned balm And still you murmur: Where is love? My words are underwater snakes

Rippling in the ebony of knighted lakes That was inside my caverned soul. My serpentine remarks like vipers now unroll. Encoiling you, with adder-love. Surrender innocence to me, my dear Girlish, fresh naivet will disappear Between my worldly hands, Ill crimp Your delicate idealsyoull limp A martyr, maimed by cynic-love. Ill consecrate you with a crown. Reign with meour vassals bowing down Before our skull-rimmed throne. A Cynic Queen To sit beside me, as the mossy green Beslimes our boneswith charnel love. 1972 * Calvary Stand against them all: Shoulders on the wall, Blindfold blotting out Enemies, and doubt. Later, after they Kill you for their pay, Themselves about to die Help them, you know why. 1972 * Construction Site Once your dreams were chiseled stones Fitted in with care, Now they crumble since youve grown, Falling from the air. Castles topple from the sky, Better they are gone, Earth is firm enough to try Building new ones on. 1972 * Sea-Reverie (for Donald Sidney-Fryer) Ocean islands gleam In a glowing dream Glimmering pale white Where the mermaid school

Within a rock-rimmed pool Dives in mad delight. There I long to play At the close of day Swimming in my sleep In an opaled sea As green as gypsy tea, Where the sea-elves leap. 1972 *

Vigo Street, Soho No one cares to glance inside Your powdered verses, pressed and dried Like roses in a vellum, gilded book. Never mind your youthful dreams: They drown along the drugging streams Of laudanum you took. Nothing lingers very long, The purple wine and purple song Dissolve in Sohos yellow-blearing mist, Blurring into purple haze, The mauve of fading yesterdays Like violets ground to grist, Crushed blossoms in Times fist. 1972 *

Golden Rings Our nameless kings Wear golden rings On each flabby hand In London-town, New York, or down Deep in Switzerland. Their stranglehold Is ages-old, Buried for all time As teachers lie And school books try Blotting out their crime. But what remains Are golden chains Locking tight to bind

All nations to Obey the few Rulers of mankind. Each law, each rule Is but a tool Tightening the yoke. Each war, each peace Will but increase Golden links that choke. Its nothing new, A nameless few Always buy and sell And trade and loan The Earth they own Its theirsthey might as well. Each government, Each continent, Bled and ruled by debt To secret kings Who wear gold rings, Nameless, faceless, yet. 01-23-73 *

Colonel House: Administrator (1585-1938) With Southern charm He forged the hold Of foreign gold On town and farm. He gave us two Proud presidents No accidents Yet hid from view. I guess he felt That Wilson could Be used, as should Be Roosevelt. He coached the game To win us all The Federal Reserves its name. And hes to thank For nations leagued And then intrigued Behind One Bank.

You ask my source? Read his own book A blood-bathed look At rule by force. 02-18-73 * Lorraine Chloroformand then They skewered her Like all the rest, Upon a mounting-pin, Her dried wings spread, Inside the case of glass Specimen Lorraine. 03-03-73 *

Chuck Berry Blues It was back in St. Louis that He learned the guitar, And he told everyone he was Going to go far, Back in 56 his music came of age He was dancing and driving Right across the stage. Go, go , go Chuck Berry, go, Go, go, go, Chuck Berry Go Tell Elvis Presley the news, We got the Chuck Berry Blues. He would bang on his guitar, Just like clanging a bell, He was yelling out his song so Loud, they had to sell And his body was Black, and his Songs were blue With the rhythm up front To help the people dance to. (Chorus) The Beatles the news His guitar was red, and his Audience was white, And hed sing and they would Dance into the night, They were kicking off their

Shoes so they could pound Their feet, They were rocking and reeling To the two-four beat. (Chorus) Mick Jagger the news. He lost a little time in 1959, When they took him aside to Make him walk the line, But Bo Diddly cut him loose, And Chuck Berry was free To chase Maybelline across History (Chorus) 05-18-73 * Observation I found you were Yourself, not her, And you found he Was him, not me. So well discuss Ourselves as us. 05-23-73 *

The Illuminati: Spartacus (1748-1830) (after reading Karl Grosses Horrid Mysteries, 1792-95) Two centuries ago All Europe came to know Of Adam Weishaupts plan For ruling every man. The circles that he drew Around him only grew In shadows, never seen But feltby Cross and Queen. But legends whisper on, The circles, are they gone? Or do they reappear With other namesright here?

06-30-73 (rev. 1990) *

Tombstone, Arizona In eighteen-eighty two, the town of Tombstone, Arizona found its fame; Inside its streets and cemetery it began to live up to its name. The silver mines were making men as rich as they could ever hope to be; And all the gamblers and the gunmen and the madams wrote its history. October twenty-seventh was the day that no one ever can forget; But what exactly happened there nobody quite agrees on, even yet. But we all know for sure is some men stood and shot some other men who fell; The good and bad and black and white are something no one knows enough to tell. But legends live when men begin to die, And no one knows whats true, and whats a lie, And Tombstone, Arizona died a long, long time ago The cowboys all were cattle thieves, who died inside of Tombstones streets that day; The lawmen who had killed them all were gamblers, whod do anything for pay. The bodies, they were buried with the truth, inside the graveyard out of town; When Wyatt Earp and both his brothers met those men, they gunned them to the ground. The marshals won the battle, but the time for men like them was running short; Then Wyatt lost his brothers, but he didnt take the murderer to a court. He killed the killers, so they even swore a warrant for his head; But Wyatt Earp died in nineteen twenty eight, so peaceful in his bed. 07-07-73 * Memorial Day The flowers all are folded We children used to wear; The garlands that we molded Are withered in our hair. Weve given up the battle Of flowering the world; Wed rather hear rifles rattle And see red flags unfurled. Soldiers furloughs are better Than childrens holidays. Though shrapnel-wounds are wetter And redder, than bouquets. For Mars returns and bloodies The sky and sand beneath. The summer rainfall muddies The white cross and the wreath. 07-17-73

Reborn Kick the coffin all apart, Its rotted through; Oblong box around your heart Cannot prison you. Open up the rusted lid, Corroded by your tears, Never mind the things you hid, Shrouded by your fears. Climb out of the toppled tomb To face the seasons yet Allotted you, leaving room To live, and to forget. 07-17-73 *

Recurrent Dream Inside a harbor inn Where fateful voyages begin An old man waits for me I enter, recklessly. The barmaid brings the jug And pours him out a frothy mug, And lights a lamp for him To read by, in the dim. The old man wears a mask; I hear him humorously ask Perhaps you care to look Inside my ledger book? Instead, I flee that place For he unmasked a grinning face Whose every crease and line Was mine, was mine, was mine. 08-07-73 * Easily Found Theres a land that is lost, anybody can find Follow the fairy stream Through forests of fable, back in your mind,

In the countryside full of dream. Oh, so easy to travel and wander back home, Over the years once more Where the elves and trolls are teasing the gnome, Trying to make him roar. 08-08-73 *

Split-Second The arches of the rain Are color wheels, that chain Like wreathes around the clear Silver skies so near. The rainbows tie the blue Together, in my view. And for a moment I Notice God go by. Infinity is wound About me, all around, And then it goes once more, And Im like before. 08-09-73 * Last Beyond a blue-green sea Of mere mortality, Impassioned poets strive to stand Implanted on firm sand. But even those who climb Toward Timelessness, from Time, Eventually see their fragile gift Succumb, when shorelines shift. At least the poems last When kingdoms all are past, And rust is on the crown: At least theyre last to drown. 08-11-73 *

Big Foot From Canada to California back up in the trees, Theres a legendary creature no one ever really sees, Hes a snow-man and an ape-man, and a monster and a myth, But hes no one that a man would ever dare to battle with. On the southern side of Washington, the spring of Sixty-Nine, Now the weather it was colder, up and down the timberline, And the monster he was hungry and he left his tracks around, But nobody ever saw him, for he never made a sound. And were never going to catch him, for he always disappears, And the Big Foot, hell keep living for another million years. Hes the answer and the question, hes the riddle of our time, But nobody ever shoots him, since it turned into a crime. And they didnt have to pass a law to save his savage hide For a man whod hunt the Big Foot would be bound for suicide. But I still would like to see him, from a mile or so away, With a camera so that I could prove the things I have to say, But nobodys going to see him in the woods of Washington, And make the folks believe it, for it never has been done. And were never going to catch him, for he always disappears, And the Big Foot, hell keep living for another million years. 08-12-73 * Slavery Magnetic moon and star Determine who we are, And for how long, and why, And when the aging earth will die. For Time is only loaned, And all our years are owned By galaxies of space And astral laws that know no place. 08-12-73 *

Dispatch from Kent State We had to save the land With armored hand, We had to empty truth Into our youth. We had to take their ground, Until theyd found Our patriotic lead Had splashed them red. 08-17-73 * My Lai Our officers are ordering Our captives in a ring, Preparing for a little game Of target practice on the lame. A little rifle practice at Yellow objects that Provide excitement soldiers prize: Some targets blinking slanted eyes. 08-17-73 * Crimson Cavalier Ride the rave-colored Stallion of Right, Redden your new broad-sword, Thirsty till tonight. See your victims stumble, searching For an open inn, While your horse keeps lurching, Lathering his skin. On they stagger, drunken, Dizzy from some feast, Still your spurs are sunken Deeper in your beast. Ride your victims under Horseshoes turning red, Beating thick as thunder, Hitting hard as lead. 8-20-73 *

Why A womans always wondering Why wars begin at all, Why sons are bred for plundering, Why those bugles call. But fathers know the reasons why How it makes them proud To have a son whos born to die; Hear them brag aloud 08-20-73 * Embrace Time is a loyal lover, Hugging you to death., Lingering to hover Till your final breath. Never mind her madness, Misery and miles, Kiss away her sadness, Memorize her smiles. 08-21-73 * Soft sound Glass illusions shatter Splinters in your brain, Words and phrases batter Walls that still remain. Finally Lifes violence Shudders, and is still, And you hear the silence Of your own true will. 08-23-73 * H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) Restoring far-off times, With stilted, Georgian rhymes He tried repealing Fate Two centuries too late. So when he saw the worth

Of poems dead at birth He turned his pen to write Strange fantasies at night. Then when the morning came, He signed his unknown name. To one more priceless page Forgotten by his Age. Forgotten, all except For friends who paid their debt By publishing him till His fame no Fate can kill. 08-73 * Curtain Tomorrows stage will not allow Us more of Now. And so our comedy is through: Im me, youre you. 09-01-73 *

Her Fault Across the circus ground Where bells and whistles sound, You took a coin and spent It at the gypsys tent. She spun you in a spell Of ecstasy and hell, And charged you some more gold To have your doom foretold. She offered you the use Of stars for an excuse To blame both years all gone And yet to happen, on. From womb to burial vault, Its all the gypsys fault, Yet when she comes once more, Youll run to her tent door. 09-09-73 *

Return

Avalon is rising From Atlantic seas; Arthur is surprising Englands enemies. Over all the ages, Battlefields and bones, Arthur roars and rages, Clattering the stones. Hear his armor clanging, Hear his sword once more Splitting skulls and banging Helmets to the floor. See him once more drinking Dead mens blood with zest, See him once more sinking Down into the West. 09-09-73 * Twenty-five Cent Temptress Across the circus ground Where bells and whistles sound, The gypsy charges you some gold To have your doom foretold. She blames the stars and gods For lessening your odds And yet when she returns once more You run to her tent door. 09-09-73 *

The Music of the Moon The restaurant was dirty, But her smile was clear and clean; She was forty looking thirty, And her dress and eyes were green. Like a fairy story fable, She was sitting all alone, She was eating at the table Underneath the telephone. I pretended I was calling Someone somewhere far away, And she saw that I was stalling Making up the words to say. And I looked up at the ceiling

Like Id lost something up there, And I told her I was feeling Like Id seen her face somewhere. Her voice was like an old familiar tune: Her voice was like the music of the moon. But the early evening laughter It was hard to keep alive, In the sleepy morning after When the questions did arrive. While the breakfast, it was cooking, She asked me what to do, And she told me she was looking For a chance to start anew. And I saw that woman groping For the years that all were spent, And she told me she was hoping For a job to pay the rent. So I gave her half my money As I went out the door, And she laughed, like what was funny Really wasnt anymore. 09-22-73 * Prices The way to buy The sympathy you lack Is but to die, And hope her fickle eyes look back. The way to live Is even easier: You merely give Her up, and be the man you were. 09-29-73 * Mary Elaine Mary Elaine. Soft as the rain Washing her Spanish black hair. Shes like the glass Mirror you pass Out in the hall by her stair Wrapping her arms like a ribbon around your soul. Mary Elaine. Mary Elaine,

Hiding her pain Under the lace of her shawl. Violins play, Begging you stay Chained like a slave in your stall Wrapping their tune like a shackle around your soul. Mary Elaine Mary Elaine Knows that shes sane, Later you see what shes done. She makes you feel Everythings real, Making you believe that youve won Wrapping her arms like a cause around your soul, Mary Elaine. 10-13-73 * Soldier and Civilian (1842-1913?) Cloaked in a Civil War Cape Swaggered the fierce And fearless and cavalier shape: Proud Ambrose Bierce. Editor, author and wit, Bierce had the zest And courage and cunning to fit Well in the West. Then when his days dwindled lean, Bierce rode away; Old Mexico swallowed him clean, Gulping her prey. Cynics like him are the last Men to seek fame, So bitterness out of the past Still dims his name. 10-19-73 * Megaliths The ancient stones align In a dim design Of prehistoric plan, Forgotten by mere Man. But ancient gods recall The reasons for the tall And circled stones that rise

Like fangs against the skies. They recollect the screams Of the slain, and streams Of red that slopped the stones, The gibbering and the groans. Three thousand years and more Listening to the roar Of rituals until The scarlet stones stand still 10-21-73 (rev. 9-4-74) * Golden Eagle John Kennedy was not the wisest President weve known, He should have looked the other way, and left this land alone; But dyings just another way of learning how to live, And livings something you cant keep--its something you must give John Kennedy was just a man, and men are born to die, He wasnt like some eagle that was born to rule the sky, But even eagles touch the sun and sometimes burn their wings, And even eagles do get shot, like Presidents and kings. They shot a Golden Eagle from the sky, They shot a Golden Eagle from the sky. I think we lost a little more than Kennedy, you know, We lost a Golden Eagle born two hundred years ago; And every witness either dies, or else he disappears; But maybe we can learn the truth, inside of fifty years. But money bought the bullets, and some money bought the guns, And money keeps it quiet just who are the guilty ones; But how can money measure all the liberty weve lost? They shot a Golden Eagle, but you guess who pays the cost. They shot a Golden Eagle from the sky, They shot a Golden Eagle from the sky. 11-18-73 * Survivor Winds from the hills Weaken your friends, Frozen with chills, Meeting their destined ends. Brittle, they break, Snapping in two; Mourn them--but make

Haste, or youll join them, too. 11-21-73 * Still There Samarkand and Camelot, Carcassonne, and kings, Legends live and ruins rot; Sands conceal all things. Underneath the crumbled rock Secrets shrivel tight, Buried under Times own lock, Shrouded out of sight. Humans come and build once more, Blind to whats below, Better off that they ignore; Better not to know. Better not to know the law Bending Time around, Blind to what the ancients saw Feasting underground. 12-01-73 * Before the Colors Fade George Patton (1885-1945) Pistol-proud, Virginia-vain, Deaf to danger, numb to pain, Born a century too late, George Patton spat at Fate. Underneath the bombshells burst, He knew this was not the first Blood of enemies hed spilled, Nor the first age when hed killed. Once a prehistoric Celt, Then a legionnaire who felt Glee at gashing Jesus side; Later, serving Him with pride. Visionary general, Prayerful, and profane, and all This, and something more as well; Poet, rhyming while bombs fell. 12-02-73 *

Melindas Face Gentle kissing cant erase The rumble of the quiet Violence that rocks your face, Erupting in a riot. Revealing feelings cannot be A very easy task; My poor Melinda, now I see Why you once wore a mask. 12-25-73 * Pizarro (1476-1541) Our enemies across the sea Are darker than they ought to be: Theyre heathen full of heresy Theyre greedy with their gold. And so the temples have to burn, So that those savages will learn Religion and respect, in turn, As Spanish flags unfold. 12-25-73

A Simple Song A simple song is easy to remember, It flickers like a flame inside your brain, The melody is like a burning ember, It even smolders through he rain. A simple song is yesterday returning, A ribbon wrapping up your dreams and fears, A fantasy of ecstasy and yearning, A symphony of smiles and tears. Simple songs are always seeming Nothing more than idle dreaming Lost in the air. So listen to the simple song Im singing, And listen to your childhood when it calls, And hear the faint and distant ringing Of bells along the castle walls. A simple song is good most any season,

In summertime or winter or the spring, You sing it sad or happy for no reason, It doesnt have to mean a thing. 1973 * Death Wings Ghost-bird flapping loud, Like a rustling, charnel shroud Strikes your window frame, Screeching your last name. 1973 * Dedication Faded roses sadly flung, Graves and ghosts and grue From antique balladry, now sung One more time for you. 1973 *

Hannes Bok (1914-1964) Leap over galaxies, Swim over starry seas Awash with the pale of moon. Drink from the morning dew, Bathe in the misty blue, And paint your illusions soon. Ride every unicorn, Blow on a happy horn Abandoned by Pan himself. Paint with an angels brush, Capture the flowers flush, Delineate every elf. 1973 * Haunted Heritage (for Mike Ashley) Primeval campfire bards intone their tale Of fairyland, where human beings dare not stray A nether-realm of water-sprite and fey, Evoked by incantations and the banshees wail, From out of ancient balladry, Mans myths prevail,

As legends from a far-gone pagan day Evolve, and make their immemorial way Down centuries. Old ghosts, old magic, cannot fail. They live as fiction on the printed page, To thrill a reader on a winters night In some Victorian book, shelved by the bed. Such phantoms mock our glib, computer age, Where even Science cannot point the light To drive the cosmic specters from our head. 1973 *

Heredity (for S. F. Willems) The family album from times ago Has faces I never knew, Exceptfor a tint-type I feel I know From eighteen fifty-two The mouth is like mine and eyes as well Our cheekbones are highthe same; But he was reputed to pact with Hell, And shamed our honored name. And I shrink at the mention of sorcery (The Devils work on Earth!), But whisperings in our family Have shadowed me since birth. 1973 * Lost Eden A snake upon the Tree Of Knowledge longs to see The husband of the wife Destroy this Tree of Life That grows behind him tall And fruitful, till the Fall From innocence and trust, When Eden dries to dust. 1973 *

Malt and the Muse

The edges of endurance were traversed A thousand tavern tables back, The aging process thus reversed Until Ive long lost track How many paper-napkin poems I have blotted beer-spills with. A Bacchic bard? Myself, a maudlin myth. 1973 *

Sing Your Own Song Youve listened to my little tune, And now you ask me why The heroes sell themselves too soon, And tyrants never die. The world revolves another turn, And no one understands The reasons martyrs have to burn, And kings have dirty hands. I wish I knew the answers too, Why black is white, and red is blue, And will the earth remain for long? When you find out, then sing your song, Sing your own song. Youve got a gift as good as mine, We breathe the same fresh air, And both of us can gulp the wine Of life and find the lesson there. And if you finally quench your thirst For truth and find the answer first, Then beat the drum and ring the gong, And let me hear you sing your song, Sing your own song. 1973 * Last Spark A little while is all You have really got Before your fortunes fall, And your teeth will rot. Youre old enough to see Youve lost ears and eyes; Youre young enough to be Bitter that Life dies. The sun cant melt the snow

Coloring your hair, But still you feel the glow Like a distant flare. And so the burning blinds You to Time and truth; Youre yearning in your minds Flickering lost youth. 01-19-74 * Hound Red Dog leaps the ridges, Bolts across the bridges Every night; And when I hear his bark, Im Afraid to face the dark time Without light. My lantern cuts the shadow, And makes me glad I had no Clash with him: For Red Dog runs the valley, The villages and the alley, When lights dim. 01-21-74 * Nothing Nothing from the night time lives, All the black goes grey; Like a traitor, morning gives All your dreams away. Once your dreams were chiseled stones Fitted in with care Now they crumble, once youre grown, Falling from the air. Castles topple from the sky, Better they are gone; Earth is firm enough to try Building new ones on. 01-26-74 * Theft The Goat-God stands, We clap our hands And bow below, And pray that he

Will slaughter the Old god you know. The Goat-God grins, The rite begins upon the sod; Your senses reel, You whirl and wheel, And lose your god. 01-26-74 * Light Sink and swallow salt Water from the sea; Drink it up like malt Brew thats sold for free; Think of God whose fault Everything must be. Swim and reach the shore, Start your praying to Him you love once more, Now your night is through. Dim lights brighten for Dawn is born anew. 02-08-74 * Ballad of Hank Williams The saddest man you ever saw Sang through his nose, his notes were raw. The people said his voice was flat; Hank Williams wore a cowboy hat. A hundred songs upon the shelf, He loved us more than loved himself: He sang of you, he sang of me To set our shackled spirits free. When life and love had done him wrong, He put it in a country song. His words came down like falling rain The dreams he lost became our gain. He loved to drink, but he loved more Composing melodies meant for The words he couldnt always spell, But sang so well, that they still sell. A limousine, gold in the bank Were not enough to ease old Hank: He cursed his loves, and feared his Lord Would pay him back the debts he stored.

The debts were cleared on New Years day. The coroner could only say That too much living took its toll From Hanks poor self-tormented soul. You hear that lonesome yodel whine? Its just a ghost, aged twenty-nine, He died in Nineteen Fifty-Three, But still he haunts Montgomery. 02-15-74 * Etchings Years arrive and leave, Winters roll and weave Lines around your eyes Making you look wise. Wise enough to know Every wind to blow Leaves its time and trace Furrowed in your face. Lines of love and grief, Hate and disbelief, Rage, and loyalty, On your face to see. 02-18-74 * Or Longer (1878-1958) Jorkens, Rory, Bran, Watch with Welleran While the Witch of Fame Mutters one more name. Lord Dunsany rings Down the marbled wings, Down Pegana, through Theaters for you. With his name through time, Echoes that of Sime Down the river Yann For as long Man. 02-19-74 * Aid You were a friend

To the weak, Now you pretend You cant speak To the meek. Now youre too strong, So you say: Lifes not too long-Anyway: Let them pray. 02-74 *

Home-Town Reunion Have you ever come home after years on the run? Have you gone through the ruins of yesterdays fun? Have the friends youve forsaken remained true to you? Have you paid for their drinks while you asked them whats new? Have you listened to names echo out of the years? Have you tried to feel any laughter or tears? Have you tried to remember that long-ago love? Have you heard that shes got a new name shes proud of? Its a home-town reunion but you feel far away, Its a home-town reunion and you dont want to stay. Have you come to remember why your friend stayed behind? And what about all the things you must find? Is your destiny here or in some other town? Its a home-town reunion and you drink the wine down. For the highways a home that youve learned to love well. And the stories youve seen no one wants you to tell, Its a home-town reunion and you talk of the past, You must be polite and you mustnt leave fast. 03-12-74 * Only Only dreams remain Within Mans mind; To weave and wind Patterns in a chain Connecting brain to brain. Only dreamers are Untied and free: Their slavery Is to some faint star, Enchanting, yet so far.

03-16-74 (rev. 10-11-90) *

Sea-Burial Youre riding a river of old regret Down the years, Refusing to forget Tides of tears. Youre sailing a sea of your used-to-be Hard to drink, The salt of surf and memory Soon to sink. 04-06-74 *

The Ghost of 1955 He was headed East of Eden, But he never did arrive, For he had to die so he could live In nineteen fifty-five. He was heading toward Salinas On that highway all alone. He was dying, trying hard to find The peace hed never known. Now he was a famous actor Living every part he played, Like a rebel with a cause That somehow had to be obeyed. He just threw his helpless body In behind that steering wheel, And they found him sometime later In that coffin made of steel. The Ghost of Nineteen Fifty-five, September 30, Fifty-five, The Ghost of Nineteen Fifty-five. Now he tried his best to be a man, But he was still a boy, And he threw away his future, Like it was a broken toy. But he left behind a legend No mans ever equaled yet. And he had to die to win

That fame he never lived to get. And he looked inside of people From a pair of lonesome eyes, Like a saint who knows hes going to sin, No matter how he tries, And we dressed and looked the way he did, I guess we felt the same, And enough of us remember, So well keep alive his name. The Ghost of Nineteen Fifty-five, September 30, Fifty-five, The Ghost of Nineteen Fifty-five. 04-14-74 (rev. 1976) * Brothers Times a tyrant, locking you In a dungeon, your life throughOnly love or death can free You of Times sure slavery. Love and death are brothers in Fights with Time that they can winBoth are sweeter, sadder, than Times brute bondage over man. 04-25-74 * And Always Will The morning lamp Has dried the damp Murky moon; And day has burned To red, and turned Dawn to noon. But colors shift And fall and lift Flags of light, And men still creep Like rats, and leap Into ink night. 05-74 * The Dell and the Desert Its a wet place, where the words live,

Where dreams rain, and they all give The words life. Its a dry space, where the words die, Its a rock-place, and its all dry From hot strife. 06-09-74 * William Blake (1757-1827) He saw too far, too deep To linger long Amid the zombie throng Of men who are asleep. He spied the angels near Enough to touch; He painted such Exquisite visions clear. He painted them with lines And with his words: Immortal birds That fly in dream-designs. 06-09-74 * Knock Your body is a tomb, A vaulted, marble room, Where some sad spirit lives Beyond the doom death gives. Your spirit softly goes In shrouded coffin clothes, Across the headstones for You murderers front door. 06-17-74 * Lucky Bill (for Fr. Charles Strobel and his work with the homeless)) Sleeping in a doorway with his body in the rain, Keeping warm, and keeping wet with whiskey in his brain, Lying in an alleyway that every loser knows, Drying out a soggy brain thats wetter than his clothes. Knowing every tavern where they let you take your time, Growing old inside a world where aging is a crime, Heading for the side of town where drunken drifters stay,

Treading sidewalks like a man who knows hes lost the way. Dreaming isnt easy, when youve lost your wife and will, Livings one bad lesson, when your name is Lucky Bill. Drinking up tomorrow like it isnt really there, Winking at the women with a worn-out, weary stare, Paying for the past with every bottleful of brew, Saying life is worth it, when he knows it isnt true. Call him Lucky Bill when you discover him downtown, Haul him in for vagrancy and write his name right down, Free him when you finally get weary of his face, See him sometime later in his favorite drinking place. Dreaming isnt easy, when youve lost your wife and will, Living one bad lesson, when your name is Lucky Bill. 06-18-74 * Fancy Imagination lights, A path through all your nights, For you to follow blind Across your moon-struck mind. But deeper in your brain Are beasts you have to chain The ancient fears and dreads That populate our heads. 06-74 * As Always Cards are dealt, Losses felt In your guts: Sword-like cuts. Dice are thrown And you groan At the toss: One more loss. Beg one more Chance to score; Dealer grins; Satan wins. 07-06-74 *

Liberation The prison of Pride is an iron cage, And it fetters your heart like chain, As you look out on life with smug disdain And everyone. Never opening Your soul so it can sing. The prison of Hate is a cell of rage Where you bang on the bars within, With imagined rebuffs that pierce thin skin: You never forgive, never call a truce Your angers like a noose. The prison of Time enslaves with age, Where you pine for what cant be: But the only sure way youll struggle free Is step out and leave behind All bars that wall your mind. 07-30-74 *

Sing a Song of Roses Came from California, looking for a place to fall: Portlands good as anywhere, and now its best of all; Learned to love the roses, and the rivers full of rain; California drove me north, and Portland drove me sane. Leaving all my memories back behind where they belong, Sang a song of roses, and I let it make me strong, Lifting up my life inside my hands to make it grow Tall as any mountain rising mighty in the snow. Sing a song of roses, Dreams of me and you, Portland love encloses Dreams of me and you, Sing a song of roses. Gentle people welcoming you, with an open hand, Mighty people not afraid to fight to keep their land; City on the river floating ships from overseas; People soft as roses, people tough as Oregon trees. Been a long time coming, but Im here to rest awhile, Never mind the highway, never mind the weary mile; You and me and roses, and the salmon in the streams; Cant believe were thriving, Portland rain has washed our dreams. 08-18-74 * Boks Ghost (1914-1964)

Leap over galaxies, Swim over starry seas Washed by the moon. Drink from the morning dew, Bathe in the misty blue, Immortalsoon. Ride every unicorn, Blow on a happy horn Left you by Pan. Paint with an angels brush, Hear Heavens voices hush, Awedby a man. 08-22-74 * Neither Bloody, rose-red sun Dribbles gore to run Crimson on the skies, Till it scabs and dries. Later, moonlight pales Skies, as sunshine fails, And the dusk brings night Freezing all the light. Thus the moods of Man Clash, until they can Melt the sun and moon, Midnight meeting noon. Either faith or sin: Which is bound to win? Watch the color-wheel, Watch them both unreel. 08-22-74 * Port of Call The hills are high Against the crowds Of frigate-clouds, Mooring them upon the sky. The valleys down Below are seen As ocean green, Burnt to seaweed-brown. 08-26-74 *

A. E. H. (1859-1939) Hausman pines in pain, Nevermore to gain Friends that once sat near Laughing over beer. Friends and love forlorn: Better not be born Than complain in verse, Over-taut and terse. 08-30-74 *

Monstro Ligriv (1914-1970) Black and white are tones Seen at night in bones Bathed by moon and star: Colors of both good And of evil, should Tell us who we are. Shades of light and dark Shimmer in the stark Shuddering fine lines Virgil Finlay sketched: See the fears he etched In bizarre designs. Finlay used but two Colors to make do: Only black and white Dore, Beardsley now Step aside, allow One more ghost tonight. 09-21-74 * Klarkash-ton (for Clark Ashton Smith, 1893-1961) Smith carved words with care, Setting them like rare Jewels in a crown, Molded from old gold, Brilliant and cold, And worn with purple gown. Words of rich romance,

Atlantean chants, Mystery and myth, Epic tales and verse Decadent, perverse Proud pageantry of Smith. Ever out-of-place, Smith preferred far space Galaxies away, Lost in starry lore, Helping him ignore The din from his own day. 09-22-74 *

Running After Ruby Running after Ruby, from Seattle to Los Angeles and back, Following a trail of rumors and tears she left for me to track. Running after Ruby, trying hard to put together every clue, Finally I reached the wise conclusion maybe she and I are through. Found her trail in Frisco in an alley where I almost lost my life, Found a man who knew her, who was interested in showing me his knife. Running after Ruby is an exercise I dont believe I need, Rubys like a cancer looking for another that she can bleed. Running after Ruby in Tijuana getting close to Hell or worse, Getting drunk and getting scared I would cross the border in a hearse, Ran into some bandits and I handed them my wallet and my belt, Swam across to Texas and I told the border guard the way I felt. I was optimistic when they let me out of jail in San Antone, Headed back to Oregon where the people tend to leave a man alone, Running into Ruby on the sidewalk, but I quickly passed her by, Rubys running after me, I guess Im fool enough to let her try. Running after Ruby, now I find shes running after me. 09-22-74 * Full Circle Fly the flag of fury high On the red-washed sky; Trumpet all your anger loud At the cringing crowd; Empty all your cannon at Them, and they fall flat. Later realize that you Have to suffer too:

Cowardice and death can fall On you after all; Drop your battered, bloody blade, Wishing that youd prayed. 9-24-74 *

Barbed Wire Ballad(1) Rusted wire against a tree Year by year recedes Inside of the circling bark, invisibly Consumed. Relentlessly, the oak tree feeds. The countless rings of outer bark Enwrap the wire within. Thus Time is absorbing me. I mark The circles choking me. Im taut, stretched thin. 10-07-74 * Barbed Wire Ballad(2) Rusted wire against a tree, year by year recedes The countless rings of outer bark enwrap the wire within. I mark the circles choking me. Im taut, stretched thin. Thus Time is so absorbing me. Consumed. The oak tree feeds. 10-07-74 *

Dead March Armies of the dead March the roads of red Bloody with their tread. Spectral infantry, Phantom cavalry Move inexorably. Romans, Spartans come, Scots with pipe and drum,

No one knows where from. British, Turk, and French Smell of dead mens stench, From their burial trench. Military ghosts, Swapping bawdy boasts, Raising martial toasts. Armored, zombie hosts. 10-08-74 *

Waste Harvest Fields lie dead Under lead Clouds ahead. Cities crowd Fields unplowed Once so proud. Wasted seeds: Nothing feeds Now but weeds. Weeds and fumes: Poison plumes. 10-19-74 * Old Witch Figurines fall from the shelf, Death to the elf, Puppets are sawdust once more, Crushed on the floor. Soldiers of Old Witch arrive, Nothings alive, Nothing but troops come to scorch Toys with their torch. Dolls house is wantonly burned Tea-tables turned Over and everythings spilled: Rocking-horse killed. 10-22-74

The Dance

We dance across the floor And no one knows what for, Our bodies spin and flow. Together for how long? Together for one song? Its done before you know. The dance begins anew, The music plays with you, But you cant find the tune. Youre older and you see The pain and ecstasy Are finished far too soon. The dance is all you own, Its all youve ever known, The music and the dance, Youre loyal to the dance. Some people never dance, They never take a chance, They never laugh or cry. They never dance all night, They think its all so trite, They know too much to try. But you know more than they, Youll dance till your last day, Youll dance it slow or fast, You move on restless feet, You try to keep the beat, And never mind whats past. The dance is all you own, Its all youve ever known, The music and the dance, Youre loyal to the dance. 10-28-74 *

Carrion The free and defiant Lords Of Litting-Loo Knew what to do: Their trumpets blew, They drew their steel tempered swords. They charged on their unicorns With slack-free reins Across the plains.

And left remains Of enemies skewered by horns. 11-09-74 * Far Notes The age is dead, And writhing worms are fed Our books, unread. But still I read The warning signs that plead For us to heed. Our age has come To love the dinning drum, And bullets hum. Yet still I can Hear happy tunes of Pan No bombs, can ban. 11-09-74 * Winds of Red: 1792 Winds of red blow down Cross and crown, Trampled in the mud, Scabbed with blood. Winds of red congeal As the steel Guillotine has crashed, Crimson-splashed. 11-11-74 *

Summit West the towers of old time are looming Under autumn-colored sky thats glooming Grey at afternoon. Slow we trudge the rocky trail unwinding, Patient pilgrims bound for somehow finding Sainted glory soon. Up the path we stumble, foot sore, sick and bleeding Questing anywhere our mad crusade is leading, Towards the pinnacle: There amid the castle ruins we all stand

Scanning countryside and sky and far land Till our souls are full. 11-16-74 * Playing Piano, Just Like Making Love (for Melba in Portland)) She plays piano in the hotel bar, Collecting dollar bills inside her jar, She makes the oldest melodies sound new, She always takes the time to joke with you. She is a famous singer to her friends, She know that every daydream always ends, She knows she doesnt have a well-known name, She makes believe she doesnt miss the fame. Shes part of every song shes ever sung She makes the late-night traveling folks feel young, You wonder how she keeps her constant smile, You wonder how she keeps that old-time style. She plays piano creating melodic ecstasy, She plays for money, nothing good comes free, The people clap and beg her for one more, They know that musics what she is made for. 11-24-74 (rev. 03-23-89) *

Red Arrows (For Mary Driscoll Kangas) The feudal lords are at our door To tell us what our land is for, And how to plan and lead our lives: Ancient tyranny arrives. We peasants know it is no joke, Our farms and fields inside a yoke That chains and collars men born free: Vassals of a barony. And so we serfs will soon arise And give the nobles a surprise, And shrug off shackles binding tight, Loading crossbows for the fight. 11-24-74 * Still Sounds

The walls of words all crumble, Sentences now tumble, Down in raucous rumble. Silence settles slowly, Ruined cities know me, Quietly I grow free. Free as any rover, Mutated grass and clover Silently, world-over. 12-06-74 *

Trek Roads untaken fade Into misty shade: New decisions bravely made. Roads for taking spread Risks and ruts ahead, Underneath your tiresome tread. Foot-sore, bloody, you March courageous through Torture-trails out-stretched anew. Highways taken flow Wet with blood and snow: Feetin wanderings, still go. 12-21-74 * Transmutation Leather-bound books on the sorcerers shelf, Offer a perch for the magical elf, Watching the chemicals fume: Vapors of sulfur and alchemists brew. Melting to gold in a mystical stew, Stinking the cob-webbed room. Then the mad sorcerer grabs his small friend, Saying, An elf will add zest to my blend, Plunges him into the vat; Later the sorcerers body is found Horribly scalded to death with no sound, Elf-prints all over his hat. 12-25-74 *

Lesson Unlearned History is hate and harm Wrought on some small town or farm By a king who spills the blood Of peasants in the mud. History is never past History is here to last Yesterday and Evermore: Greed and goldand smoke and gore! 12-30-74 *

Still Voice Talk away the pain inside, Utter hurt your heart has cried; Hope by then the wound has dried. Later when you are full at peace, Let your troubled talking cease; Let the silence spread, increase. 12-30-74 * Black Black the ravens wing appears Poised for somber flight, Black the craven soul who hears Demons in the night. Black the rose a witch has kissed, Black its withered frame, Yet the man-made devil-mist Puts the rose to shame. Be the magic what it will Black as chimney stack None so black but blacker still: Armaggedon-black. 1974 * Buddhist Monk Unsullied by the world, with conscience free, He sits in contemplation, hour on hour, Of one small point on his anatomy From which he gathers strength and mystic power. Not for him the heros wide acclaim,

The soldiers glory, nor the merchants prize; Deaf is he to trumpetings of fame, Blind to the promise in a womans eyes. For him no cleaving to ephemeral things No ties to trap his feet in tangled ways That snare the steps of diplomats and kings No fear of blame, and no desire for praise. Supremely blessed, the holy Lama sits, Heedless of bombs that blast the world to bits. 1974 *

Cosmic Thunder Perhaps the last few leaves of Time Are dropping off the Lotus Tree, Our little earth will gasp its last And soon be swallowed up in sea. Then sea and earth divide and part, Each half dissolve without a trace, Twin flames that rush with lightning speed, Disintegrating into space. We may be sitting on a keg Of atoms that will soon explode And little else of us be left Save ash along the flaming road. And when we think ourselves secure, We may be standing on the brink Of chasms gorged with blood and fire, Abysms blacker yet than ink. It may be while we sleep or wake The world will end, a crash will come, With cleavage of the earth and sea, And thunder of the Cosmic Drum. 1974 * Gothic Bliss (for John C. Moran) I love an antique tale Where noble swordsmen never fail To rescue ladies fair Or brave the dragons lair. The creaking castle door The hidden stairway in the floor

They each enchantingly Excite and shudder me. Romantic terrors thus combine With Beauty. Old, old wine Of witchery and wondrous dread A Gothic castle in my head. 1974 (rev 06-21-83) *

Light a Beacon Once I saw an old man, walking all alone, Searching for a signal light hed never known, Searching in the valleys, looking on the plain, Searching for the beacon burning through the rain. Once I saw a woman walking in the night, Wandering and weeping, couldnt find the light, Tried to light my candle, so shed look at me, But she said that it was me who couldnt see. Saw a sinner praying, looking at the sky, Saw the light around him, made me want to cry, Got on down beside him, searching for my soul, Both my eyes were blinded, tears began to roll. If youre busy wasting every new-born day, If youre busy turning blue skies into grey, Let me light a beacon, so we both can learn, Let me light a beacon, let that beacon burn. Let me light a beacon on your way, Let me turn the light on you today, Later, when I feel as lost as you, You can light a beacon for me too. 1974 * Lost at Sea The war-winds whip The sailing Ship Of State across A sea of loss. The war-clouds rain Their blood to stain The sails and mast Can this ship last? The war-waves rise

And splash with lies The Ships red deck, And make it wreck. 1974 *

May Music Spring song, Wind strong, Flutter everywhere; Spring birds Sing words Ringing down the air. 1974 * Rhyme of a Reincarnate Forgive my love for antique things. But ancient visions light my mind. Imagination spreads strong, spacious wings And soars me backward where I find Myself alivein other lives behind. I was a troubadour for kings, And at their sumptuous tables, dined. I donned their silks and wore their sapphire rings, And with their courtesans, I wined. Three thousand years ago, soft hands were kind. Contrast it with corrupt Today. The Present is a haggard whore, A foetid vampire sucking dreams away. Ive lived a hundred, better lives before. Their memorys my golden door. 1974 * Sea-Dread (for John L. Wynne-Tyson, King Juan II of Redonda: 1970-97, from Redondas Duke of Nashville: 1997- ) I. A giant on the bleakened sky Strides across horizons, high And haughty overhead from me, Edging purple twilit sea.

The giant suddenly dives deep Down from lofty clouds, so steep, And swims where staining sun has set Red transcends toward violet. II. The giants gone, and so is day, Darkening the mauve-hued bay, But still I trace his outlined shape Monstrous on the oceanscape. 1974 * Unfollowed Advice Has the fire in your dreams burned dim And light that they cast, fluttered out? Are you living your life by whim, Irresolute, dying from doubt? Then recover yourself once more In the face of a friend made new, Sing a song to some children, or Whatever frees you from you. 1974

Virgil Finlay (1914-1970) Shades of light and dark Shimmer in the stark And shuddering fine lines That Virgil Finlay sketched: You feel those fears he etched In bold, bizarre designs. Finlay favored two Colors while he drew: A somber black and white As black as castle stones, As white as powdered bones, As pale, pale moons at night. 1974 *

Curtain (Finale) Stand away

From the play Titled Life: Scenes are cut From your gut By Times knife. Stand aside, Let the wide Stage collapse. Stand apart, Let your heart Die, perhaps. Stand alone Like a bone Bleaching dry. Deaths your scene, Played between Sand and sky. 01-05-75 *

Victory Sun devouring skin and bone, Radiation eating at Muscles, organs, fluid, fat, Powdering us like soap-soft stone. Withering us slowly white, Rays of age inject the slow Steady death of life, we know Wins, no matter how we fight. 01-13-75 * Atonement Salem Village still Shudders at the hill Where the curse was cast, The year the witches swung, Dying, drying, hung Three centuries long past. Curses crossing time, Vindicate the crime To be avenged today. You know your forbears lied When they testified So tremble now, and pray. 01-14-75 *

While You Can The roadside ruins rise Around you, scraping skies Like cannibal sharp teeth Jutting on the heath. The ruins boast Of goblin, ghoul and ghost That craves a home somewhere: Traveler, beware! Beware the standing stones That stab the sky line like bones Along the time-gouged track. Tremble, and turn back! 01-18-75 (rev. 10-02-90)

Boarding Party Ships of morning sail Out across the pale Ocean overhead, Splashing trees and lawn, Now that night is dead. Ocean-blue will burn Yellow-red and turn Water into sand, Making you aware Everything is air, Melting in your hand. Ships of evening drift See the mainsail shift As the dusk begins; Ghosts make up the crew Setting course for you, And the skull-flag grins. 01-21-75 * Blanket Rifles rattle, Armies battle On the plain, Getting glory, Grief, or gory Colored pain.

Conscripts giving Up their living For a patriotic bed That is bag-shaped, Shrouded, flag-draped: Blue, white, red. 01-26-75 * Blue Rose (1943- ) Lady like a rose Petals all enclose Her instead of clothes. Jonis coming Strumming, thrumming, Hear the humming. Feel the ecstasy, Tortured melody, Sweet, sweet agony. 01-75 * Caf of the Sad Guitar The caf of the sad guitar Is where the late-night dreamers are, Theyre leaning on the polished bar For another misty song. The sad guitar is playing low The music of so long ago, With all the songs you used to know, Has it really been that long? The caf of the sad guitar, The caf of the sad guitar. So have another drink and stay And listen to the singer play, Hes bringing back your yesterday Over all your used-up hears. So clap your hands when he is through And hell play your requests for you, Hell make a happy song sound blue; Buy another round of beers. The caf of the sad guitar, The caf of the sad guitar. He makes the evening flow fast, And nothing beautiful can last; He plays your favorites from the past,

Songs you thought youd left behind. And now theyre turning on the light, Its time for telling him goodnight, That old-time music felt so fight, Now its melting in your mind. The caf of the sad guitar, The caf of the sad guitar. 2-1-75 * Harvest Squeeze the apple dry, Toss the withered core To the floor. Fruit you used to try For a spring-time feast Isnt sweet: Apple-days all die. Apple-time is fled Like your younger days; Time obeys Nothing you have said. Stripping trees so bare, Straight, and spare Of the fruit once red. 2-3-75 * No Yearning London lies too deep, Buried back behind Mirrored in my mind Only when I sleep. Its just as well its fled, Fading like the gleam Of a starry dream Flickering down dead. Soho Square and wide Parks and Oxford Street, Notting-Hill and sweet Longing that has died. 02-06-75 * Slash! Hear the bugles sputter Notes upon the air, Hear the leather drum-heads mutter Music of despair.

Hear the trumpets stutter, Stammering their tune, Salute the flag, and cut her Enemies down soon. 02-08-75 * Gustave Dore(1) (1832-1883) He let his fancy dwell On Paradise and Hell, Inking them in stark Engravings all too clear, Designs of faith and fear Light opposing dark. His angels shimmer bright, Their halos rising white Over sun-swept skies, While demons slip and squirm, (The dragon and the worm), Hideous in size. 02-15-75 * Sabbat-Revel I. Over plains and hills The night-time quakes and chills Hark! A yelping yowl Hear the werewolf howl. Sorcerers beneath The moonlight on the heath Circle, circle, spin Now the rites begin. Ghosts and gnomes arrive And demons once alive Strip the gallows bare, Seize whats hanging there. Feed each hungry fiend: And bring the guillotined Heads that crows have picked Dead that worms have licked. II. Suddenly the dawn Is sprinkling light on lawn, Causing all to flee

Mornings brilliancy. No more blood to slurp; As insects chatter, chirp Roosters crow and clack! Pink skies blot the black. 02-17-1975 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * The Norm The folly of fear is a fetter-chain Winding around the brain, Imprisoning Fancy inside a cell Of caution: the cowards Hell. The manacles link mediocrities, Cuffed in their slaveries Like prisoners collared in rings that chafe: Controlled and curtailed. Safe. 02-18-85 * Time-Jail Do you still prefer The memory Of the things you were, Nevermore to be? Are you really safe Inside the chain? Dont the shackles chafe When you twist and strain? 02-20-75 * Doomed Drifters Orphan children on the run, Terror-taunted, Drinking rain and wearing sun: Highway-haunted. Roads of wanderlust are home For the naked Nameless rebels, born to roam In self-hatred. 02-28-75 * Earthquake

Tremble in your mind, Mash your teeth, Let the panic grind Dreams beneath. Shudder at the sound Conscience makes: All your solid ground Shifts and breaks. 03-02-75 * Literature We talked importantly as youth must do, Impressing one another with trite quotes, Discovering false authors who sound true, And humming melancholy ballad notes. Miguel de Unamuno was the man Who wrote for us, The Tragic Sense of Life, That made us weep as only lovers can Who suffer smiling under Times sharp knife. And then The Prophet chafed our wounds and beat Our ragged senses till they sweetly stung And smarted like a masochists rare treat: But what else is a poem when you are young? For I was twenty-one, she seventeen, In love with book-born love: Times blade cut clean. 03-04-75 * Ocean City Immortal day, that far July ago, We dug our toes inside a Maryland beach, And didnt let our first faint feelings show: Invisibly, they floated out of reach. And then like anyone who feels unease, We talked and talkedbut all that really did Was beat and batter us like ocean breeze, And bloody all the nerve-ends we had hid. That evening at home we ventured far too near For safetyboth too reckless of how much We frightened one another, fighting fear That festered under every bruising touch: The ache erupted in her furnished room, And we both felt that first foretaste of gloom. 03-04-75 * Silk Shroud Raise your banner high, Scarlet on the gun-smoked sky; Flag of boys whose hearts are high,

Flag of men not scared to die: Bullets whizzing by. Soon enough the red Silk will line your heroes bed. Soon the taps and rites are said. Soon civilian worms are fed. 3-7-75 * Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) In the vaulted mausoleum hear the shriek! Madeline is wresting free From her tomb-tied agony. Hear the rapping, tapping of the Raven-beak, Rhyming at your chamber door Tritely, tritely, Nevermore. Hear the necrophilic, dream-drugged poet speak With inebriated breath: UlalumeLenoreRed Death! Wonder at his lust for wasting, waning, weak Ebbing women, bloodless-white, Like Virginia, eyes Death-bright. (Like his wife, before his sight. alternate line) Ponder why he only lived to search and seek Death herself, and loved her true. Sweetest temptress that he knew. 03-15-75 * Escape Evening was draping dark Shrouds of yesterday, Smothering it with stark Sheets of black and grey. Now the open graves of night Free the dawn once more: Morning moves in robes of light From the night-tombs door. 03-16-75 * Incarnation (for Donald Sidney-Fryer) Golden oceans, silver seas, Old Atlantic memories Murmuring sadly sweet,

Like the waves that lapped the shore Of her coral coves before Her destined defeat. Bitter gods decreed her fall, Shattering each wave-shook wall Suddenly from the south. Other ancient lives ago, I was thereI knowI know! As water filled my mouth. 04-21-75 * Reincarnation The flaring torch of Time Flickers down and Im Plunging into black. Later the dark damp Brightens with the lamp Of the flame I lack. 04-21-75 * Better Than Nothing Leaves are withering, Fall is here to bring, Early, early chill, Yet you never care If the autumn air Comes to kiss or kill. Springtime, winter, fall: Weather each and all, Treasure Lifes green leaf, Never measure how Long God will allow, Even if so brief. 04-27-75 * Court Room You stand before Judgment of the Pit, On marbled floor, No place to sit, And no time more: You have squandered it. The scribe has scrawled Curses on the scroll, The priest has called

Doom upon your soul, The demons crawled Out of his worm hole. 04-27-75 * Heritage In my secret heart Ive felt Like a blood-crazed Celt, Scottish, Irish, either one, Killing Britons with my gun. Or with broadsword or with knife, Dirk, or dagger, taking life In an Ulster alleyway, Or Culloden Moor that day. Smoke and blood on heather grass, Celtic reverie must pass, Like a distant, dimming dream Drowning in a dank, swift stream. 04-27-75 * Voyage West the winds of morning hurry From the eastern shores of night, In a furious, futile flurry Billowing the sails of white Over seas of yellow light. East I slowly turn and waken On a west-bound ship of day; Shoals of night fade far, forsaken, Drowning in the dawning spray Splashing me upon my way. West the ships of sunrise leave the Ports of night, and harbored hate, As the winds of dawning weave me Sails of freedom, sails of fate, Sails unfurling, not too late. 04-27-75 * The Cast-Down Cup (1808-1893) The Rubaiyat still murmurs misty-sad Of youths romantic dreams we all have had And lost, along the years of laughter, love, and tears, Like once-sweet wine fermenting bitter, bad. Is mere self-pity poetry or art?

Fitzgerald thought so, and he squeezed the heart Until he bled the pain that fell like wine-red rain, Proud passion punctured by a poets dart. 05-04-75 * Capitol Hill She sat in downtown restaurants alone, And read her book until they shut the doors; Defiant, seventeen, and on her own, She made her coffee last an hour or more. So when I couldnt find her home I ran Ridiculously about the neighborhood, A comic maniac whod been a man Behaving like a wounded coyote would: I circled, almost howling with brute pain Around dark Washington, through every place She ought to be but wasntalmost insane Ashamed of panicking for a mere face. The restaurants were empty of her everywhere: Could she have drowned in summers humid air? 05-11-75 * North-Man (For Robert E. Howard, 1906-1936) You stand against the savage throng, Hewing arms to stumps, Cutting limbs in clumps, And chant the battle-song. But as they rise and overrun, You retreat alive, Eager to survive The very slaughter youve begun. A fierce Cimmerian, You can sell your blade Somewhere else in trade For treasures that please a man. 06-09-75 * May and November Rainbows half-unseen Almost out of view Taunt and beckon you. Breathe the rain-wet green, Smell the spring-sweet dirt, Senses all alert.

Springs say what they mean, Unlike human hearts Acting autumn parts. Feelings range between Happiness and grief, Spring rose and autumn leaf. 06-13-75 * The Clown My condescending friends but smiled in sympathy and shame, That I had not selected someone slightly prettier; They didnt know I hoped Id trade my name For something somewhere back inside of her. Around her I was awkward, quiet, cold, Sweet agonies like a grey and grave less ghost, Or else too loud, impressing her with manly noise, That was but adolescent, clumsy bold Bravado that at best but bores, annoys, And at its worst tells people youre unsure Of love and life, and of yourself the most. And so I struggled silly through the pure I harried friends to make them see her charm They changed the subject with their half-amused alarm. 06-13-75 * Witch-Time Far, the fields of summer glimmer, Near, the heated highways simmer: August noon Hovers humid, baking, burning, See the summer colors turning Autumn soon. Bleak, the August people gather Burnt and browning, in the weather Soon to fail: Summer dreams and autumn fearing, Feel October panic nearing Bone-white, pale. 06-26-75 * Wind Bound Brittle, till you crack, Made of bone, you lack Softness to survive, Rigid as a rod, Righteous as a god, Youre not long alive.

Powdered bone to dust, Blown with one good gust Through the withered trees, Flecks of boney grey, You float far away Billowed on the breeze. 06-75 * Warrior Time is a trickle of tears that seep Through the veil, Wet with moisture of years that weep Sob, and wail. What does it matter if they drip down Your aged face, Furrowing lines, and forcing a groan? Grief has grace. Grace and a dignity all its own, Worn with years, Tears, and the battle fought all alone, Braving fears. 07-10-75 * Answered Prayer The villages are burning The North men are returning Their work done: Hear their jeering, joking, Smell the pyre-fuel smoking From their fatal fun. One old priest surviving, Vengeance soon arriving, Who knows when? Payment for the village, For the rape and pillage: Doom on those North men. 07-28-75 * Death Cloud She said she hoped for peace for all mankind, Made possible by mans deep-down good will, And sorrowed when I told her she was blind To mans inborn desire to maim and kill. One universe united under one large law: Her dream, and dream of countless men before Who looked at life and made believe they saw Beyond mans greed and lust for gore.

Besides, world law meant world police and fear, I told her gently, and she hated me For hinting her utopia would not appear. For checks and balances on law brings liberty-But still at least we both agreed to dread The poison mushroom looming overhead. 08-06-75 (rev. 05-07-78) * Beach Battle The sailors from The ghost ship come, And splatter gore Upon the silver shore, Where people picnic on the sand. And then they sheathe Their blades and breathe Triumphantly--And row a reddened sea With phantom fist and tattooed hand.. 08-08-75 * Oasis Here comes death, Smell its breath, But still Time can die If I try With will. Kingdoms fall, Coffins call, But Im Doped with dreams, Drinking streams Of Time. 08-08-75 * Steppe-Spirits Forbidden, sacred sight! Potala gleaming white Reflecting Asian light; A shrine of mystic might. The monks conspire inside Old Lhasas palaced pride, With mummies spiced and dried, Reviving priests whove died.

Tibetian spirits raise And cast resentful rays Through memorys thick haze; Avengers from old days. They float across the air, Descending when and where The unbelievers dare Not worship them, nor care. 08-19-75 * Exchange Silver trumpets rally Soldiers down the valley Mustered one by one: Battle-flags are flying, Wives and children crying Futile tears that freely run. Womans work is weeping: Men are born for keeping Honored hates of old. Crimson banners flower. Pompand bankers power. Gore congeals on ill-got gold. 08-25-75 * Child, Why Are You Crying? Little child, theres no reason to cry, Push the thorns on your pathway apart, Find the flowers wherever they lie, Interweave them each in wreathes from your heart. And how long has it been since youve smiled? Walk a flower-filled path all alone, Sing your worries away, little child, Never cry, never sorrow or moan. Let the songs of the birds fill your ear, Let your smile, like a sun-ray appear; Since the morning, great God turns His ear To the tunes of the birdsand of you. 09-05-75 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Phil She had a fellow Quaker waiting back

Behind at school for her Fall return: My inner rage went red, then inky black, As coal-hard hate began its bitter burn. She called him softa coward! So I thought, A pacifist, a scholar, and a boy, And in brute bloody fantasies I fought And fractured him like some cheap toy. She seldom spoke of him, but when she did It always caught me with no good defense, And so the jealousy was hardly hid, A stinking cancer she could smell and taste and sense: It ate like acid at our August days, The dread distrust that when it entersstays. 09-05-75 * And Blind Times never slow, Minutes, they go Ticking fast, Floating, they flow Toward the past. Seconds, they fall Over Times wall Into Then, Deaf to the call Of Nows men. 09-28-75 * The Dragon Troops Veterans of countless crushing winters, Frozen riders stop outside the tavern, Sabering the swinging sign to splinters, Then stride inside the beerful cavern. See their emblem, its a leaping dragon, Woven in a crest upon fine leather; Hear them toast the devil with each flagon, Then curse Decembers demon weather. 09-28-75 * Wolf-Meal The witches wolves prowl, They yelp and they howl On Hallow-Mass Eve, And savagely prowl: Next morningswives grieve. 09-28-75 *

Nineveh And there was life in Nineveh? --Dante Gabriel Rossetti, The Burden of Nineveh, Poems (1870) Where are the dreams of Nineveh now? Robert E. Howard, Dreams of Nineveh, Echoes of an Iron Harp (1972) No silver songs at the golden throne, No captives, chained to stone, No petty prayers from the eunuch-priests, No orgies following the feasts. No jesters juggling for jaded kings-No courtesans in the wings, No flatterers, no more spies to fear, No gossipnor bold intrigues to hear. No troubadours, no more ringing rhyme, No slaves to dance in time, Just toppled turrets and vine-split walls, Where drifts a ghostdown ruined halls. 10-02-75 (rev. 1990) * Blue Ridge As August melted from its sticky heat, September watched us traveling to where Virginia, South Carolina, both do meet: The apple-mountains rich with grape and pear. Her family and sister welcomed me, Far too polite to ever seem quite real, I drowned in country hospitality And careful conversation at each meal. But underneath I felt a tense unease: Her elder sister seemed to look through all The harmony like some lone bird that sees An animal below about to fail and fall, Our mutual hatred and respect were like The hunted for the hunter as it stalks to strike. 10-04-75 * The Summer of My Time Seattle was the summer of my time, The view was good, the hills were fun to climb, And there I found myself, and you found you; The yellow fog was fading into blue. Nineteen-sixty-six was sadly strange; I stood outside my soul and watched it change,

Like rain upon Seattle window sills That turns to sun and settles on the hills. The Saturdays that didnt want to end, When I was learning how to be my friend, I drank the days like they were home-made wine, And realized the life I led is mine. I knew that soon or later I would leave, As sure as people laugh, and people learn to grieve, In order that they learn to laugh once more, Like sunlight melting mist along the shore, The fog upon the sea, The walks with Dorothy Seattle was the summer of my time. 10-19-75 * Ghoul Treat Long icicles fall, splinter On the grey cobblestones, And silver shrouds of winter Shield the frozen bones, Frozen, flesh-full bones. And ice-gnomes squirm and scurry Over mossy tombs, Theyre hungry and they scurry To the feasting rooms, Marble feasting rooms. 11-01-75 * Who Cares The flowers that I handed you are fading fast, The lines we spoke dramatically werent meant to last Who cares? Who cares? The Christmas gifts I bought for you have been returned, Too late for loving, both of us have finally learned Who cares, who cares. Who cares if both of us have tried so long? Who cares if theyre still playing our last song? The words, they come so trite, And I cant find the tune. Explain it to your relatives as best you can, Im sorry that you told them that youd found a man Who cares, who cares. Everything is over that we just begun, I hope both of us can find a new someone Who cares, who cares. 11-09-75

* Red Surf (In memory of George Darley, 1795-1846) Water-witches wailing, Hear them in the waves, Toward them we are sailing, Willing siren-slaves. Soon our ships are crashing, Crushed on fang-like rocks, Shattering and smashing, Feel the fatal shocks. Lured by grotto lamp-fires, Lulled by sweetest song, Bled by mermaid vampires, Thirsting in a throng. 12-13-75 * Cascade Mountain Morning Memory Ice covered mountain, a blue magic morning is here, Orange-dripping sun only makes me aware youre not near, Pine-scented wind is a poor substitute for your skin; Bright open fire and a breakfast without yous a sin. Clean Oregon airs not as soft as the lines of your face, Id rather love you in some sooty smoky dark place, Im getting bore with the view, though it stretches for miles, Id trade this scenery for one of you cynical smiles. Cascade mountain morning memory alone, Stuck on the mountainside, cold as the snow on the stone, Cascade mountain morning memory alone. Roll on Columbia, home to your sister the sea, Love is a river thats flowing and fickle and free, Lady I know youre forgetting as fast as you can, Back in some city down south, with a short-timing man. 1975 * Grey Skater Over the ageless ice The Grey Skater glides And spins as he slides, Rounding the lakeside twice. Notice his skull=grey face Half masked by his coat That collars his throat Ice skates that leave no trace.

Grey as a graveyard stone, He skates in your dreams On the frozen grey streams, Circling you, stark and lone. 1975 * Guitar Man If sad and simple songs are near All I ever play, Thats what people want to hear Most, and people pay. 1975 * Haven The abyss yawns and gapes, Inside the blurry shapes Of demons writhe and roll And dance, upon your soul. Beyond the inky space Of Hell, there looms a space Of silver stars, and blue For you to stagger to. 1975 * I Feel Like Columbus (When I Discover You) Your love is like a harbor where I want to be, Your bodys like a treasure in a tropic sea, I cant believe my eyes each time you smile at me, I feel like Columbus when I discover you. Ive been at sea so long I feel Im getting old, The ocean winds are heavy and the waters cold, And then I touch your body and its pure as gold I feel like Columbus when I discover you. Ive been a drunken sailor, and Ive wandered far, I set my course upon a falling star, And later when Im almost ship-wrecked, there you are! I feel like Columbus when I discover you. So let me go exploring with you by my side, Were making love along the sand, before the tide, My heart is full of ecstasy, where once I cried I feel like Columbus when I discover you. 1975 * Masque de Poesie

Dont ever bare your soul, Conceal your psyches role Behind your metaphors and metric lines. And dont undress your heart, Disguise the tragic part It plays inside your poetrys designs. 1975 * Night Gaunts (for H. P. Lovecraft, 1890-1937) Imagination lights A path through all your nights, For you to follow blind Down your-moon-struck mind. But deeper in your brain Are beasts you have to chain: The ancient fears and dreads That populate our heads. 1975 * On Reading Timothy Steeles Missing Measures: Modern Poetry and the Revolt Against Meter If you like poetry written today As blunt as a newspaper journalists prose, its rhythms the cadence of trucks in the street, with rhyme in the ash can, banished by Eliot, and Pound, his accomplice, then this book is HERESY. (Its professor-author, having published, should perish!) But if you revere poems you learned in your youth, Mellifluous measures that capture the ear, Like Keatss Grecian urn (when Beauty meant Truth), This book is a zephyr of sense blowing clear: Wind-chimes of reason, some wont want to hear. 1975 * Retreat From the Cold (for Denise Dumars) I. Green tomb Shrouded with moss, Stone room, Cracked marble cross. Cold floor, Tight-chiseled rocks,

Steel door Never unlocks. Moon pales, Color of fear. Noise wails Can you not hear? II. No, no, Soundless and still. Lets go (Wind brings a chill) Homeward, away from this shivering hill. 1975 * Reward What keeps you in the running Is the race and not the prize. Though you faltereven fall With the winner seizing all The loser is the one who never tries. 1975 * Time Colors(1) Times a silver trumpet loud In your souls inner ear, Calling you beyond the crowd Into some gleaming, silver year. Follow reckless down the days And embrace a brave fate, Leaving the ugly dull brown and greys, For the Silver Time: dont be late! 1975 *

Trip March to the roll Of your own drum, Calling your soul: Come away, come. March to the fife Piping so far From your dead life:

Leave where you are. Leave and arrive Somewhere insane Where fairies thrive Thronging your brain. 01-16-76 * Snow-Prayer Rain-wet winds unroll Showers on your soul, Autumns dripping damp Dowses summers lamp. Pray Decembers sun Shows the good youve done, Hope the frozen light Shows you, you were right. Else youll lose the will To survive the chill, Blaming weather then, Like most winter-men. 01-27-76 * Crimson Witch Crimson Witch is walking, See her stealthy stalking Along the forest trail. Crimson Witch is grabbing Children with her stabbing Fingershear them wail. Villagers are raising Pikes and torches blazing As hot as crimson hell; Witchs cottage flaring. Villagers not caring What the curses tell. Crimson curses dooming Villagers, and looming Immense along the years: Pestilence descending-Plague, their bodies rending Crimson colored tears. 01-29-76 * Paresis Blue elves biting your shoulder,

Fantasies cold as the wine, Blue elves gnawing, each bolder Shudders convulse your sick spine. Blue elves burrow your brain now, Worming their way in your head, After youre labeled insane, how Will those blue elves be fed? 02-01-76 * Poem-Pyre I wrote my best, too long, long past, Words from my heart, not head, I grab my pen, I clutch it fast, But all my art is dead, All of my art is dead. As dead as dreams that died of age, Tired from a weary wait, My rhymes unprinted on the page Expire in fireplace grate, Ash in fireplace grate. 02-16-76 * Portland Spring Columbia, Willamette stream Forth their gentle run, As salmon glint beneath each beam Of a Northwest sun. The rain-swelled rivers rise and roll Back where they began, Like ups and downs of someones soul: Seasons of a man, 02-16-76 *

Time Colors (2) Blue years, Deep as the snow, New tears, Starting to flow. Green days, Crumbled to brown, Mixing with greys. Leaves tumbled down. 02-19-76 *

Lore Write of Then and When, Not Now; Allow Tales of god-like men. Songs of wandering Not facts, But acts Of some fable king. 02-25-76 * Mortal Combat Angels in your brain, Demons in your heart, Paradise and pain Splitting you apart. Severed into two Halves that but oppose; Fractured, riven you: Cleaved, until Christ rose. 02-26-76 * Castaway Winds of worry whip The sails of your sad ship, Driving it across An ocean full of loss. Over on the other side Unrolls the foaming tide, Casting you aground, Like driftwood, lost, not found. 02-30-76 * The Wall Fireplace flames have scattered light Out the window, down the night, Till the tunes of evening call To musicians in the hall. And then through the window swells Perfumed leaves and grassy smells Mixing with the scent of skin Powdered pleasingly as sin, Like the mad aroma of Decadent sweet stars above. Heavy-lidded ladies stare

As the curtains fill with air, Billowing out white and pale Like a galleons great sail, On a starry sea of night Beaconed by loves harbor light, And as perfumed music played, Overhead arose and weighed Heavy on the burning sky, Red, red moon that blazed on by. Then outside on moon-red sand Couples wandered hand-in-hand. Gentlemen enflamed with love From the bleeding moon above. Yet the ladies lowered eyes Shyly from the lust lit skies. Bathed with breezes breathing low. Now their shoulders felt the flow, Soft, seductive and intense, Secret sin that stirred each sense. Soon I heard a playful sound Tempting me to turn around, Eager for the sweet surprise Of my ladys laughing eyes. Lets go back my dress is new But as we kept on walking through Avenues of tempting dark, Couples filled the passioned park, And when we encounter one, Some man cursed, and to run! Then we heard a nightingale Answered by a far-off quail, As we let our bodies fall Down before a shining wall Bathed in moonlight, mocking me With denied, dear ecstasy Of the treasured pleasures there, Under unfurling hair And her tempting dress, I Waited hungrily to try. Dry, dry mouth, and body cold, I feared I would not be bold As I needed to be then, Capturing my courage when Laughter from her crazed me mad, Torturing me, till I had Forced her down against the ground: Overhead, without a sound Smiled a sweet seductive moon Knowing what would happen soon. She resisted my attack, Pushing my firm body back, Till our writhing shadows grew

On the moon-flushed wall like two Puppets pulled from up above, Marionettes the moon of love Jerked, and joked with, in a play. Then the nightingale could say To the moon what we had done: Turned two shadows into one. 3-3-76

Storm Cycle Lift a voice in the wind, Let it sing in the rain, Till the storm clouds have thinned, And the sun dries your pain. And the skiesonce so dark And so menacing grim Roll the rainbows bright arc On its circling red rim. And as you walk below You remember the wet Will return when winds blow With the rains of regret. 03-06-76 * Far Place Time is a tunnel of fears, Funneling years Down a spiral of darkening dread Twisting ahead. Somewhere the passage ends, After it bends Millions of labyrinthine turns: Somewhere Man learns. Somewhere and someplace we find Weve been but blind Burrowing brutes in the devils night, Shunning Christs light. 03-12-76 (rev. 06-22-90) *

Latest Oasis Mirelda has thin Tomb-marble skin; Where would a vampire begin? Her color has fled, Roses are dead; Where would a vampire get fed? Her husband knows where, Hes just been there, Drinking and draining his share. Mireldas the third Wife he has lured Home, where screams often are heard 03-28-76 * Its Dying At lease when we fight, were together. At least we both love windy weather, I wonder why we keep on trying, When even our friends say its dying. Like so many folks in the city, Were both getting drunk on self-pity, Your family knew Im unsteady, Were sick and its dying already. Now its dying but were both still living, Pretending the love were not giving, Like a birthday gift youll never open, Apologies Ive never spoken. Theres no use in further complaining, Theres nothing but nothing remaining, The flowers we trampled are crying: Its dying, its dying, its dying. 3-76 * Progress Modern ears of Man Hear no pipes of Pan, Nor the fairies happy flute So it falters, mute. Mankinds modern eyes See no magic skies, No more crystal castles there, Only smoky air.

Mans immortal soul Fractures what was whole, Severed, now, in twain apart, Splitting head from heart. 04-05-76 (Rev. 06-25-90) * Red and Grey(2) North come the Riders of Grey, Grey as the early dawn fog Bathing each swamp-tree and long, Rising like gloom from the bog. Grey-Riders enter the day Dawning across swamp and plain, Riding through yellow-mist rain, Riders of death and grey pain. Peasants are running away, Panicked as grey shapes appear, Grey and as a gruesome fear, Grey as stone-sharpened spear. Too late to plead or to pray: Grey-Riders pikes and spears flash, Swords of grey sever and slash! Colors of crimson now splash. 04-05-76 * Rose-Crumbs Flowers of fame Bloom with your name For a brief day, Then wilt away. Petals you clutch Crush with your touch, Powdering to Dust before you. 04-19-76 * Regicide We harvested so many grapes each day, Our hands and lips were purpled, stained The shade of royalty: kings gone away To die with queens, till rust remained Of each tarnished throne and crumpled gown. Inside her bed at night she floated far from me, And like a knight that tugs a queens great gown, I knew my enemy was brute Eternity,

That crushes kingdoms made of stone or dreams. She often mentioned autumnback at school, Her words like shears, slicing well-stitched seams Upon the royal tapestry, a cruel And fitting ending to the fading myth, Once woven lovingly, now scissored with! 04-24-76 * Mount Airy Station The ever-yawning distance gaped between The two of us, those last September days, And nothing I could say could really mean As much as all the silence in her empty gaze. I packed my summer clothes and hopes, And dressed for autumn, that last afternoon, When breezes shook the farm and apple-slopes, And rain beat down a bitter, time-bleak tune, Upon the wooden eaves, and winding road, As we drove down together to the train. The loss of our idyllic summer showed Upon my face, like slashing, whip-struck pain Her sister on the platform seemed aware And glad of what was swiftly dying there. 05-06-76 * St. Germaine (17? -1874?) Wearing a mythical name, Shrouded in shadowy fame A wanderer casting a spell. Plotter against the French king? Loyalistthrough everything? The history books cannot tell. Living off magical gold, Alchemist, centuries old, Comporting himself as a prince. Friend of the court and the queen, After his death hes been seen Innumerous times ever since. 05-08-76 * Sharp Turns Snow drains Ice from the sky, Green rain, April walks by. Pink sun, Summer comes down,

Orange fun, Sunburned red-brown. Sleet-blue, Sheets of sharp ice, Strike you: Decembers dice. 05-17-76 * Poet-Birth: 1961 At school I found the spaces in between Her letters lengthened as the days grew brief, And letters that I wrote were still as green As spring before the fall inflames each leaf, That tumbles to the pavement, brown and dead. I read her final one that Saturday, As rage and fierce revenge throbbed in my head, I knew how futile to believe that she, not he, would pay. But still I sampled other faces and sweet hair And throbbing sighs, that couldnt really last: In someone elses eyes her ghost danced there, Reminding me of grief ahead, not past, As winter worsened and I learned to write My first bad poems, full of self-hurt spite. 05-21-76 (rev. 06-16-90) * Top of the Stairs Whats behind the door? Was I here before? In faded lives ago? Store-room full of dust, Open if I must The room I used to know. Who was I back then? Saint, or scourge of men? The dust will never tell. Store-room old with mold (Attic dim and cold), Conceals my ghost as well. 05-25-76 * Twilit Orgy Dawn bathes my eyelids with gold-dust, Blue burning into bright red, Morning confessing its old lust For the coy daylight ahead. Dusk wipes away afternoon-light, Orange melting into dark grey;

Dark blue seducer, the new night Rapes the last ghost of the day. 06-02-76 * Blaze! Round the Rim of Reason Ring the worshippers of thought, Faith to them is treason, Souls are something sold and bought. One day theyre believing, One day faith returns, Doubters each receiving Light that fires and burns. 06-14-76 * Stonehenge (for Huitzilopochtli)) Four thousand years ago the Celt Raised a ring of rocks around Patterns on the English ground. And there the Druid maidens felt Bronze-age daggers at the heart, Hacking, hewing them apart. Then the pagan priests began Chanting prayers and splashing red Till the glutton gods were fed. And thus the rituals of mere man Echo clear the ancient call, Haunting Mankind since the Fall. 06-18-76 (Rev. 1991) * Sonnet Your sky is shadowed with a tomb-dark cloud That dims our futures falling, faint far star, And all your pain wraps us in cold thick shroud, Till who you were is choked by who you are. The flame of love that flickered golden-red Is grey-black ashes in your frozen soul, As you wish you could sleep, forever, dead And dreamless, like the love Time saw and stole. But yet, however bleak the fireless sky, A shaft of God-light bursts and burns up high, And glows on you amid the grimmest grey. And if you find the death for which you pray, Youll damp and darken everybodys day: So any friends, not just I, will weep their grief away.

06-20-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Green Bride Green Knight arrives at the gate, Up slips the wrought-iron grate, Draw-bridge is down, Inside the Princess will wait In her green gown. Green Knight dismounting inside, Princess will soon be his bride Veiled in grey-green lace Covering her since she died: Lichen moss blotching her face. 06-23-76 * Terror On a night when I slumped in my chair I sensed something suddenly there And I shudder with panicking fear At the presence of something unknown, And unnamable, soon to appear. I sat trembling, so taut and alone, As I felt someone lurking behind, Soon to laugh at me, cruel and sick. But the silence roared loud in my mind, While I feared he would touch my hair quick, Or my shoulder, and clutch it so tight, And Id die from it, heart stopped from fright. And it seemed even closer to me: Was it real, or a fools fantasy? Like some storm-beaten birds from the sky, My words shivered, unable to fly, As unmoving as my legs and arms, Both immobile with icy alarms, Till my teeth echoed, rattling like bones, Like the dead, restless under their stones. Then a creak splintered silence in two, And I shrieked in stark horror, and fell Over faint with the force of my yell, Dumb, unknowing if my fears were true. 06-26-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

Be Good To You Be good to you, Love yourself true, Ill take care of me, Whatever else you do, be good to you. Be good to you, Look your mirror in the eye, Give yourself another try, Clear that cloudy sky, Ill take care of me, whatever else you do, Be good to you. Be good to you, Make your color gold, not blue, Its just another name for falling rain, No more pain, Not as long as you make sure youre good to you. Be good to you, Love yourself true, Ill take care of me, Whatever else you do, be good to you. Be good to you, Someone else will be Good to you, youll see, Love loves company If you want the love you think that youre entitled to, Be good to you. Be good to you, Find a mountain with a view, Leave all the tears of yesterday below, Melting snow, And youll be so good to me, and me to you. 07-06-76 * Sunstroke In the joy of a sun-showered June I was drifting inside a hot crowd That was carefree and drunkenly loud, In the furnace of mid-afternoon. And the sun wakened up my desire Such as Adam first felt for his Eve, The unquenchable, hell-heated fire That shook Eden, and then made them both leave. For a woman walked by then, and stared At my soul as my senses each flared And my body in flames wanted fuel From her arms burning me sweet and cruel.

So I lusted to press her to me In the scalding hot ecstasy of A delirious, dazed fantasy In a coma of sun-stricken love. I believed I was holding her tight Bodies locked both as one is a flight Off the earth, to some smoldering star Hot as sunlight we left down below Near the earth, now so tiny and far But then suddenly I came to know That my dream lady I clutched had fled, And our sun=maddened, re love was dead. 7-6-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

A Rustic Venus I. How many gods and goddesses remain Like those of ancient Greece or Italy? How many Venuses are there who reign, Tempting, titillating every likely man they see? A fisherman discovered on a strip of sand A tiny child abandoned by the oceans rim; He lifted her into his basket with his hand, Saving and protecting her: he took her home with him. Now everyone delighted in this rescued girl, Till soon, the baby whom they hugged began to grow: The sunlight freckled her and bleached each golden curl, Burnishing her honey-ambered skin to make it glow. II. The girl became a woman in a will-filled dress. And lusty farmhands each desired to have her first, While she but tantalized them with coquettishness, She, the sweet oasis to their parching, quenchless thirst. She even once inspired a vicious, public fight: Two brawny brutes, each battling for a chance with her, As she sat flattered by their furious, foolish sight, Fickle, all indifferent as to whom she did prefer. III. And so she tantalized the men from miles around, Bestowing favors wantonly amongst them all, In darkened rooms or out up on the grassy ground, Anywhere she let her clothes and defenses fall.

And when she passed proud stallions they were not aloof, They whinnied as she smiled and neared their fence, And birds would greet her from the highest tree or roof: Free and natural, she could catch each creatures confidence. At evening she would sometimes seek the sand and sea, Her blonde and naked body glinting with the moon, And after swimming would recline in ecstasy, Leaving an impression of her form beside the dune. IV Of all the men nearby, she only hated one: An ancient, ugly shepherd in his fetid hut, A fugitive from decency and morning sun: Monster of the night, with gnawing lusts he craved to glut. Yet pliant virgins gave themselves to sate his love, While fearing what his eerie prophecies foretold, As he spoke chilling prayers to pagan gods above; Wizened, wizard, voicing loathsome rituals ages-old. V Of course our goddess of a girl refused his fierce desire, And for long months she fled him in the bracken wood, Until at last her womans will began to tire. Only then did she succumb the way he knew she would. Outside, the snow and snarling wind whipped naked trees; Inside his hut, she stiffened at his goat-like smell, Diminishing his cravings, causing them to freeze. Maddened, now he pummeled blows upon her! Then she fell. The shepherds faithful dogs emitted mournful moans, Attacking him until the sound that rent the air Was wind, a-rustling eaves and trees, like bones, Stifling all her sobbing, all her terminal despair. VI The dawn streaked purpling red across the melting grey, As something scarlet faced the shimmered, snow-white gleam: The gored and spattered shepherd braved the dazzling day, Stumbling dumbly forth amidst refulgent suns red beam. And our demented shepherd strode back toward the town, Confessing boldly what hed done, so all could hear, Till villagers began to follow him back down, Down that sanguine trail whose evidence shone crimson clear. VII The townsmen felt some understanding for this act, An unsurprising fate for one so carefree-wild, A cruel, inexorable, predestined final fact Dooming her whom theyd adored since when she was a child. They grasped one brutal law: an ugly god cannot Forgive a goddess, so generous with her love.

Instead, inevitable destruction formed her lot, Penalty for reckless lust those townsmen well knew of. VIII And so they lifted up her reddened, golden shape, Transporting her along the town-ward, red-specked trail. And loitering about the scene of her red rape, Frenzied, dazed, the shepherd bellowed one long anguished wail. IX His faithful watch-dogs all deserted him to run Beside the funeral cortege now begun Beneath the gilded, gore-red sun. 7-6-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

Snowy Night The snow fields ring with frosty echoes of The singing silence of the winter chill, Until you hear a howl that floats above The icea dog complaining to the winds that kill. All other sounds and songs are quieted, All flowers faded, folded, crushed by cold, And naked trees stand up like bone, so dead, Like spectral skeletons, malign and bold. The sad-eyed moon now hurries past us, pale And frozen down a grim, grey soundless sky; And underneath small creatures start to fail And falter till they freeze, and softly die. The moon beams down its icy yellow light Upon the sea below of eerie, snow-locked land; The paling gold of moon melts on the white, And glimmers like a gem on some cold hand. And tiny tortured birds hang barely to Their branches, wishing they were in the nest, Afraid they wont last one more bleak night through, Their feet like ice, the death-cold in each breast.

At least at night the birds know they can sleep: But all they see is gleaming, shimmered snow Confusing it with day, the birds still keep Awaiting night, deceived by moonlights snowy glow. 07-08-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Rude Road The grinding wheel of Duty turns, The axle bears the friction, burns Beneath the burden of the load, And spills the cargo in the road. The driver wrests it from the mud Back on the wagon flat-bedthud! Repair the axle from a tree, Resuming Dutys destiny. 07-17-76 * Homage (for Jonathan Bacon) Fairies under toadstool tables, Unicorns in forest stables, Beckon me Child-believer in a fables Fantasy. Down along the haunted river Waving willows sway and quiver As I pass And the Sprite Queen makes me give her Wreathes of grass. 07-26-76 * Memories(1) Swallows all rise to the sky, Far from their home-trees they fly, Coming back, when winters die, Every spring To the nests where they first spread each wing. Man like the birds, flies away, Wanderer, winter and May, Haunted by his yesterday In this town Where his ancestors ghosts still look down. Later, when years follow fast,

Suddenly he feels the past Beckoning him home at last To the sound Of the church bells above grave-ground. 08-01-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * The Deads Doom The ghost had a dream of his death, Shaking his shroud with fear. Eternity then blew his breath Cold in the ghosts grey ear. The ghost asked EternityWhy. Why should I perish twice? The answer was: Even ghosts die Crushed in Times torture device!!! 08-02-76 * Ghosts Old lace and cut glass, Antiques of dull brass: Dim dining room. Lockets with hair-coils, Portraits in old oils, Cracked spinning loom Paint peeling, tall weeds, House where old time feeds, And the years gloom. 08-08-76 * The Windmill I saw before me In the mists of the moonlight, a silhouette tall On the hill like a monster, gaunt arms clutching wide: A huge windmill whose blades only rise up to fall, Carving arcs in the shadows upon the hills side. Thus I saw in the haze, like a dream up ahead, An immensity looming, that shook me with dread, With a forehead that scraped on the star-sprinkled skies, An old mill that continued to thrust up and rise, With its sails a-spinning, circling galaxies of All those stars ringed in haloes of light far above, Stealing gold-dust from robes of the comets so far That old Time himself seemed a prisoner of Space, Yet the windmill on earth still revolved in its place,

Going down, then back up, circling each distant star. 08-12-76 (rev. 12-10-90) by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Immortal! Marble vault draped with snow, Grave-winds whimper and blow Tomb-dust up from the stones Walling the crypt of bones. I am the last in line, One more coffin-spacemine! Yes, mine. But Ill never die. Not while a bat can fly! 09-17-76 (rev. 1982) * Melodrama The Gothic Quest had best Not seek to really wrest The truth from underneath Times tightly shrouded sheath. Across each quaint old tale Is stretched a taut black veil To cloak the primal dread Hinted at, not said. The creaking castle door The trap door in the floor Mere stage props in your soul: Each man has a start. There you play your part. 09-18-76 * Circle Dawn: another name for dying Feel the moonlight crying Palest, silver tears. Noon: another word for longing Dying hopes are thronging Feeble from fresh tears. Night: another kind of burying Shadow-mourners carrying Light that disappears. 09-19-76

* Salvage Gallows-birds swoop for their meal, Down to the cross-beams and chain, Gibbet-rust flakes in the rain, Reddening bones with the stain. Criminals crushed on the wheel, Swinging their cages on air, Gallows-birds pull out their hair Taken for nests far from there. 09-19-76 * Echoes People have to learn Old, old things once more, Years revolve, return, Repeatwhats gone before. Older ears hear all: Politicians lies, Children when they call, War-clouds in the skies. 09-20-76 * Marionette West, the winds of morning billow, Buffeting the cloudy pillow Of a death-grey sky. East, aborted sunlight stumbles Up the cloud-stair, where it crumbles, Tumbles, and the pieces lie Rain-smashed, as the wind bolts by. Down below, the merchants tighten Shutters, awningsstorms will frighten Customers away. God and weather know no reason, Mans a puppet, any season, White or gold or green or grey, Sunnysnowyrainy day. 09-27-76 *

The Mandarins Sleep All the moonbeams are mother-of-pearl on the plain, Painting silver on porcelain towers below, Where three ladies who gossip are all that remain With the moonbeams that shimmer and flicker and flow. On rich rugs made of silk, in the gathering grey, Lies the mandarin Von-Thong, now shutting his eyes To lantern light casting its flowering ray, As the wind in the distance scatters suffering sighs. All alone on the ceiling the lantern flame throws A bright colored bouquet of fierce fluttering gleams. Like a purple plumed bird swooping down on a rose, Or some glimmering thought in the mandarins dreams. 9-27-76 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880)

Cascade Mountain Morning Memory Ice-covered mountain: a blue magic morning is here. Orange-dripping sun only makes me aware youre not near, Pine-scented wind is a poor substitute for your skin; Bright open fire and a breakfast without yous a sin. Clean Oregon airs not as soft as the lines of your face, Id rather love you in some cozy, intimate place. Im getting bored with the view, though it stretches for miles, Id trade all this scenery for one of your cynical smiles. Cascade mountain morning memory alone, Stuck on the mountainside, cold as the snow on the stone, Cascade mountain morning memory alone. Roll on, Columbia, home to your sister the sea, Love is a river thats flowing and fickle and free. Lady, I know Los Angeles beckons you more, Meanwhile Im finding what living in Oregons for. Cascade mountain morning memory alone, Stuck on the mountainside, cold as the snow on the stone, Cascade mountain morning memory alone. 10-03-76 *

Its Laurie, Laughing In some big crowd you think you see her there, A different face inside that same blond hair, Her voice, it echoes later, down the hall, Its Laurie laughing at you, after all. Sometimes when youre dreaming, she floats by, Tempting you to taste another try, But over breakfast, dreams should go away, Yes, Lauries laughing at you, night and day. You took her picture down and filled the space, Can anything make you forget her face? You put another portrait in the frame, But Lauries laughing at you, all the same. And Lauries laughing at you in your mind, She always said you were the sober kind, Im paying for her wineit makes her smile Yes, Lauries laughing at you every mile. 10-04-76 * Ill Tell Her If I See Her Dont ask me where messages are sent, Julie didnt tell me where she went, She stuck me with half of last months rent, Ill tell her if I see her, you came by. Freedom is a prison chaining me, Furnished rooms that look out on the sea, I could find a cheaper place to be, Ill tell her if I see her, all things die. Tell her if you see her first, Hello, No hard feelings, good things have to go, Someones turning sunlight into snow Ill tell her if I see her, it was I. Julies been away six months or more, Strangers looking for her, pound the door, Julies mail is piled up on the floor, Ill tell her if I see her, one more lie. 10-8-76 * Santa Fe Turquoise Ive got a reason for buying you dinner, I heard your jewelry is Indian blue, I hear your diet has made you much thinner, All of that jewelry youre wearing is new, Santa Fe turquoise looks so good on you.

I heard he bought you with silver and leather, Somehow it doesnt quite go with your smile, Open-air restaurants are fun in this weather, Lets eat on table of Mexican tile; Santa Fe turquoise will keep you in style. Ill tell you jokes and I hope you will listen, Stop if they get too dirty or old, Firelight reflections on silver will glisten, Making your arms look like soft Spanish gold, Santa Fe turquoise and feelings unfold. I heard you gossiping rumors about me, How can that jewelry hide all that you feel? Id like to hear, were you happy without me? Santa Fe turquoise makes you look unreal, Santa Fe turquoise has much to conceal. 10-21-76 * Driftwood Lost is a land I only know In my dreams: Farmland and furrows, row on row, Silver streams. Barns and the fences, stretching out, Like long arms, Clutching the roads and rural route To the farms. Yet I must follow, where my boots Stride and shift, Tossed like a tree with ripped-out roots, Blown, adrift. 10-31-76 * I Should Be Asleep (1) I should be asleep by now, Without you I dont know how, Ill keep singing to the moon, I should be asleep by noon. Waiting for the light to show, I should be asleep I know, I should be asleep somewhere, Sighing softly in your hair; Waiting for the dawn to rise, No one wins when no one tries.

Promises arent made to break, Five oclock and Im awake. Always tried to have my way, Never let you get your say. Turned an angel into stone, Tell me, do you sleep alone? Midnight melting on the sky, Morning tells the stars goodbye, Yellow streaks along the blue, I should be asleep with you, 11-09-76 * Glow! Grandchildrenmirrors of you Decades ago, Long before fickle Time blew Your hair with snow. Grandchildren chatter and play Time disappears And their golden hair complements grey Lighting your years. 11-10-76 * Loyal The land was all we had, Crops both good and bad, But good enough to hold Us till we were old. And evermore, the land Has us in its hand, However frozen hard, Under the church yard. 11-20-76 * Ecstasy(1) Silver dreams Tarnish fast, Nothing gleams From the blurring past. Iron dreads Leave their stain Black, black reds, Are like rust-in-rain. But rain dries,

In the sun, And silver skies Are but re-begun! 11-24-76 * Tavern Music Life is the song of a drunken man, Strumming a cracked guitar, Singing off-key as best as he can, For coins in the back of the bar. Death is the song of the drunk mans girl, Crooning with whiskey breath, Choked with the cigarettes stink and swirl, A bar-room ballad of Death. 11-27-76 * Pillage Skies are helmet-grey, Ship-roads shower spray, On the deck Of the dragon-boat; Will it live to float? Will it wreck? Vikings face the gale Beating mast and sail: War-gods bless their trip. Muscles press each oar, Sword-men splash ashore, Axes slash, knives rip! 11-29-76 * Anne (2) Cycles spin Out and in Like reels Of our love: Circles of Two wheels. Silver smiles, Golden miles With you, Jeweled years, Tinseled tears Of blue. 12-08-76 *

Grave Proof Art: loyalist, longest, Kindest, strongest Friend Ill know. Art: enemy of Time, Living when Im Clay below. Time: enemy of flesh, hair Bones and teeth, where Worms but thrive. Songs: stronger than headstones Over bleak bones: Songs survive. 12-11-76 * Late-Night Lady Late-night lady buys her own beer, She knows how to get home from here, All-night loser gets drunk alone, Late-night lady is on her own. Worn-out slippers and faded gown, She belongs in this part of town: Closing time, and the hour is later Try to stop her but she wont wait. Very winter the weathers colder. Every evening the drunks get bolder, Just the morning the mirror told her, Late-night lady, youre one year older. Late-night lady, dont leave so fast, I dont care about your bad past, Long-time waiting to talk to you, Tell me your storyIll cry some too. 12-12-76 * Sea Trial Stand alone right where you are, Sinking sands a narrow bar Underneath your stubborn feet, Where your toes and ocean meet. Angry surf is ages old, Ancient tide has ebbed and rolled, Round the centuries of Man: Keep your footing if you can.

Keep your footing: what comes in Leaves if only to begin One more time, both in and out: Stand, and stifle dreads and doubts. 12-23-76 * Dont Let Your Dreams Get Away From You So many people you see on the street Are walking heads down with their eyes at their feet, You tell from how they move theyve let it die. You see an old friend and you ask him Whats new? --He changes the topic to talk about you, He hates to let you see his dream went by. Everyone says, Son, youre wasting your life, The years come down like a rusty knife And cut the heart from out of your fantasy. Its damned good advice but the kind you ignore, You smile and youre keeping right on like before, That golden dream is your reality. Dont let your dreams get away from you, Theres nothing thats quite as true As a dream of your ownits stronger than stone, Dont let your dreams get away from you Theres nothing thats quite as true. 1976 * Gustave Dore (2) His fancy chose to dwell On Paradise and Hell, Scribing them in stark Engravings bright yet drear, Admixing faith with fear, The light opposing dark. His angels shimmer white With efflorescent light Haloing strange skies. Below, repulsive, squirm The dragon and the worm, Of undulant gross size. 1976 * Harvest Squeeze the apple dry Toss the withered core Down before Apple-days all die.

Apple-time is fled, Like your younger days. Time obeys Nothing you have said. Trees are stripped and bare Of fruit that you once knew; Autumn blew Away on hungry air. 1976 * Immersion (to narrate Boks Leaping Man) Beyondthe minarets and phallic spires uprise, Abovethe craggy cliff and silent skies, And far below, the blue-black, quiet bay Welcomes one mad plunging man today. 1976 * Magic Bullet When I was young I had a Western hero, Shooting magic bullets with his gun, With his faithful Indian companion, He rode off into the setting sun. When I grew up I gave up magic bullets, Threw my cowboy boots and guns away, And now I dont believe in magic bullets. Hi-Ho, Silver, goodbye, yesterday. In Dallas, Texas they shot magic bullets, Seven wounds, two bodies at one time, Of course, they found themselves a lone assassin, Magic bullets helped explain the crime. I wonder whos behind those magic bullets, Every witness dies or disappears, I wonder if my taxes bought those bullets, We just might find out in fifty years. 1976 * Mental Sunset I have a shining empire in my head, A kingdom born of books Ive read and read, Where palisades and parapets And pinnacles of minarets Glimmer through pinkish clouds of Dream. And so my childish realm of Fancy shines

Resplendent, past the cramped confines Of flesh and earth and waning years: The turret of my castle rears Glamorous, where purple sun-rays gleam. 1976 * Myopia Samarkand and Camelot, Carcassonne and kings; Where legends live, and ruins rot, Sands conceal all things. Humans come and build once more, Blind to whats below, Oblivious to Times barred door Better not to know. Ignore pictorial evidence Rockets carved in stone Nor ask who carved immense Helmets out of stone. 1976 * Refraction Though Time has dwindled me to motes, My dust remains in sunsets light A pattern faintly forms and floats Discernible before your sight. Indefinite and vague, yet there, A wisp of what I was persists Split-second long upon bright air Then vanishes in violet mist. 1976 * Tacoma Truck Stop Blues Trucking down from Canada, through Northwest America. Feeling every lonesome mile, you can rest in just awhile. Southwest of Seattle town, theres a place where you sit down, Drinking, trying hard to lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues. Better get back on the road, hope your senses are not slowed, Too much beer is in your head, clear your brain or youll be dead. Drinking coffee when you drive, singing songs to keep alive, Maybe they can help you lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues. Make believe you love the life, leave your children, leave your wife, Leave those other trucks behind, hear that diesel sound unwind. Waitresses and wives agree: truckers only think theyre free; Driving fast but you cant lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues.

1976 * Unfollowed Advice Has the fire in your dreams burned dim And light that they cast, fluttered out? Are you living your life by whim, Irresolute, dying from doubt? Then recover yourself once more In the face of a friend made new, Sing a song to some children, or Whatever frees you from you. 1976 * Unheard Plea I brave the winds of wintered sky, Snowflakes in my eye, And trek the fields of frozen white, Gleaming skull-face bright. I clutch my hand-carved amulet, Trudging bravely yet, And pray the gods will somehow lift Snows that pile and drift. 1976 * Veterans Encampment Armies of the dead March the roads of red Bloody with their tread. Spectral infantry, Phantom cavalry Move inexorably. Romans, Spartans come, Scots with pipe and drum, No one knows where from. British, Turk and French Reek of charnel stench, From their burial trench. Hear their phantom toasts, Soldiers swapping boasts, Raising martial toasts Armored, zombie hosts. 1976 *

Old Accounts Lessons are late sometimes, Payment for old, old crimes, Relearned when you almost forgot: Sins of another day. Karma or vengeance pay Back for goods wrongly got. 01-07-77 * So Do Unicorns Even dragons dream Thirsting for the gleam Of a maidens green, green eye, Preferably with some Brave fool knight wholl come Trying to save her, or else die; St. George, St. George, the warriors cry. Dragons need the thrill Of a knights fierce skill, Thrusting lance, and flashing spur; Otherwise, how dull, Munching on the skull Of some luckless traveler: Dragons dream of days that were. 01-24-77 * Knife-Thirst Time is a rusted blade Ripping when it cuts Bone, and fat and guts. Life is a tragic clowns charade Times nicked knife will slash; Props, and back-drops, crash. Only proud puppets never fade: Sawdust hearts survive, Deathless, unalive. 01-26-77 * Necrobibilia (for Abe Everett and Dick Wald) No one dares look In the dark book Bound in the old witchs skin Flayed while she screamed: She never dreamed Leather would pay for her sin.

No one will buy, No one will try Rarest edition of all: It sits for sale, Blood-drained and pale Down at the street-vendors stall. Book-hunters walk By it, and balk Backing away with a gasp! So it sits there, Hand-sewn with hair, Latched with a carved-metal hasp. 01-77 * I Wished I Loved You I wished I loved you like Im supposed to do, I wish that worn-out feeling still was new, But Time has blown the best of us away, I wished I loved you bad enough to stay. It sure would make it easier to bear, But I cant make believe that its still there, I love myself too much to love you still, I wish I loved you, but Ive lost the will. I know you love the man I ought to be Im sorry Im nobody else but me, I wish I loved you bad enough to learn, But I see highways everywhere I turn. I even wish I hated you inside, But every single tear I shed is long since dried, I wish I loved you but I broke the vow I wish I loved, you please, please, tell me how. 2-11-77 * Last Supper The vampires are thirsty, the ghouls want to eat, Season of famine and drought, No more red-veined virgins, no graveyards of meat, Food and drink, have all run out. The priests have placed crosses on every girls breast, The tombs are all guarded at night, So vampires and ghouls must take second best: They lunge at each other, and bite. 02-14-77 * Deservedly

A poets a thief with a knife, Cutting off pieces of life Belonging to woman or man, Running as fast as he can. A poets a sin-happy saint, Clown covered up with green paint, A sadist, a soldier, a fool Poets get kicked out of school. 02-25-77 * Precipice The easy road I never took The mossy path beside the brook Or highway with the signs so plain Walking cliffs in the rain. Below are bones to mark the place Where other climbers fell through space. But dyingstriving not to fail: Id rather trek the slippery trail. 02-25-77 * The Answer is Anne I asked why should I keep moving along? Everyone knows you cant live on a song; I asked who brings out the boy in the man? I hear the answer, the answer is Anne. I lived for no one, a long time ago, Blown like a bird on an ocean of snow, Drifting wherever the cold rivers ran, Now the wind answers, the answer is Anne. Anne is the answer, the question is me, Sometimes Im deaf, and I often cant see, Why are we blind when its all very plain? I see her love like a light in the rain. Living is harder than loving, they say, Tears and temptations and joys of each day, She takes me better than anyone can, I love the answer, the answer is Anne. 02-25-77 * The Mercenary The skies are scarleted the shade Of a bayonets red blade. The sun is yellow as the gold

That keeps a fickle soldier sold. The wind is grey as cannon smoke, That makes civilians choke. The faces of our enemies Are white as rain about to freeze. The grass is green as bankers greed, Or else Mars-red where bodies bleed. And powders black as gunners hands That slay for you on foreign lands. 02-27-77 * Tracks Children know That giants grow, Ghosts are true, And witches too. Grown-ups dont, And so they wont Hear things wail Inside the gale. Its an owl Or some cats yowl, They insist With whitened fist. You know more: You lock your door, Snuggle deep And pray you sleep. Then at dawn Behold the lawn: Sunrise glints On fresh prints. Bones have walked, Ghosts have stalked, Tombs have stirred, And you, YOU heard. 03-31-77(rev. 09-28-90) * Love Snare Time is a ribbon of silver thread Spun by the spider, Space, Cob-webbing Mans bewildered face, Snarling his dense, doomed head. Love is the only sure weapon Man

Wields against the net Time has woven and tautly set, Sword it as best you can. 03-77 * Reunion The gratings will groan, The tomb-winds will moan When Lorna wakes from her sleep And lifts back the stone, Her heart full of vows she must keep. And watch-dogs will smell The odors that tell Them something decaying is near, The stench will but swell When Lorna in shrouds will appear. Her lover who nailed Her coffin had failed To fasten the wooden lid tight, So, Lorna, unjailed, Will make this love story end right. 03-77 * Dinner Time is the vampire that sucks the years dry, Love is the maiden to die; Time is the ghoul and your life is the meal Rich with a gourmet appeal. Curtains of purple are shredded with rot, After the banquet, youve got Nothing but age and the end of your love; Time-vultures circle above. 04-02-77 * Some Things I know some things are true, I know one of thems you, Lets hope the other is me. I know some things are true Like the songs we once knew Singing them made us feel free. Some things are true, like a babys first cry, Some things you just have to feel, Some things are true like a grandmothers eye, Some things nobody can steal.

Some things are cruel like a letter unsent, Promises made and forgot, Some things are empty like rooms that wont rent, Down by that old vacant lot. Some things are bright like your eyes in the sun, Some things are easy to love, Some things are true like the good that youve done, Some things are worth singing of. 04-10-77 * Romany Toy Little doll, who smiles in glee, Sitting up where she can see Over the curio shop, Take her home and presently Your heart will seize and stop. Stopped by the Romany curse, Placed by the old gypsy nurse, Under the hand-painted smile; Keep your coins inside your purse The doll can sit unsold awhile. 05-13-77 * Love Death One more dreamy dawn, Lazy as a yawn, Colors me with you: Orange, and pastel blue. Miles and months of Time, Green as gin-and-lime In a tall, cool glass: Even eons pass. Twilight turns to pink, Dying sun will sink Down inside the trees: Dreams of you all freeze. 05-14-77 * Questionnaire (For L. Sprague de Camp) How do mermaids mate? No one seems to know: In their naked state Nothing seems to show.

Who needs unicorns? Arent they obsolete? With their silly horns, Keep them off the street. How to vampires breed? Is it by the bite? Does it make them bleed? Why dont they like the light? How can witches fly? Is it by sheer will? Why dont zombies die? Why do curses kill? Where are all the ghouls? Who sent them away? Dont they know the rules? Picnic-time today. Why do ghosts return? Why to dreams foretell? And Id like to learn, Wheres the wishing well? 05-30-77 * Lamp Love I rubbed on my lamp with three strokes, And our billowed mystical smokes, Spiraling in a thick swirl: The Genii said No time for jokes, Cant you see I need a girl? I told him my wishes came first, He said Then prepare for the worst, If I dont get one tonight! And so the lamp trembled and burst, Bathing the room in a rose light. A lady appeared in the haze, In robes of shimmering red rays, Pressing him with a wet kiss, And with him she loyally stays: Magical, marital bliss. 05-16-77 * I Should Be Asleep (2) I should be asleep by now, Without you I dont know how, Ill keep singing to the moon, I should be asleep by noon. Waiting for the light to show,

I should be asleep I know. I should be asleep somewhere, Sighing softly in your hair; Promises arent made to break, Five oclock and Im awake. Always had to have my way, Never let you get your say. Yellow lines along the blue, I should be asleep with you, Turned an angel into stone, Tell me, do you sleep alone? Waiting for the dawn to rise, No one wins when no one tries. Shadows melting in the sun, Stars are dying one-by-one, You should be asleep with me, I cant hug that memory; Never seen you gone this long, Even I know I was wrong. I should be asleep. 05-77 * London Was a Lady London was a lady I met many years ago, Yellow haze and memories and the grimy, smoky snow, London was a lady with an icy English smile; Asked her, could I stay with her? She said For just a while. She said You Americans are really all the same: Loving girls and leaving them with souvenirs of shame, Im a lady you cant have, two thousand years Im free, From the Romans to the Germans, read your history. London was a lady with a European heart, Narrow Soho sidewalks, where the peddler wheels his cart, Silver Spanish buckles and some furniture from France, Pretty painted women whom you have to pay to dance. London was a lady, but she never was a wife, When youre tired of London, Mister, then youre tired of life, Dr. Johnson said so, couple hundred years before; Trade you Rome or Paris for a night with her once more. 06-05-77 * Cascade Mountain Morning Cascade mountain morning without you, Waking up under the sky,

Twelve hundred feet above civilization, Evergreens whisper and sigh. Cascade mountain morning without you, Bright open fire in the snow, Clean Oregon airs not as sweet as your skin is, Time in the mountains goes slow. Cascade mountain morning without you, Silver and gold on the blue. Cascade mountain morning without you, Hows California with you? Cascade mountain morning is empty, Walking back down to the town, Picking my way through the ice and the gravel, Climbing and hiking back down. Cascade mountain morning without you, Stop by the General Store, Lucky the tavern nearby it is open, Living in Oregons a bore. Cascade mountain morning without you, Silver and gold on the blue, Cascade mountain morning without you, Hows California with you? 6-08-77 * Growing Young Growing youngs the last thing I thought I would ever do, Working hard at acting older, but I never grew, Growing young enough to love you in the meadow grass, Growing young enough to watch the swallow when they pass. Growing youngs the hardest job Ive ever tried to hold, Out across the morning sunlight splashing pirate gold, Growing young with you and picking flowers in the rocks, Not afraid of love or the ticking of the clocks. Growing young enough to say Im happy when Im not, Playing ball with neighbor boys inside the vacant lot, Keep me crazy, keep me brave , reckless and nave, Growing young enough to love, Im starting to believe. Growing young enough to face the bitter sleet and rain, Time is no excuse for filling paradise with pain, Growing young with you, lets make believe were seventeen, Growing young as rainbows rising red and blue and green. 8-14-77 * Mars Cult

Peace flags furl, War pipes skirl High-pitched notes of glee, Soldiers file Deathward, while Women weep to see. Times before Evermore Young men always will March in arms, Leaving farms For the boys to till. 06-25-77 * Grave Call Green tomb Shrouded with moss, Stone room, Cracked marble cross. Cold floor, Tight-chiseled rocks, Steel door, Never unlocks. Noise wails Moon pales, Color of fear. Dead moan Through the thick walls White bone Beckons and calls. 06-26-77 * Drained Church of the true sinners Saint Rots under powdering paint; Still the worshippers file Down the cold stone-and-brick aisle. There the masked pagan priest rants Blasphemy into his chants, Over the virginal, still Sacrifice poised for the kill. Stab me and Ill see you soon Under the vampire-red moon, She promised just as he thrust, Suddenly flaking to dust.

Two short weeks later it came: Moonlight that dripped a red flame Over the poor prayerless priest: Tooth marks showed hed been the feast. 07-03-77 * Discovery I. My favorite boyhood books portrayed Crusades, Those glorious struggles for the Holy Tomb, When Christian bravery and blades Condemned the Moslems to a gory doom. King Richard, Lion-Hearted, severed necks Of enemies to deftly make A victors necklace, dripping crimson specks From heathen heads, cut off for Jesus sake. And so I fancied I was some bold king, And for a sword took stick in hand And made my wooden weapon slash and sing, To scatter heads of flowers on the land. For I was lord of trees and open air, And scorned the castled kings Id never seen. To raise a throne, I made a mossy chair, And wore a crown of fronds, of April green. II. I reigned resplendent in my kingdom till Someone as young as me, walked in on me. She made my feelings overflow and spill I offered her my forest court, for free. She sat below the chestnut tree and stared Her gaze made me surrender everything, My royal gems and boyhood stripped and bared Her presence could have mastered any king. So why did I forsake my castles, for a blueEyed golden-colored girl upon the ground? I felt the way Columbus did, to view Those first enchanted islands that he found. 07-06-76 (rev. 11-26-90) by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * April Flight

Tear-times, Cloud chimes, Wind-tunes, Ice-moons: Nancy. Sun-lines, Spring wines, Once more Shell soar: Nancy. 07-16-77 * Grimoire A demon leaps up from the pages, Long ages Waiting for his invitation: Your invocation. Too late you slam shut both the covers; He hovers Giving you gold in a barter: Your souls the martyr. 07-18-77 * Carolina Border Dream Carolina Border Dream, forget me, Autumn winds are thinning out the trees, Everything we started now is over, Button up your coat against the breeze. South Virginia summertime was heaven, Apple orchards, grapes upon the vine, Something Ill remember for a lifetime, Sorry yours will never fit with mine. When youre young, you never say the right thing, Always much too pushy or too shy, Carolina Border Dream, Im leaving, Autumn clouds are coloring the sky. Carolina Border Dream, Im sorry, Blue Ridge mountainsides are turning brown, Ill be heading north to spend the winter, Try to lose myself in some big town. Carolina Border Dream, its ending, Like they always hoped it would, one day, Hate to make them happy, now were parting, Golden skies are turning into grey. 07-29-77

Carla Sings Along Carla goes out dancing in a country music bar. She sings along with every tune. She loves the leader of that five-piece country band. Carla knows theyll be successful soon. Carla lets them practice every Wednesday at her place; She sings along but they cant hear. She loads equipment and she claps for every song, Carlas getting sick of drinking beer. Carla sings along but still she wonders, Is it real? Good things only last a little while. Then her boyfriend gets a girl to play the bass guitar. Carla sings along without a smile. Carlas making paper bags inside a factory now. She seldom dances anymore. She sees them playing in a tavern down the road, Carla sings along outside the door. 08-14-77 * Nocturne Stretch your words across the sky, Snare the stars that fail and fall, Net them anyplace they lie; Catch a comets flaming ball. Spin a song around the moon, Paint your melody ghost-white, Hum a haunted, hymnful tune, Sing the sacraments of night. 08-28-77 * Evermore Hammers of hate beat the steel Into a helmet and blade. Blacksmiths and armorers feel Proud of the death-bound brigade. Marching past crowds on the curb, Clattering heels on the stones. Later, the crows will disturb Flesh as it ripens on bones. Preachers and Popes prate of peace,

Powerless to change history: Powder, and guns wrapped in grease Auger what always will be. 09-14-77 * Caravan I. Ghost-wagons roll in the ruts, Creaking and clattering on, Passing the villagers huts, Peasants relieved, once theyre gone. Spirits ten centuries old, Ghosts of barbarian tribes-Tribes whose maraudings are told Shudderingly by old scribes. II. Ghost wagons leave with no trace. Oh, but where is your child? There he is! But look at his face! Savage-eyed. Daemonic. Wild. 09-16-77 Nostalgia Sorcerer wearies of casting Spells that nobody can feel, Ghouls are impatient with fasting, Death-knells no longer will peal. Churchyard is grown up with wild weeds, Marble tombs settle and crack, Will-o-wisp dies in the marsh reeds, Leprechauns never come back. Vampires without an oasis, Banshees with nothing to moan, Ghosts who cant find where their place is, Skeletons, grave-less, alone. 09-22-77 * Antique The curio shop Where no one will stop, Lives in its yesterday-dust; A grandfathers clock, An earthenware crock, And Times faintest aroma of must.

The brass button trays, The bright feather sprays, Languish like lovers ignored. The years are for sale, The bargains all fail, And Time shuffles by, looking bored. 09-27-77 * Sand in the Wind Sand in the wind off the desert, Burning my face in the breeze, Sand in the wind is a demon, Scaring the leaves off the trees. Sand in the wind knows youre leaving, Hammering my window-pane, Sand in the wind without mercy,, How many weeks without rain? Stuck in a South Oregon cabin, Hiding my eyes in the sun, Sand in the wind says its over, Wonder which one of us won? Sand in the wind blowing angry, Hope youre some place where its cool, Sand in the wind dry and dirty, Maybe Ill go back to school. 09-27-77 * Growing Young Autumn eyes Face new skies; Ancient ears Deaf to fears! Grief is sin, So you grin At a child Time has smiled. 10-31-77 * Algae Green, green skies of Sardantha, Tarnish the copper-red sun, And the Princess Mirantha, Knows the city is done. Doomed, doomedlike the old fable Warns in its rhyme,

She sits down at the table Dining with skull-featured Time. 10-22-77 * Beverage (2) Magical dragons tooth Brings back youth, Stir in a diamond-clear Mermaids tear, Drain the cup just as youre told, Dont grow old. 11-04-77 * A Volume of Villon (French fifteenth century poet) Green leather binding, centuries old, Covers are beveled. Spines rubbed. The fore-edge is gilt. Fleur-de-lis cannot wilt In this garden embossed with gold. Books are enduring. Precious delights, Outlasting their authors in life. This poet was poora drunkard, a boor, And his grave paid no royalty rights. 11-06-77 * Tears Confusion-clouds curtain the sky: Smoke from your smile Brings cinders and salt to my eye, Stinging awhile. 12-05-77 * Not For Sale Roads youve missed, Are highways you never can find, Dreams youve kissed Goodbyeever fade in your mind. Friends youve lost Are souvenirs squandered away; Precious the cost For all of your used yesterdays. 12-08-77 * Tavern Bill

Time-feast: The ghouls are all gobbling the years, Space-beast: Is drinking Eternitys tears At least: The Death Angel pays for our beers. 12-08-77 * Eternal Soldier Ive marched this field before, Lives past, Ill last A thousand lifetimes more. Ive fought with club and gun, Ill fight With bright New bombs that dwarf the sun 12-10-77 * Morsel The obsolete beast of prey Out of the bogs and mists, Is leaving his prints in the clay, Proving that he exists. A mythical beast indeed! Fasten your portals tight-The silver-scaled snake will feed Somewhere on someone tonight. 12-10-77 (rev. 09-13-90) * Justice Convicted witch Who cursed the rich Will strangle in A rope-choked grin. The gallows creaks! Before two weeks The duke she named Collapses, lamed. His crops decay, His hair grows grey, And two weeks more His lips froth gore. 12-26-77 *

Not Really Do you still prefer The memory Of things you were, Nevermore to be? And are you really safe Inside the chain? Dont the shackles chafe When you stretch and strain? 12-26-77 * Vengeance The vampire bats go out on strike, Cats show dislike, Refusing to ride through the gloom On a straw broom. Theyd rather not always be stark Beasts in the dark, They tire of the witch-work at times, And its night-crimes. Myrcalla wrings withered old hands, Magic wand stands Next to a stew-pot of toads Caldron explodes. Explodesand the room is a soup, Cats`n bats regroup, Attacking Myrcalla by turns: Witch woman learns. 12-26-77 * Carpathian Conflagration Castle of crimson is towering High on the cliffs in the mist; Down in the valley are cowering Peasants who barely exist. One day a priest is victorious, Braving the cliffs all alone; Victory, gory and glorious! Vampire is powdered like bone. Garlic and Cross and hot torches Extirpate pestilence there; Peasants observe from their porches Crimsoned-hued pyre all a-flare. 1977 (rev. 09-14-90) *

Deception The emerald grass is high, And silver dewdrops glaze Beneath the pale gold sky Where unicorns still graze. Their horns are ivory, And mythical, its true: But shut your eyes, and see Them real as me and you. 1977 * Dedicatory Faded roses sadly flung, Graves and ghosts and grue, Invocationsmaledictionssung Sardonically for you. 1977 * Graveyard Verse Verities I. Raven, yew and cypress tree Are emblems of mortality, Embalmed in woodcuts on each page Of poems from the Gothic age. II. Modern poets sense of gloom Is fear of life, not of the tomb: That dread which comes when reason rules But later, churchyards sleep such fools. 1977 * Memories(2) (for Richard Wiltshire) Winter is freezing the sky, Swallows are whistling goodbye; Later they loyally fly In the welcoming Spring To the nests where they first spread a wing. You (like the birds) flew away Under a chill sky of grey, Spurning your halcyon day In your own native town Where your ancestors spirits stare down.

Now, when the years follow fast You yield to the tug of the past, Journeying worm ward at last To the beckoning sound Of sad bells by the burying-ground. 1977 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Montague Summers (1880-1948) Arcane collector of Gothic lore, Immersed in luridness and gore, He wryly catalogued it all The ivy-covered castle wall, The dungeon and the secret door. He studied witches and werewolves took And found the vampire tales were true; A throw-back to another age, He loved the Restoration stage, And smiledas gossip round him grew. 1977 * Music Season Spring song, Ringing along The avenue arched with trees, Is swaying the limbs above. Spring birds, Singing the words, Of Aprils melodic breeze, Are chorusing: Spring is love. 1977 * No No friends but pen and page Hear your words of rage. No wife but words and wit Rhymed to tightly fit. No mistress but tears Treasured down dim years. No gods but gods of song Now, but not for long. No enemy but Life And its rust-dull knife. 1977

* Now Hear This! Didactic verse is good for you No matter what they say. Constrains your vice till you think twice Before your morals stray. Its literary spinach, yes Eat your vegetables in verse: Avoid all booze, lewd lust refuse And never ever curse. A poem must be purposeful `Else should not exist. Advise and preachbest bards beseech Temptations you resist! 1977 * Originality I get my nature out of books Literary valleys, crags, and books. I borrow other poets themes Voyeuring their surrealistic, dangerous dreams. Of love alone, Ive evidence Data culled from close-controlled experiments. 1977 * The King of Empty Lands I am the King of Empty Lands, Where sunlight westers and then subsides, And drips its purpling blue before it hides Below horizons with violet rays. As dusk diminishes the reds to greys I pace my ruined parapet and sing. I am the King of Empty Lands, And I sing languid and lonesomely Of pomp and emperies of Used-to-Be, And fierce crusades out to the worlds far edge, And then the leather-shielded driving wedge Of fiends whose blades we soon were bloodying. I am the King of Empty Lands, And I hear spears on castle stones below My guards are slain! I am the last, I know, And still I sing upon the evening air, Indifferent if brutes ascend my stair I crave oblivion their axes bring!

1977 * The Muse of Immolation Black wings are beating a sharp tattoo, A-tattering on your skull. A raven is perched on all of you There is: a bone-white hull. The love of your youth, she floats in mist. Your triumphs and brave defeats And manhood expire. No dreams exist. Just bones, where the black wing beats 1977 * Trash Collector The corrosion of caring creeps up at last, Rust all around your heart As flakes of red-brown flutter, powdering down, Filling the scavenger cart Of ashes and dust from the past. It rolls away, fickle and fast. 1977 * Lenore The slouching hills Brave morning chills To walk the low Horizons, slow And icy as your eyes. They seem to see Through you and me, They shuffle far From where we are, Below the fog-grey skies. 01-16-78 * Dont Laugh at Cowboys Dont laugh at cowboys, for most of them pay their own dues, West Texas riders put leather on your ladys shoes, Dont laugh at people in steel mills or shipyards or mines, Theyve earned the right to get drunk on those grocery store wines. Dont laugh at cowboys in back of that cattlemens bar, Theyve earned their money, theyre proud of whoever they are, The speak plain English so clear that they sometimes offend, Theyve got no time to impress you or try to pretend.

Funerals and taxes and weddings and prayers fill their lives, Some take things serious, and other take other mens wives. Dont laugh at them with your New York/Los Angeles sneer Dont laugh at cowboys, or people who cry in their beer. Dont laugh at cowboys or Hank Williams songs that they sing, Wait till that morning youre drunk when you lose everything; Dont laugh at cowboys or Black men or Red men or brown, Dont laugh at anyone, one day you house will come down. 2-03-78 * What Was His Name? Someone left some guitar strings in circles on her floor, Cigarettes and bottles in the garbage by her door, Someone left his cowboy shirt across her kitchen chair, Is he coming back? Or did he mean to leave it there? What was his name? What was his name? One too many memries, till they all look just the same, What was his name? What was his name? Someone left some money on the dresser by her bed, Didnt leave a letter, evrything is best unsaid, Someone said he loved her, or was that just in her dream? Evry time this happens she can feel her senses scream: What was his name? What was his name? Dont you think shes getting sick of losing evry game? What was his name? What was his name? Someone left a souvenir it takes nine months to bear, Mother dies in labor, and the fathers who knows where? Little girl is raised up by a loving family, Never learns the secret, thats the way it has to be. What was his name? What was his name? Never ask the question, no one really needs the blame. What was his name? What was his name? 02-03-78 (rev. 08-27-85) * Wing-Song Macabre Ghost-bird flapping loud, Like a rustled shroud Strikes your window frame, Screeching your last name. Like the legend said, Death-wings overhead Shudder like a drum When your hour has come. 02-08-78 *

Whispered Tell your secrets to the cat, Hes so quiet that No one else can learn or guess What the cat will not confess. 12-25-78 * Nashville Library The check-out clerk stamped my date due Into every book, And said Already, one month through With a wistful look. Another year has got away Just like the other years: A trite, profound, chance thing to say; Winter disappears. 03-16-78 * Sixteenth Avenue South (Nashville, TN) Battered guitar cases, Dreary, dream-cursed faces, Trudging the street; Hometown hopefuls come, Strings and fingers thrum Glory-in-defeat. 03-18-78 * Weather Report Yes, we deserve March snow, For we deserve to know That seasons own themselves; Its not for us to care The temperature of air, Or cut the fickle year in twelves. 03-18-78 * Veterans Hospital Nervous male quit last night, Losing all without a fight; The supervisor shrugs, Caught him really good this time, In a Federal high crime, Concealing, stealing drugs.

03-19-78 * Used Paperback Bookstore They trade you one for two, Within the same price range, Their formula wont change, And later when youre through Youll swap them for some new. But when my life is done, Will books Ive written be Recycled, mindlessly, Will there be even one Collectors hunt, for fun? 03-23-78 * Literature Class Poetry writes you If its any good, And leaves you when its through, Numb and dumb as wood. Poetry kicks where You are soft and weak, And yanks you by the hair, Laughs to hear you shriek. 04-02-78 * East Nashville Fire on 15th Street House burned up one night, Family was not inside, I didnt know how much they cried, Looking at the charcoaled sight, In that cruelest morning light. Not the only one, One more stands a block away, Silently, as if to say Once the battle was begun Fire, and not your water won. 04-09-78 * Furled Flowers The red salvia colors our lawn, Later their flags are withdrawn As the winter arrives and destroys Innocent, red-flower joys. 04-24-78

* Sky-Clock Spring rain damping the grass, Misting the mid-April moon, Veiled in a vaporous mass; May-time hovering soon. Springand Ive scarce begun Work that could take me all year; April, nearly dead, done: Months flit furtive, past here. 04-24-78 * Playthings Grown-up boys Use women-toys Until they break With soft, soft noise, And muffled ache. 04-28-78 * Human Pets People are easy to train, Learning to feed us on cue, Not needing more than a mew To let us inside from the rain. 04-30-78 * Know Your Lines Your love is scored with lines: The thin one of a bitter smile, Loosening after while, The legal ones you sign in ink, Those round the tub and in the sink, The battle-lines you draw in bed; Lastly, lines said in your head. 04-30-78 * Seven Years Old Why dont I have your last name, Also, tell me why Fathers package never came. Tell her, though shell cry; Better than to lie. 05-01-78 *

Desire Some men wish for giant wings, Taking them aloft with piercing cries, To seize a swallow while she sings, Vanishing down dark, dimmed skies. And others wish for strength, of course: Muscles, arms to crush someone, Brute brawn enough to grab a horse By the nose, upon the run. But my desire is different, yet: Give me some gods perfect face, A body no one can forget, Looks that time cannot erase. Id like to pluck from Loves sweet vine Different ladies, everyday: Brunettes or red-heads, each be mine, Take one taste, then toss away. Id love warm glances in the street, Lust that eyes alone can light, The furtive smile, the hurried feet Kisses torn from one in flight. Id wake up kissing dark, dark hair, Strangled in soft arms, for Love, Them later kiss the blondest fair Forehead, with the moon above. Id never taste one fruit too long, Biting once or twice, no more: To linger longer is somehow wrong; Love gets bitter, toward the core. 5-5-78 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

Telepathy I sat up writing one long verse-filled night, I wrote self-pitied, literary lies, That shrank and shriveled in the scornful light Of dawn, across the mocking saffron skies. That very morning she walked in on me, As if Id willed her through Times speed and space. She said shed just come by to stop and see If I still lived at the same one-room place,

As if we were old friends and nothing more. I felt my cracked illusions knit and mend, I hoped my once-wet wounds were drained and dried. 05-11-78 *

The Bird Catcher The bird catcher Love has a name I think everybody has heard: A name that is earning him fame, His cage overflowing with game; He traps and imprisons each bird. By morning he stretches his thread Until a long piece is unwound: Its here that the birds will be fed With seeds, and small pieces of bread And glue, in the traps on the ground. He crouches where birds never see, Behind the stone wall and the hedge, Or back of a rock or a tree, Wherever a bird ought to be: Up mountains, or by the seas edge. The finches drop down from the air Where lilies-of-the-valley conceal Whatever hes covered up there: A wicker or willow-wand snare, That birds never spot, only feel. The myrtle is violet-blue, The hawthorn is flowery-white, And both of them shelter from view The traps where the little birds flew: The bird catcher Love stops their flight. 5-22-78 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

Command Performance In her palace by the sea Queen Belafree Is reigning from a tarnished throne, Where mosses, algae, climb her walls Where mildewed, frescoed halls Peel through plaster to old stone; And seagulls scree, waves moan. Yet she holds a lively court, Where clowns cavort, And troubadours sing lilting-sad And jugglers toss where acrobats Spin cartwheels till they lose their hats, Snatching up the coins she throws Outside, the waterline just rose! Belafree ignores the tide So high outside, Instead she smiles and starts to speak: Now dance! The show must never stop! Heedless that the ceilings creak, As floors commence to sag and leak 05-26-78(rev. 1990) * The Ancestor The ancient man was laying cold, Dying on the white, white sheets; His face was ninety long years old, His heart was pumping its last beats, When suddenly his voice began Reciting seasons of the man: The decades that had drifted past, The pleasures that escaped too fast, The agonies that seemed to last. Is this a dream, or memory? I see morningsful of sun, Fermenting sap inside the tree, Forgotten youth forever done. Is this a dream, or memory Of times that nevermore can be? I remember, I recall The summer fading into fall, I remember, I recall. Is this a dream, or memory? Breezes scattering my hair, Desire that rises wild in me, With every throbbing gust of air. Is this a dream, or memory Of April wind to set me free? I remember, I recall,

Those April yearsI see them all, I remember, I recall. Is this a dream, or memory? Listen to the noise inside My chestits pounding like the sea, My thoughts are drowning in the tide. Is this a dream, or memory? I walk a beach in far Eternity, I remember, I recall I hear my forebears ghosts that call! I remember, I recall. 05-26-78 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Regeneration Suburban farmers till the ground With rotor-blades that spin around Slicing clods in two. Suburban Eden, lostthen found Every Spring, anew. 05-30-78 * Old Maid Glissandra spins gossamer nets Of sticky white webbing that gets Her all the captive she needs: Her spider-string oozes like sap, The unicorns step in her trap Soon they will serve as her steeds. Glissandra rides out from her lair, The wind singing tunes in her hair, Unicorn under her thighs; With spider-web stirrups and reins, Glissandra rides hillside and plains Under the thunder-split skies. She gallops the high road to town, But gates in the walls clatter down, Sentries with crossbows appear Turn back, pretty rider, turn back The sentinel cries through the black: Darts whistle close to her ear. Glissandra returns to her nest, Resuming what she knows the best, Weaving her websher lifes chore! But sometimes she pines for the life

Of being some villagers wife No one wants heras before! 05-31-78 * Proud Princess A cloud of white fluff She floats like a puff Extending a tail Wide as a sail: Arrogant, fat Angora cat. 06-02-78 * Tiny Linguist In Babys Book we log Her latest wordits dog She calls us each by it (I hope it doesnt fit!) 06-02-78 * What Hath Keynes Wrought Increase the supply Of money and see, When you go to buy, How high costs will be. 06-02-78 * Cat Query Why are kitties always shes Even when theyre hes? Feminine to look at, true, Still-their sexes number two. 06-03-78 * City Hospital Nervous male nurse quit last night, Losing all without a fight; The supervisor shrugs, Caught him really good this time, In Federal high crime, Concealing, stealing drugs. 06-05-78 * Everytown, USA

Children whom the schools cant teach, Nor the courts cant reach Parents give up, too; Children for awhile survive, Later when theyre twenty-five, Some wear prison blue. 06-10-78 * Collectors Clutter Dealers catalogues, they pile My desk and overflow my file, My first editions fight for space: Like weeds, the price-lists choke their place. 06-14-78 * Bibliography Some futile first editions are Last editions, too, Collectors combing close and far For those very few. 06-15-78 * Coming Attractions A government so strong it can Help Everyman Will help itself to freedom, too: What else is new? 06-15-78 * Dream Album Ive been a pirate on black seas, Explorer where the oceans freeze, A monarch on an opaled throne, An islander with rings of bone Inside the British Colonies thick section Of my boyhood stamp collection. 06-15-78 * Love Inside a room Of book-lined gloom And loveless life: He sits and reads And never heeds Friend or wife.

For he prefers Book characters Who gradually Begin to speak They walkboards creak Fond company. 06-18-78 * Heart of the Matter If children cannot read, Or write or spell, Perhaps the teachers need Some school as well. 06-19-78 * Reflex Holstered magnum gun: To use or not to use? Choices, choiceschoose! Hope its the right one 06-19-78 * Compost Egg shells, potato peels, Fruit scraps from meals, Coffee grindings From thisfood springs. 06-24-78 * Confidential After Mama is asleep Lift the blankets up and peep At that Purple Cat. Keep it secret what you sawPurple Cats against the law(Sos the large Green Rat!) 06-26-78 * Ecstasy (2) Rare signed editions never please me anymore, Their precious, over decorated bindings but a bore, And I grow sick of sonnets, songs, and psalms; The must and bookish murk fill me with gloom, I leave the library where only poems bloom, And seek the sea in one of its rare calms.

The waters beckon like some womans opal eyes, The splashing on the rocks is like a sirens sighs, And draws my feet straight down the sea-wall stairs; Behind the library; aheadthe peaceful wet And welcome water where I soon will let Oblivion remove all care. 06-26-78 * Helper Baby scuttles down the floor, Like a crab ashore, Room-to-room, upon my heels, Little pig-child squeals. 06-26-78 * Garden Guard Marigolds, the tint of molten sun, Battled with the aphid horde, and won, Routing them with pungent, putrid stink, Beautiful to seenot smellI think. 06-27-78 * Some Called Him Pig A bullet ended life: Another pensioned wife, And little children who Recall a suit of blue, And father they once knew. 06-28-78 * Preview I peer through mists of coming years, The present disappears, The crimson clouds of war blow past Utopiaworld peace at last. No famine, plagues or hunger then, World law among all men, Complete coerced security, The subtlest sort of slavery. 07-05-78 * Connubial Confusion Perhaps a third sex will evolve, As genes revolve,

Regroup, and reappear like new. Instead of two, When people love (next century), It may take three! 07-07-78 * Treasure Map The antique barn has treasure, junk, Stacked together in the dust, Some worn-out tools, and one old trunk, Massive padlock sealing it with rust. What hides inside? Some rare old book? Heirloom brooches of old gold? We pay five dollars, and we look Rotting newspapers, must and mold! 07-09-78 * August Storm Summer thunder shatters sky, Wet replaces dry, Unexpected torrents blot Out the humid hot. Is the rain but Natures brief Gift for our relief? Or a random, out-of-place Waterfall from space? 07-10-78 * Retribution The table was running with ale, The wizard was starting his tale. The barley-drunk swordsmen slouched near, And tore at some dry hunks of bread, And scowled as the sorcerer said: Come close and listen and fear But they only glared at their beer. Their leader unslung his long blade, Said Youre the one should be afraid, And severed a head that went thud! The story remained never told, The warriors pushed north in the cold, Next Spring, theyre found frozen in mud, Their hair matted, smeared with black blood. 07-11-78 * Shhh!

The purple giraffe Makes children laugh, But dont laugh too loud, Its not allowed, You might wake your folks With purple creature jokes. 07-15-78 * Walden to Derleth Walden is far, Unless you prefer To open eyes, and see. Write who you are And who you were, And who you hope to be. Chart your own star, Your planets whir, Map your own galaxy. 07-15-78 * Luray Water seeping through the ground, Forming limestone, timeless round Pillars on the ceilings, or Columns on the cavern floor. There, where bats escape the sun, Nature carves, till Time is done, Castles in Virginia caves, Like Egyptian, carved-stone graves. 07-22-78 * Slim Chance The Earths a speck of trivial mud, Thumping with a thud Some other planet presently, Spattered in Times spacious, stellar sea. The oceans and the rocks will splash-The stars together smash And will our species splatter, too? Or, will it escapeprevailanew? 08-01-78 (rev. 10-14-91) * Arthur Rackham (1867-1939)

Arthur Rackham lived to draw: Observe the dreamy things he saw In his fey, fantastic brain Elves and fairies, sprites and trolls, Giant birds, huge rabbit holes, Yet the man himself seemed sane Modest, mousey, very plain. Grey and green and burnished brown, Embroidering an elf-queens gown, Or the foggy English skies Looming somber up above Moody colors children love And their parents prize as well: Rackhams visionary spell.. 08-08-78 * On Keeping a Journal Crops grow, Years flow, Birds go, And come, each year anew. Map their Flight where The air Evolves from grey to blue. List all Birds call Each squall And whistle heard by you. Write brief Each leaf, Each sheaf Of pages chart whats true. 08-17-78 * Balladeer The troubadour has come too far, Music carries him, On supple strings of his guitar Down the road so deathly dim, Is music better than a bed? Can it warm your bones And fill your belly till youre fed Songs are cold as crypted stones When the wet wind moans. 08-22-78

* Dedication of Love (For Mary Rose) Your mother is someone I live for and love, So come, little child, and sit down next to me, And tell me, did pale golden stars up above Paint your hair the halo of yellow I see? Your curls are fringing your forehead with light The colors of planets that melt with the green Of your eyes, reminding me, through gaze serene You will speak of my love, to your mother tonight. Caress her with kisses of innocent fire, Your hair and your lips gently carrying my desire, And when she sees your love has gained something new Shell tremble and wonder and murmur a few Soft words in an answer to loves gentle kiss, And stroking your curls, shell whisper to you: (remove) Whose love are you bringing to me? Is it his? 08-25-78 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Tiny Teacher Babies remind you youre you, Needed to Be yourselfsomeone to grasp Small handsclasp! 08-28-78 * Silence The witch-tree stands atop the hanging hill, Children shun it still, Where limbs that lifted flesh to dry Writhe against the evening sky. Its there my shamed, convicted kin Hung, and swung, for sin. Todaywere cautious in our rites, Held on moonless nights. 08-78 * Earth-Arson (for Gabriel Eng) The demon sits astride a star And rides it down the sky. And from the planet where we are

We wave as he shoots by Hello, mixed with goodbye. Is he returning here or not? Nobody seems to know. The earth is melting, molten hot, Till flames leap from the glow. The demons fault, I know! 09-11-78 * Fall Showers Summer weeps and grieves, Rain-tears moisten leaves, October grey replaces blue Autumn cries, anew. 09-15-78 * Something Comfortable Come to my room, Wear your perfume, Take off your tears, Hang up your fears, And slip into something comfortable, Like my arms, like my arms, like my love, Something comfortable. Come here, sit down, Take off your frown, Remove your pain, Youll see things plain, And slip into something comfortable, Like my arms, like my arms, like my love, Something comfortable. We can lock the world away, our love is like a key, Come a little closer, lets unlock some ecstasy, Step into the light and let me look into your eyes, We can make this last until the morning sun will rise. Heres what to do, Let me take you, And you take me, And then you will see, Me slip into something comfortable, Like your arms, like your arms like your love, Something comfortable , Like our love, like our love, like our love. 09-17-78 * Microcosm

Thoreau breathed open air, Keeping journals where He knew each star and rock and tree, Spelled Eternity. Yes. Waldens all around. Sky and grassy ground Spread everywhere you chance to look: Natures open book. 09-28-78 * Squirt! Plant of purple spews Grape-colored gas in space, Painting the rocket ship crew Mauve, as they pass that place. 09-28-78 * Go Gentle on the Little Children Go gentle on the little children, Careful with your heavy hands, Go easy when you touch their feelings, Show them someone understands. Go gentle on the little children, Precious people half your size, Sit down and listen to them, See the future in their eyes. You know, love needs more than feelings, it needs wisdom, Good intentions sometimes arent enough, You can try so hard and still be all too careless, You can wound those little ones you love. Go gentle on the little children, One day theyll be strong as you, Carry them along with your compassion, One day theyll have children too. 09-30-78 On Rewriting a Song The chorus isnt right, Its crowded up too tight, And what is far, far worse, It hardly seems to fit the verse. Rewrite it one more time, And change that trite, trite line, And simplify the tune. (That minor chord came all too soon.) 09-78

* Future Transportation Levitation may be how Ill journey over times and worlds away, Safer than the highway now I travel every day. Maybe, too, my soul will soar Each night beyond the spheres of space, Coming home again before The dawn-light strikes my face. 10-01-78, (Rev.1983) * Hope and Doubt Columbus looked across the blue, Imagining a world all new, Lands nobody thought could be Beyond the charted, traveled sea. The sea-lanes mariners had tried (Ocean avenues well-known and wide) He leftfor unknown earth so far His only compass was a star, His fate decreed by winds and waves Where other sailors found damp graves. Sometimes hed halt with weariness From sailing empty ocean space, And let the winds and waters press His ship off courseto some new place. Just like Columbus, others yearn For distant shorelines, hard to reach, Where perfumed breezes waft the beach, And languid lovers touchand learn. On such a beach, beyond all grief, Two lovers walk beneath the beam Of some sweet star that lights their dream, And glistens on the wave-wet reef. But when a hurricane arrives The lovers shudder at the sound, Until it passesthen is found The sound of Hope in two young lives. 10-08-1978 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Sac Prairie People (For August Derleth)

Hidden lives inside the village streets, Little victories, unsung, Whispered and unchronicled defeats, Ancient hearts, and young. Stories told in sighs and guarded grins, Tales unwritten yet, Selfless sacrifices, secret sins, Pride, and veiled regret. Then a poet-novelist arrives, Jotting it all down: Rolling seasons, shifting little lives, Saga of a town. 10-28-78 * The Moonbeam Have you hear of the Moonbeam? Thats me! Do you know where Im from? Look up there, See my mother, Sweet Moon, bright and free, Now she sends me on water...on air On the groundup the trunk of the tree, Like a bandit who creeps from his lair See me tiptoe on grass silently, Watch me climb up a wall without care, See me light up the lovers at play, Se me shroud them, as I ease away. No one really knows everywhere I creep, For I dont disclose secrets meant to keep. Secrets learned at night at some window glass, With my soft, sure light beaming where I pass. Only birds above, warblers, nightingales, Watch me watching love, never telling tales. My mother pulls the tides up each pebbled shore, Where my luster slides in and out once more. My glimmer fires and pales every passerby. Walking forest trails past the moonstruck sky. My glow inspires rare dreams in some sleepers brain; Other times my beams drive young lovers sane. And then I touch a doe, startling her as she rises up to go, Sensing what might be. The hunters she can smell, drawing ever near, Or buck as well, lusting to appear. Have you heard of the moonbeam? Say Yes, That youve noticed my silvering light, Have you ever been lost in the forest? Confess That you have, and I saved you that night. Have you heard of the moonbeam? Of course! You nave seen me descendthen return to my source.

10-28-78 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Tutor The cutting edge of Fall Shears the leaves from trees, Exposing them as ramrod tall Soldiers soon to freeze. These warriors of wood Battle with the gale Defiantly theyre braced, and should Be, when Fall-winds wail. Are we as brave as well? How will we bear the burn Of winters sleeted, bone-chilled hell? Trees, help us learn. 10-28-78 * Bottled Time Collectors, traveling from far, Dig in ashes piled behind The weather-whitened, ghost-town bar: Whiskey bottles there to find. A hundred years have come to pass: Cowboysgamblersgirlsall dead. Half-buried legacies of glass Gleam beneath the rotting shed. 11-02-78 * Trove Vacation always means antiques--Victorian mirror, rimmed with gilt--Capacious dresser, sturdy-built; And a country kitchen chair that creaks. Theres painted oak, to sand and strip; And look!that broken rocking chair; But nothing olds beyond repair (Knowing fingersgraying hair) From an August back-roads trip. 11-02-78 (rev. 08-30-89) *

Salt-Water Lunch City hands reach in the trap, Dodging claws that snap Sea-green squirming, panicked crab Spread the tongs, then grab! 11-03-78 * Biblio-tourist Each time I inhale The aroma of oranges and tea, I wish I could sail The Orient, fickle and free. The China I seek Is fashioned of legend and dream. Realitys weak. But myths ever glimmer and gleam. I circle the globe, I think of a pagoda built high, Where gowned in his robe Of saffron a monk shuffles by. For books are bought cheap, They serve me instead of a ship: I readfall asleep And embark, on a fanciful trip. 11-05-78 (rev. 08-14-90) * Atmosphere of Houses Houses softly speak: Whispering, they creak When the winds drive in Murmured tales begin Of tragediesold joysand secret sin. Marriages and death, Birth and infants breath, Funereal tears Mirth from sunny years Ghost-echoings of triumphs, lusts, and tears. 11-18-78 * Personality of Houses: A Tennessee Trilogy (for Ted P. Yeatman) I. Murmuring Mansion Old house strives to speak, Crying out to creak When the wind blows in,

And the storms begin: Tales of joy and sin Marriages and death, Birth, and infants breath Hear the ghostly tears Sobbing down the years: House of faithand fears. II. Lesson Civil War trenches filled, Most of the legends, stilled, Yet the old mansion stands An architectural fact In a suburban tract, Rent of its sold-away lands. Perfect-trimmed lawns and trees Thrive where the tireless bees Once had a hollow-tree hive Robbed by young boys, now men. How many seasons since then? Mansion, teach me to survive. III. Artifacts of Feeling Old lace and cut glass, Antiques of dull brass: Dim dining-room. Lockets with hair-coils, Portraits in old oils, Cracked spinning loom. Paint peeling, tall weeds, House where old time feeds, And the years gloom. 11-18-78 * Priority We need another planet now, A star to store our waste, A far-off, floating garbage-scow: So find one, with all haste. 11-29-1978 (Rev. 01-23-1990) * Mail Call Ten thousand years at sea In a star-ships dome I sail the galaxy, I scribble letters home. And fifty thousand years

Pass before I learn Earth-folks loyal tears Weep for my return. 12-01-78 * Believe! Purple cats are back in style, See them on the street, Purple whiskers, purple smile, Purple pussy feet. Little children know theyre there, Only grown-ups dont. Pet the fluffy purple hair, Never mind who wont. 12-02-78 * Already Among You Three hundred years is not too long alive; Therere some of us whove lived twice that! Immortal race built to sustain, survive, With plastic bone, synthetic skin and fat. 12-07-78 * December Sky The moon is misted with rain, And moon-tears dribble and drain The length of the sky. They fall Into the Big Dipper, that catches them each and all. 12-09-78 * Transplant The scalpels are out, The doctors cut off a pigs snout, Soon it will replace The nose missing on a mans face. 12-09-78 * Ethical Operation Transplant the organs, one by one, And when the surgery is done Transfer the most important part: A conscience to his heart. 12-19-78 *

Leaf-Red The bushes are bare: Cold winter air Has whittled them clean, Leafless, and lean. The cardinal lands Somehow he stands On branches that dip While the winds whip. 12-24-78 * Gift Wrapped Christmastime is package-time, Paper everywhere, Ribbons, cards, and string, till Im Almost bound to swear! (Scotch tape in my hair). 12-25-78 * Plea Grown ups, take a peek and look: Perhaps youll like this little book, Maybe youre still young inside, Perhaps your Wonder hasnt died. 12-25-78 * Ichor The sticky green gobs of mist Seep up from the sea, and twist Serpent-like, over each spire. The smell of the saltthe stench Of fish, and chimney-smoke drench You, like the odor of mire. But still you walk through the town, And wonder why this green gown Woven of fog must gloom. The answer: a green curse was laid, The gods it invoked, obeyed, Dripping and dribblingGreen Doom. 12-28-78 * Knowledge Children know so much, today: Where the fairy folk do play, Where the elves dance in the sun,

Where their inch-high horses run. 12-28-78 * A WalkAt Sixteen Years of Age The earth was smiling at the clear blue sky, Morning dew was kissing grass once dry, My soul and all the world tried hard to sing, Then a blackbird making light of everything Was whistling from a bushsweet melody, Still I didnt care if he made fun of me. For I was watching someone very beautiful appear, Picking flowers by herself, so near. I climbed the slope and sat by her feet, Looking up where hillside and horizon meet She said Behold the yellow slope, the deep ravine, Mountainside, and there, the grassy green. But I saw nothing but her faery face, Thrilling as her voice filled up the space. We walked home through the woods and then we found Timber fallen, slanted to the ground, A barricade I raised out of her way; Smiling, she passed under, face alive and gay, But silent as we left the woods once more; We sat down close upon the meadowed floor, Our hearts spoke louder than our words would have, Talking voicelessly of Something stirringthere. 1978 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Cindy, Sunday Id like to see Cindy, Sunday, if thats convenient for you, Birthdays come one day a year, dear, I know Ive missed the last two. I know I owe some back money, Ive got a job now, you know, Id like to see Cindy, Sunday. Sorry those checks have been slow. Bought her a wonderful present, prettiest gift on the shelf. Nobody helped me select it, wrapped it up all by myself. Hope you and him got my message, hope that the afternoons free Id like to see Cindy, Sunday. Please dont keep Cindy from me. Hope you forgive me for last time, hope you forget what I said. I wont turn Cindy against you, this time my feelings are dead. Honest, I havent been drinking, three months, or has it been four? Tell Cindy Daddy is coming. Ill pick her up at the door. Nobodys going to be with me, Cindy and Ill be alone, I left my latest last Wednesday, this time Im out on my own. This time Ill even come early, you can believe what I say.

Id like to see Cindy, Sunday. Hope you can see things my way 1978 * Farewell Rejoice! The cavalcade of dreams arrives, Fancies, dreads, mirages too, The legend-laden caravan unpacksfor you. Despair! Processional of dreams departs, Fairies, ghosts recede from view Parading into mist. Reality obtrudes anew. 1978 * It Feels So Good, Not feeling I saw you kissing him, but I just smiled, There was a time that would have drove me wild, It feels so good, not feeling anymore, It feels so good, not feeling anymore. Theres something in the way you said Hello, I guess youre not that girl I used to know, Its just as well, because Im changing too It feels so good, not feeling seeing you, It feels so good, not feeling, seeing you, I used to burn my fingers on that torch I tried to bear, I wrote you all those letters telling you Id always care, I hope you threw away those silly letters from a fool, You always said the brightest flame would be the first to cool. The waitress comes and she refills my glass, I never thought Id see those memories pass, It feels so good, not feeling, and Im free, It feels so good, not feeling, and Im free. 1978 * The Demise of Death The gleaming warriors of Light advance Aflame with Life, their shields aglow with gold And lambent fire a glint from sword and lance. Their silver battle-axes flash and flourish, bold And brutal in mad massacre. The hordes Of Death are falling, black-plumed helmets split As skulls within explode. The scything swords Have fringed the banners with each rending slit. Deaths men have floundered, failed, Skewered by the jeweled lance that spears the brain, And reeves the heart, weak-shielded and ill-mailed Infantries of Death are cruelly slain.

The battlefields now sodden with the gore Of ebon warriors. Onyx helmets lie Trampled, some with heads within, before The gilded hooves that clatter, sanguine, by. Deaths flag with bone-white-face Is rags. His ink-hued armor plate is rent And shattered by Lifes spike-thorn mace. Deaths sword is sundered and his pike staff bent. And he himself lies maimed upon the moistened sand, His cypress standard in his gnarling hand Till tired black fingers spreadand let it fall. 1978 * Lesson Civil war trenches filled, The guns and the legends stilled, There, where the mansion looms, An architectural fact Amid the suburban tract: Victorian, mildewing rooms. Perfect-trimmed lawns and trees Encroaching where once the bees Tended their hollow-tree hive. We robbed it of honey back then But boys from before are now men, Are strong--like the house--we survive. 1978 * Life As a ship plows a wake in the sea, Or a bird wings a shadow of air, Life arrivesthen is instantly gone! Like a drowning man crying, Help me, Like a mist that is no longer there, Evanescentlylife passes on. 1978 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Love Doesnt Love Us Anymore Love doesnt love us, anymore. Our pretty ocean shell has lost its roar. We press it to our ear, but all we really hear Is silence. Cause love doesnt love us anymore. Someones changed the lock on loves front door. Our keyit doesnt fit, and on the porch we sit. And cry.

Once was the time when love was in love with us. We walked hand-in-hand through loves wonderland, But that was then And this here is now: Love says goodbye to the dreams you and I have planned. Cause love doesnt love us anymore. Teardrops never rain, they only pour. We go our lonesome ways, But until our final days Well remember: That love doesnt love us anymore. Love doesnt love us anymore, Anymore anymore 1978 * Stand Up Singing Stand up singing when they push you till you fall, Stand up singing, laughing through it all, Come on evrybody, come on, evry woman and man, Stand up singing, while you can Some people tell you, You can never win, And they do their vest to wipe away your grin, But later when its over, theyll be singing too Its something people love to do. Sometimes it hurts too much to laugh or cry, So you lift your voice and make it touch the sky, And maybe Someone hears you someplace up above, So stand up singing with your love. Brothers and sisters let your vices ring, Let the universe applaud you when you sing, And you can lose your money but youll keep your soul, So stand up singing, let it roll. 1978 * The Armageddon Hour As children playing with a dangerous toy Who think it sport to make the toy perform, No matter what it will soon destroy And maim the innocent in fiery storm So men of might, in momentary rage Under cover of enforced democracy Let loose upon an unsuspecting age The curse reserved to scourge humanity. Not quite content with their appalling deed They vie with Woden, ape the mighty Thor, And toy with thunder that will surely breed A raging whirlwind whipping flames of war. When men make playthings of so great a power

The times portend the Armageddon hour. 1978 * Pawnshop Down In Nashville In a pawnshop down in Nashville, theres a cracked six-string guitar, Now the fellow who abandoned it found out how tough things are, Underneath the guitar theres a box of diamond wedding rings; You can take in your most prized possession, find out what it brings. Underneath the cuckoo clocks there is a babys silver spoon, It was picked out by a grandma, it was traded in too soon, Theres a hunting rifle purchased for a husband by a wife; You can take in all your birthday gifts, and start a fresh new life. Some musicians in from Florida are walking toward the back, Theyll be buying cowboy hats and all those costumes that they lack, Theyll be buying leather jackets with the fringe upon the sleeve; When they turn their backs on Nashville, theyll have something when they leave. 1978 * Tycho Brahes Fortress of the Heavens (1546-1601) His citadel headquarters mirrored his mind: Uraniborg perched on the island of Ven, With turret-topped towers each flanking a kind Of onion-shaped globehis alchemists den Emboweled within, with polished brass sphere Engraved with the stars, their locations made clear. 1978 * Vanished (for Alpha, Dick, Laura, Tony and Carmella Castro) New England vacations and summer sky: Thirty-two years since I First heard the breath of pine-sweet air Whisper its welcome there. I walk through the bramble-thick paths and look Tracing the same old brook. I find it at last, but still cannot see Boyhood that used to be. 1978 * Year End Id rather drink December snow Than your dishonest tears, Id rather feel the bitter blow

Of wind upon my ears Than lies that each one hears. Lets strip away the metaphors That hide the things we say; The trees are bare, the wind will roar And leaves are blown away And skies (like love) go grey. 01-01-79 * Gossamer Love Silver-limbed lady floats past in a dream, Body as soft as warm cream, And her voice like a mandolin. Why does she visit me only in sleep? Why cant I capture and keep Her ethereal hair and skin? Faint as a feather, shes blowing away Gone are those eyes of soft grey, Everlost, like her witch-girl grin. 01-11-79 * Civilization Mere bravery is obsolete, Instead of charge men learn retreat, If you can call a male a man, Who lost his gender when he ran. Society has bred this meek Emasculated, servile freak, Who cringes when he bends to kneel, With rubber spine that once was steel. 01-14-79 * Industrial Accident The dragon repair shops closed, The villagers all supposed The craftsman ran out of scales, And horns, and thorn-spiked tails. No, that isnt really why The craftsman let work slide by. Hes suffering fire-breath burns: CLOSED UP, TILL MY HEALTH RETURNS. 01-14-79 * Reptile-Rhyme Dragon is under D,

Next to E, There on the page hell stay Myth, you say. Obsolete lizard? No! Dragons grow Dinosaur-large, in you: Dream them, true. 01-14-79 * The Yellow Danger (after M. P. Shiel) Poor Yen-How only asked for one small touch, The English girl refused to give: A tiny kiss, not really very much; Thus scorned, he swore the English wouldnt live. For Yen-How had for years lived in the West, Absorbing Occident lore and skill; Now he would lead the Orient and wrest The heart of England out, in one slow kill. All this because of unrequited love? For surethe Continent caught fire and charred, As Mars, the War-King smiled from up above, And England fought Chinese in her backyard: Till finally the hero of the age John Hardywon against the mighty Yellow Rage. 01-31-79 * Wilde (1854-1900) Dear Oscar was a darling for a day, In fashion with the fawning, fickle press, Who later laughed his dignity away, And saw his soul unbutton and undress. The once delightful dilettante was stilled, His unborn epigrams aborted in his mind, His future poetry and plays each killed, His fancy faltering mute, deaf and blind. For Oscars art was not enough to check His masochistic challenge of propriety, So into Reading Gaol they locked the wreck Of Oscar Wilde, whose wit once fluttered free: In tears and blood he scribbled and he scrawled The butterfly that once had flown, now crawled. 01-79 * Winter Reprieve The snow is slowing down The heartbeat of the town,

Except for mine, that is. The reason for itthis: I like excuses to Stay home, avoiding work. Dont you? 02-01-79 * Constant I like seasons, each on each, Shifting sharply, come to teach, That all is change, and change is all: Snow and sun, and rains that fall Silent airthen winds that call. 02-17-79 * Faithful in My Fashion (August 2, 1937, Lewisham Cemetery, SE London) I dreamed I saw the grave of Ernest Dowson Bleakly set In some forgotten churchyard corner, Lone and wet. The spectral London fog descended cold on Sentry grass Where seldom any visitors or pilgrims Deign to pass. And in my reverie I bravely scattered Roses there, And felt a frail and wispy Thank you Warm the air. 02-17-79 (rev. 06-28-80) * Weapon (Upon Finding a Rose in a Book of Emily Dickenson) Yes, rose petals battle with Time, They sever and slash Death down, So fling me a rose when Im Jailed in Deaths grim town. Ill swing it at Deaths iron crown, Ribboning Deaths black evening gown. 02-27-79 * The Figurines Fate The crystalline princess is museum-old, Waiting in vain to be sold; She sits in dismay on the thrift-shop shelf, And sorrows inside of herself.

Antiquity fashions its filigree lines Scoring her face with designs; Rivulet tears eroding her white face Dissolve her without a slight trace. (Original second verse:) And crystalline tears leave their rivulet lines, Etching her face with designs, Till she softens and then dissolves in tears, And--so wistfully--disappears. 03-12-79 (rev. 08-02-90) * The Isle of Torturers (after Clark Ashton Smith) The Silver Death was ravaging the realm Of Yoros, slaying with a Silver agony, Except for young King Fulbra at the helm Of his blackened royal barge, adrift at sea. And later he was cast on island sands, Imprisoned by fierce natives who enjoyed Unspeakable sick pleasures with their hands: King Fulbras flesh was tortured withand toyed. They tempted him with hope, and then withdrew All promise of escape once proffered him, Redoubling all his suffering anew, Until all faith inside him died down dim. But when they seized King Fulbras magic ring, Then Silver Death smote torturers and King. 03-17-79 * This Poem is Dedicated You dont understand poetry, Its far too clear for you, Its crystalline sublimity Offends, because its true. 03-17-79 * Night Trip The dream-doors open wide I plumb the vast inside That consciousness has hasped and locked, Bolted, barred and blocked. The doors are latchless, free, The portals spread for me I voyage bodiless, so far Past the furthest star.

Thus fetterless I fly Across the dream-spun sky Entering my body when red Morning lights my head. 03-08-79 * Spelunkers Cave The icicle cave is deep; Down in the caverns creep The hideous dwarfs from the Frost-Queens court: Ice-elves, so malign and short. Explorers quest for the Queen Never is she even seen As long as the gnomes she dispatches block Climbers with ice and rock. 03-08-79 (rev. 09-11-90) * Nostalgia (2) My frozen, ice-stiff heart Is bidding you depart From lofty crags above: Depart, lost love! But if you once look back And trace our twisted track, Be glad we once had time For Loves sweet climb. 03-13-79 * Evening in Spring (He will be a rational man, but perhaps never happy.) The April moon arrives Melting us with its rays, But nothing long survives, Nothing of April days, Nothing of Loves brief blaze. The April moon departs. Misty with Spring-sad rain, And we with false starts Suffer our moon-made pain, Lovers who kissed in vain. 03-14-79 * Nightscape The City of the Sunset gleams

At the rim of Dreams, A purpling-orange the color of Fruit that gods could love. Delicious-tinted walls that rise, Scrape magenta skies, And I keep questing through my deep Purple-citied sleep. 03-17-79 * Babys Manifesto Now Im two And I talk to you; When Im four Ill talk much more. 03-18-79 * Clock How should I measure the turns of time? In raindrops, tears or kisses? In wrinkles, rages, blisses? How should I count these seasons Im Surviving, beyond number? By snow-by sun-by thunder? Perhaps to clock them is a crime, Instead Ill sing their going, Their coming-and their flowing. 03-21-79 * Wyoming Winter Its a Wyoming winter--theres snowflakes and sleet coming down, The cowboy is hiding away from the trouble in town. Now, the gambler he cheated the cowboy of wages, With cards that he chose to conceal, So the cowboy he pulled out a pistol and shot it, And the gambler, he lost his last deal. Then the cowboy, he rides toward the line-shack and stays there, While Wyoming winter-winds wail, Soon the store-keepers daughter arrives with provisions, And a posse thats close on her trail. Now the posse gives up and turns back in the blizzard, While Wyoming winter winds roar, Then the lovers, they travel from Cheyenne to Denver, And they marry, and open a store.

Its a Wyoming winter, theres snowflakes and sleet coming down, Its a Wyoming winter, theyre safe from the trouble in town. 03-27-79 * Definition Love: the warmest weave of flesh and friendship, Trust, till-the-endship, Bittersweet, romantic blendship. 03-79 * The Good Artist: Carl Barks (1901-2000) (for Donald Duck) The wry old enchanter wove dreams For the thousands of children now grown, Immortal fun enjoyment that seems The dearest that weve ever known. He took us to everywhere fun Atlantisthe moonat top speed And now his last pages are done We read and re-read and re-read. He made sure the heroes prevailed, At least every time that he could; Though sometimes they stumbled or failed, The laughter, and lessons felt good. 04-01-79 * Upon Reading of Lovecrafts Death Sauk City, 1937 Thank Hastur August Derleth paused Upon the railroad bridge, and caused His grief to turn itself around, Till firm resolve made his heart pound. A friends deatha friends book! And never once a backward look With each sure step that giant took. 04-02-79 * Seer (In memory: August Derleth, 1909-1971) Nature knows, and Man does not Secrets that the sky has got, Secrets that the old tree knows, Tales in every wind that blows, Concealeduntil some poet tells

The message that Creation spells. 04-03-79 * Garden Guests The sunflowers rise Against the skies, And eager elves Climb one-by-one Toward the smiling saffron sun To tan themselves. 04-08-79 * Natural History Are faeries really there? And will they pull your hair When you walk near? Indeed they really will, Theyll trip you-make you spillThen give a cheer And disappear. 04-08-79 * Blue Doom Blue tinted mist arrives Coloring townspeoples lives Crystalline, diamond blue. The blue covers everyone Blues even shrouding the sun, Veiling it out of view. A gaseous, blue-spun gown Wraps up the corpse of the town; Chemicals cover all. And blue-tinted rain descends Ice-colored showers blend Death, in the drops that fall. 04-09-79 * The End of Love The sun awakened fields of perfumed dew That glistened on the flowers and the grass, Where insects and bright butterflies would pass, While up above the sky streaked rose on blue. And larks were singing and the rabbits played, And happy stallions whinnied, one-to-one,

Then two sad lovers walked below the sun, Oppressed with all of Loves mistakes theyd made. They settled on a slope and there she said No longer do you love me. He replied Is that my fault that love fell ill and died? This only flushed her pretty face bright red. She cried: Your touch still fires my body with delight And yet you draw back from my hand, so cold, As if our passion of last year was old Remember when our mouths once pressed so tight? But he just rolled an idle cigarette, And lit it with an air of dry disdain, And spoke:Our love is languishing in pain, A futile fantasy were wise to forget. And as they walked, the tears rose in their eyes, Until she finally fell down on the ground, And wrapped her empty, loveless arms around A tree, and filled the meadow air with cries. He stamped his boot and snapped at her: Enough! Its over, and it cant return, No matter how you whimper, pine, or yearn, You cant bring back the people we once were. Disgusted by her girlish, gushing words, He shrugged last goodbye and went, And left her sobbing in sad sentiment, While overhead chirped love-filled birds. The blackbirds whistled and the nightingale Was trilling, and the sparrows sang; The music of the birds: a soulful pang! If men were birds, then love might last, not fail. And pealing music of the feathered choir rang! (She sighed, If we were birds, our love might yet prevail.) 4-22-79 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

Wee Wishes The idle elflings play, While parent elves sit by, And watch the reddened sky Turn mauve, at end-of-day. The happy elflings stop As dusky twilight falls Their watchful mother calls Toward home they skip and hop. The elflings sit and eat

A dinner of delight: Its thistle-broth tonight, And deep-fried dragon-meat. And then they go to bed They dream of boys and girls In trousers, skirts and curls They envy them instead. But they wake upthemselves, And shake their dreams aside, And open eyes up wide, And shrug, Were glad were elves! 04-22-79 * Frozen Rose We cast away our rose, Borne upon the breeze That carries with it those Summer memories. Our wind-borne rose descends, Petals floating down, And summer love now ends Like a rose turned brown. Theres rose-dust at our feet, Autumn in our hearts That turns to snow and sleet: Loves long winter starts. 04-27-79 * Lycanthropic Liberation She reads in moldered books Of legendary men With weird and wolfish looks, And deeds to match, back then. Her husband wonders why She reads those tales at all, Until she gives reply To far-off wolves that call. And now he lives alone, He hears the distant bay And faint familiar moan Of she-wolves hunting prey. 04-79

Discovery

I. My favorite boyhood books portrayed Crusades, Those glorious struggles for the Holy Tomb, When Christian bravery and blades Condemned the Moslems to a gory doom. King Richard, Lion-Hearted, severed necks Of enemies to deftly make A victors necklace, dripping crimson specks From heathen heads, cut off for Jesus sake. And so I fancied I was some bold king, And for a sword took stick in hand And made my wooden weapon slash and sing, To scatter heads of flowers on the land. For I was lord of trees and open air, And scorned the castled kings Id never seen. To raise a throne, I made a mossy chair, And wore a crown of fronds, of April green. II. I reigned resplendent in my kingdom till Someone as young as me, walked in on me. She made my feelings overflow and spill I offered her my forest court, for free. She sat below the chestnut tree and stared Her gaze made me surrender everything, My royal gems and boyhood stripped and bared Her presence could have mastered any king. So why did I forsake my castles, for a blueEyed golden-colored girl upon the ground? I felt the way Columbus did, to view Those first enchanted islands that he found. 07-06-76First English translation from Des Vers (1880) *

The Last Escapade The ivy-clad castle is cracked at its base, The foundation is crumbled with Time, Theres grass on its floor and theres moss on its face, And therere towers nobody will climb. Then two ancient people appear at the gate, Theyre all bent and decrepit with years: A man and a woman discarded by Fate, Until Death, round the corner appears.

But out on the meadow the sun is aflame, And the butterflies mirrored the light, And both of the people, stooped, withered and lame, Begin edging out toward the worm sight. They drink in the sun and their eyes feel its fire, And like children they go hand-in-hand, With canes, and old bodies that threaten to tire, Theyre exploring the fragrant green land. And there in their path is the moss-coated stone Of the bench where they sat long ago, The feel in their flesh and inside of each bone The return of that far-away glow. A bird in the distance exults with its sound And it echoes down far-away years, Arousing old love in their heats before long, Till their kisses bring rapturous tears. But joy turned to anguish for years that are dead, As they feel what the decades have done, Their hearts burn as chill as a lump of grey lead, As theyre ending what theyve just begun. The woman succumbs from the strain of their joy, And the knowledge her body is weak, Collapsed in his arms like a broken-down toy, With no energy even to speak. He jumps up to run off and find her some aid, But he stumbles and clumsily falls Face down on the grass on the floor of the glade, And the wind of the evening calls. The shadows descend and theyre shrouding the two Silent motionless shapes on the ground The slugs and the insects are only a few Of the creatures who pass with no sound. The rain showers down on those shapes on the grass Still alive, as they tremble with cold, But after the storm and the night comes to pass, They are still: all their storys been told. 04-79 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * Dream Haven (For L. Sprague de Camp)

Lands unseen are always best-Landscapes in your mind-Blessed Islands gleaming west Cartographers cant find. Terra Incognita lies Past all Southern seas, Under unknown golden skies That warm the giant trees. Animals no man has known Mammoth fruits and plants, Palisades of precious stone The shoreline of Romance. 05-06-79 * March Message The irises arise a yellow gold Or lavender-tinged blue And anyone looking out is told: Spring is born anew. 05-09-79 * Used Up The painter in his cap sits there On a front porch chair, And no one asks him to paint He drinks, is their complaint. There was a time he got those jobs, Now the liquor slowly robs His reputation till it goes But still he wears those painter-clothes. 05-09-79 * Vow The unmowed grass thrives high And chokes the moss-marked stone, Above the earthen mound where I Long have slept, alone. I used to lie in shrouds, But now I float on air Across the somber, moonless clouds, Graveless, in despair. Im looking for my wife (Her lover murdered me) Ill haunt her lie-stained, faithless life Past Eternity. 05-16-79

Alternate third verse: Around the world Ill trace Two murderers whove fled: My wifeher loversoon will face Justice from the dead. (1986) * And Then Make Love Im glad of April rain, Keeping us indoors Inside our rattled window pane While the night storm pours. The rains a winding sheet, Shrouding up the night; Inside we drink and talk and eat By a fire built bright. 05-28-79 * Sandras Temperature Golden-gloss skin, And hair thats the same, Legs brown and thin, And lips bright as flame. Real as a fire, She burns in your arms Smoldering hot wire, She sets off alarms. Later she cools, And youll chill as well, Joining the fools Shes frozen in Hell. 06-04-79 * Knell Love is but a seconds tick Recorded by the cruel clock of Time. Hear those meshing gears revolve and click! And listenfor Loves final chime. 06-16-79 * Mt. Olivet Cemetery: Nashville The monstrous spires uprise But never touch the skies, Vain, earth-foundationed monuments

To Lifes impermanence. Expensive markers war with Time Where lichen mosses climb And cover up each hand-carved word That tells of those interred. 06-22-79 * Wee Wraith The little boy is seen upstairs With cherub-golden hairs, And pale pink features fading dim Whenever you see him: A child of faint Victorian memory Who died in the last century. 06-29-79 * November 22, 1963 (for L. Fletcher Prouty) The story hurts to tell: * He braved the crowd And waved them all farewell-Hired guns belched loud. And waiting vulture birds Swooped down to eat: He heard their cackled words, Their black wings beat. 07-15-79 * Wee Music The soft blue fairies sail on azure wings, All embellished with flower rings And garments of woven weeds. Without a sound they come down from above To the mossy carpet ground they love, On their tiny blue fairy-winged steeds. And then they sing and strike up their band, And dance around, hand-in-hand, As they blow on their fluted reeds. 07-15-79 * Perception The silver grass is high,

And silver dewdrops glaze Beneath the pale gold sky Where unicorns still graze. Their horns are ivory And mythical, yet true: I shut my eyes and see Their golden hooves anew, As real and me and you. 08-13-79 * Artisans The carpenter cuts and sands And hammers. Notice how his hands Explore the mortised wood And sense when the fit is good. The poets a craftsman, too: He whittles fondly all day through With words he shapes and files And polishes--like wooden tiles. 09-20-79 * At the Window I saw him again today Peering out through the glass At me as I dared to pass The house so grave and cold and grey. I let well enough alone, Keeping my eyes ahead, Ignoring that pale white head As I raced past the house of stone. 09-20-79 * Siamese Kittens flurrying like fluff, Pussy-willow soft and tiger-tough, Biting and slapping--ramping rough Then sprawling asleep when theyve had enough. 09-23-79 * Wood-Witch Pale grey priestess appears in the glade Clutching a magic blade, Carving out circles in air overhead, As rituals of grey are said.

Misty grey is the mantle she wears, Leather and silver and warm werewolf hairs, Grey like the color of her witchly eyes As grey as Hallowmas skies. 09-24-79 * A Reflection on Pride The value of Vanitys this; It offers bliss In front of the looking-glass Until years pass. 10-07-79 * Old House: Demolition The brick and masonry give way Crumbled red and grey Are buried as the workman yanks Beams and paintless planks. Another piece of Past expires. Better that, than fires Inflaming it some August night Still, Ill miss its shabby sight. 10-07-79 * Mist Theres something ignored, quite beyond recall A voice down a midnight hall Or a face in a painting you saw for sale, Remote, and feminine-pale. So who was that lady? You quite forget Her name and her silhouette As her image dissolves in a blurring haze Of vapored blues and greys. 10-10-79 * October Autumn invades the air, Crisping the leaves with chill, As summer goes, who knows where? Leaves fall, losing their will 10-14-79 * Case Study

The Freudians a paranoid, A schizoid whos annoyed When people rend his mask and see His drooling, voyeur fantasy. The Freudians own mind is split (The two halves never fit): Those phallic symbols he erects Convince youhes deprived of sex! The Freudians obsesseddepressed By urges long repressed, Or else projected outward on His patients till his guilt is gone. 10-28-79 * Fall Melody Theres music in the breath of breeze Exhaling with a wispy wheeze That scatters leaves on forest floor And has one hundred years or more In singing autumns long before. A hundred autumns of soft wind, A hundred times its thinned The branches of their leaves, till bare: A hundred autumn-times the air And trees have chorused there. 10-28-79 * Final Evening We had to part, for this night was our last. My love and sweetest period of my life was past. And yet I wanted to go walking one last stroll Through the woods with her, and fire her flesh and soul. But there within the trees I heard a mystic sound That whispered to us (coupled on the ground): That breath of God that sighs inside each tree Filling all that lives with vast Eternity, For God was weary of the praise paid him Descending to the earth when all is dim And men are sleeping or else heedless to Everything but making love till night is through. Its then that God arrives to lift the pain Of those who feel their lives are passed in vain, Or else to cheer the lovers who obey Him by sharing pleasures at the end of day. So there we listened to the rivers tune (The voice of God beneath a lovers moon), And shed soft tears upon the meadow grass, Knowing that out love was doomed to pass.

And of that evening what survives? Tears from two young lives The shepherd sees, when he arrives, Tears like morning dew: A gleaming souvenir of love, now through. 10-28-79 by Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) First English translation from Des Vers (1880) * After Sunset The reddened riot of wine-rich sun Spills over skies of afternoon, And purpling-reds of the day now done Splash!--then dissolve, so soon. And sunset turns a violet grey Mixing with twilights magic blur, Revealing the fairy-shapes at play, Listen!--to wings soft whir. 11-01-79 * A Flat in Paddington The city spreads its streets like long Tentacles that stretch and twine, As looming Evil weaves a webbed design Around the bustling, London throng. But North of Marble Arch is bleak Praed Street, where the shadows gloom, And Solar Pons sits musing in his room Of criminals hell subtly seek. 11-29-79 * Baggage Rejoice! The cavalcade of dreams arrives, Fancies, dreads, mirages too, Chimeras thrive, old myth survives Caravan unpacks for you. 11-79 * Road The road is sharp with ice and shale, But neither bloody foot will fail, As long as you persist ahead As long as wounded feet can tread. The roads are torturous to trek,

And Man who hikes them is a speck Of immaterial dust. But still Theres glory in your ceaseless will. 12-21-79 * Wet Yule Christmas rain, instead of snow Cannot quench the glow, Cannot still the bells that chime (Maybe snow next time!) 12-23-79 * Precipitation The sky was sheeted with grey rain, Color of dull pain, Like lost Elanas ash-toned eyes, Grey with wanton lies. Elana, blurring into patterned grey Grief, from yesterday, While desolating showers pour Grey, outside my door. 12-25-79 * Writers Block (for Michael Eng) I miss the tragic days When all the blues and greys Of lovelessness influenced me Toward blue-grey poetry. How sad that all the sadness died! And turned to joy inside, It brims my heart with warming love No sorrow to write poems of! 12-25-79 * Winter Wail Far and near the dogs still bark Down the streets so bitter dark, As if determined howling could deter December come to chill their fur. 12-26-79 * Cacophony Now of this and that I hear:

Time and Timeless memory, Dawn of the ages, ages old. Birdsong in the morning mists, Silver strains of swirling spheres, Time-begotten, Time-bequeathed; Twilight, end of the centuries, Violence, Time-dishonoring, Raucous notes that rend the air From an orchestra gone mad. 1979 * Echo I hear a howling of Infinity (A million billionsworth of years), My ears Reverberating the immensity Of spatial, blue-black void that spans A multiverse that dwarfs this earthen speck of Mans. 1979 (Rev. 11-11-90) * George Sterling (1869-1926) His verse was wrought to decorate, Embellish, glow, and shed the great Immortal light of some far flagrant sun That flares when Time itself is done. 1979 * Gold Gore The roads of gold are traveled west By brigands who would wrest The Golden Kingdom from the hold Of kings who clutch at tarnished gold. The golden gates are battered in, Barbarians slash and win The Golden Citadel at last Where red (on golden bricks) runs fast. 1979 * Lunatic Lyre All this sanitys but a fad A fashion the brain Would assume, then shed. Mad me. Crazed you. You would rather us not be mad Conventional, sane, And our pulse beats, even and true.

But delusions weve lately had Have spattered their stain On our souls. Rage red. Sick blue. Your hand in my hand, lets wander in a haze. Crouched monsters await. And both of our minds, ablaze. 1979 * Ocean Hurt Sea-time, Salt in my eye, Rock slime Green as the sky, Gulls chime And the winds cry. Tides slip Out from your toes, Waves rip, Wester-wind blows, Sands whip Flesh without clothes. Beach-dream Drowns in the gale, Birds scream, Sea-feelings fail. You seem Bored with me, stale. 1979 * On Unloving A. E. Housman (1859-1939) Housman piped a pure sad note Blue as misted hills, But the perfect poetry he wrote No longer lifts and thrills. Why, he would have understood Youth decays at last, Verse tastes bad that once was good, Bitter like years past. 1979 * The Music Makes you Free You see him washing tables in a San Francisco bar, He works a week or two and then hes gone. Hes heading back to Texas or maybe Canada

At least hes got his guitar out of pawn. His music sounds like Nashville but his voice you just cant place The labels on his suitcase tell the tale. Theres scratches on his guitar and theres paper taped on top: Its got a list of songs that never fail. Hes a little bit of you, Hes a hell of a lot of me, And the message is that Music makes you free. He yodels like a brakeman, and he sings those prison songs (Hed like to make you think that hes been bad); His voice, it stats to weaken when he sings of shattered love And children growing up without their Dad. (spoken) and if he dies when things are good, youll read it in the news (Most likely he will fall without a trace): It doesnt really matterno!the musics all that counts, And theres always some new fool to take his place. 1979 * Tourist Attraction One morning proud Prince Paradine arose, Donned his velvet, regal clothes, And took three hours till he was dressed Even had his stockings pressed! Patent leather shod his feet, His scented wig was white as sleet, A golden girdle rode his hip, Mustache on his upper lip Behold, he told his mirror, Look, Is it not worth the time I took? And then the guard said, Come, its Three, Everybodys here to see. And thus the Prince went out to climb, Thirteen steps to end his time, Last reward for princely crime: A plunging bladeand then Eternity. Today, Parisian courtyard stones Display a cache of princely bones. Primping phantom floats on air Preeningpirouetting!there. 1979 (rev. 11-19-90 ) * Weather Song The wind has a banshee call Every Fall,

It whines and wails and never fails To sing insane outside my wall. The wind has a searing sound Come to pound, Upon my ears as winter nears, It whips unwilling leaves to ground. But I love its lonesome cry: Wind and I Are friends till death, when winds shrill breath Will sing my passing to the sky. 1979 * Youd Better Not Mess With the I.R.S. I got a letter in the mornin mail. It said Were gonna get you. You will go to jail. It said Weve got some questions on you tax return. Its people just like you that never seem to learn. We k now youre earning money that we just cant see. Yet evry other year youre pleadin bankruptcy. We got you in the middle of a big-time lie. Your ex-wife, she has promised she will testify. I called up my attorney but he wasnt there. They said hed flown to Mexico, but who knows where? Hes just been audited for filing five years late, And claiming business dinners he aint never ate. And then I called my congressman, but he said No. Id love to help you son, but Ive just got to go. I just received a letter from the I.R.S. My secretarys telling them my business. So I picked up my papers and I went on in, I got down on my knees and then I said, You win. They told me they were sorry, but its their mistake. I pinched myself to see if I was still awake. They said that their computer got my last name wrong. They said I had a refund comin all along. I said, Well thank you folks. Ill see you next year. And then I went and hid myself behind a beer. Youd better not mess with the I.R.S. Or youll be messing with your happiness. 1979 * H. P. Lovecraft: Friend Out of Time (1890-1937)

What need to add one more Tribute to the roar Of shrill posthumous praise, Nostalgic, loud in these latter days? Its all been said and said: Paeans, now hes dead; But like so many, Ive Wished Id known him live. 01-01-80 * Latin Lesson Im just a little bit annoyed At some obscure new word Ive heard Called sternocleidomostoid An obfuscated doctors word. But now I think, Im maybe learning-The definitionclarified: A muscle meant for turning Your head from side-to-side. 01-01-80 Poets Paramour Sweet Goddess, Personification, Youre not an abstract ideation, So listen to this supplication: Love me, and my verse creation. 01-01-80 * Ounce of Prevention The lady robot doesnt take Her birth controlling pill, She knows it could be one mistake Untested drugs can kill. She doesnt want a deformed child, With gears and wheels all out of place, Or with three metal mouths that smiled Upon its baby face. 01-02-80 * Confession The minor poet with major soul Plays the petty role: Overacting his meager part Craft at best, not art. The minor poet with major pain

Speaks words that fall in vain Concealing his passion in soft clich Blurry, hueless, grey 01-05-80 * Famine Foretold (Stalin, 1930, 30 million, and Mao Tse Tung 1960, 42 million, et al) The land is the lord of men who live Near yellow and lime-green fields, Who plant it and till it and gladly give All their toil, for crops it yields. Dictators forced them to the modern way, Profaning ancestral farms, The land did avenge itself one day With the prophesied, ancient harms. 01-08-80 * Readers Block Id always rather read than write, But if I want to win renown, Ill lay my magazine back down And stay up typing, half the night. 01-12-80 * Gift These lines are for Mary Rose To read when up she grows, And books become her treasure chest, And poems my bestowed bequest. And now youre on the first fresh page So set aside your age, And act as old or young as you Would like to be: that makes it true. The golden world is ever new. 01-14-80 * Inevitable No, I wont show you my prophecies of times to come, You couldnt stand the drum And fife of filing soldiers in the cobbled street, Your ears are deaf to marching feet. No, youd rather not foresee the skull-faced future, no So turn away and go

In ignorance until you later sadly learn That Mars loves Man, and must return. 01-18-80 * Immortality We live forever, or almost; As long as stone may last, Engraved with mottoes, carved to boast Our passing and our past. We last as long as stone survives, Encrusted with green scales; We last beyond our little lives As long as stone prevails. 01-25-80 * New Years Revelation A dozen months of living lie ahead, Another years unrolled its scroll, And on opaque parchment is concealed, unread, The future of my flesh and striving soul. Will I use up my months and days as well Or betterthan Ive spent the ones now gone? The future fades until I cannot see or tell, But I set forth my foot, and trek right on. 01-26-80 * Late January The ice has carpeted the grass That crunches when you pass, And out there in the mirrored street Cars careen upon a sheet of sleet. 01-30-80 * Objectivity The art creates the man As often as it can: Be careful not to overplay and act Your fiction, as if fact. Bewaredont try to be A Buccaneer at sea Or a superman in bed! Stay home and write instead. 02-13-80 *

Am I My Brothers Keeper? Of course not. I must walk aloof, alone, And clutch my dear possessions close to me: Pomp and power; prizes Ive sought, and won! And since I have no brother of my own I have no one to keep or help, you see, Each man for himselfthats how its done! And help I ask from anyone is none. At least thats how Ive tried to make it be, Until suburban chilliness stills my heart And I grow sick of living inwardly, Discovering my neighbors arent made of stone, (Chain-link fences cant prison us apart) As cautiously our nervous voices start Exchanging greetings in that iced Unknown. 02-20-80 * Reverie Far over the mountains and lands away From all that youve ever seen Are valleys of shimmering silver-green Where delicate fairies play. In meadows of velveteen moss and grass, The unicorns graze and browse, Along with the crimson-colored cows, Where fluttering dream-birds pass. The region is reached by an old, old trail, By you, if you love to muse, And shutting your weary eyelids, lose Yourself in the fairy-tale. 02-28-80 * Philosophy Philosophers have schemes and schools, Teaching sophistries to fools Who analyze the stars and define Their empty universenot mine. They cannot understand how a tree Lives beyond a century, Or how a hummingbird fashions its nest, Or what the wind says, sighing west. Nor can philosophers quite explain Music of a needed rain, Or perfumed fragrance scenting the air, Exhaled by pine-trees breathing there. Philosophers try hard to explain, yes,

But you cannot grant their premises Which contradict each other, each in turn. (If theyd walk in the woods, theyd learn.) 02-29-80 * I Think We Need Another War Today Theres people losing confidence In diplomats and presidents, You cant believe a single thing they say. Ive got the proven remedy To give this country unity: I think we need another war today, I think we need another war today, Lets find some lucky country far away, And lets send some advisers in (And find out later we cant win), I think we need another war today. Lets open up that Navy Yard, And get those factries working hard, Lets give ourselves a little raise in pay. Lets spread some blood on foreign soil, And save the Rockefellers oil, I think we need another war today. I think we need another war today, Lets find some lucky country far away, And lets send Billy Carter in (And notify his next of kin), I think we need another war today. Lets infiltrate the Left and Right And find out whos afraid to fight, And toss them in a dungeon, damp and grey, Lets draft the unemployables, Those poor folk make expendables, I think we need another war today. I think we need another war today, Lets nominate some country far away, Lets send Anita Bryant in To entertain our fighting men, I think we need another war today. (keep the choruses going ad infinitum with the third line different each time, such as: Lets send Kissinger instead Of you and me, to face that lead Lets send Lieutenant Calley in, Ill bet hell know where to begin Lets send Teddy Kennedy.

(He sure could use publicity) Lets send William Colby in, To torture women and old men 02-80 * Vision The years are a veil of gauze and mist, Memories writhe and twist in the web but to no avail, For Time is a shroud of hazing years Frosting your eyes that fail. But suddenly light appears at last Rays of the sun gather fast Soon horizons are beckoning, blue; And grand-children brighten your years Making you see anew. 03-18-80 * Kensington Gardens The sun in London used to shine Above the placid Serpentine Lost summers all too long ago, And I recall as best I can The statue of fey Peter Pan In sunlights glint and glow (Winters, Peter Pan wore snow.) 03-21-80 * Envy (1757-1827) If I were William Blake, Id see Each star that lights Eternity; But since my name is something less I only sense their silverness. 03-23-80 * The Witch of Prague (after F. Marion Crawford) The wan and weary Wanderer arrived In Prague, in search of someone lost from him Dear Beatrice, whose love for him once thrived, But now diffused in daydreams, misty-dim-The days were damp with darkened dew. Instead he met that siren-mesmerist Unornaseductive, subtle witch who drew The Wanderer to her within a tangled tryst.

She pulled him backward through the centuries Exhibiting a horror in the graveyard gloom, But still he spurned her wanton witcheries, Aware that yielding only promised doom At last his Beatrice returned, once more And lost Unorna vanishedout Deaths door. 03-23-80 * Vision Voyage The castles fashioned in your mind Are citadels of stone: Parapets and towers thrown High against magenta skies Where grinning gargoyled turrets rise. Such castles are the easiest to find: You close your worldly eyes Firmly. Then your spirit flies Towards the Castles of Unknown Where purple birds of dream have flown. 03-28-80 * The Boston Massacre In Boston they threw ice and oyster shells As the British troops marched coldly by. Till soon the streets were ringing with the yells: Lobster-backs! the righteous raucous cry. The troops retreated till they could retreat no more, Nine men against one hundred strong, Till suddenly the muskets made their roar, Scattering hot lead amid the throng. Ant though the Boston public howled in outraged hate Someone softly spoke the soldiers case: John Adams arguing their very fate Seeking justice in that hostile place, A patriot who helped us spurn the British crown, Rescued six lost British lives, Against the sentiment of his own town One more reason Adams name survives. 03-29-80 * Birthright Liberty isnt security, no, People seem quick to forget, Danger and risk and the chances to grow Are treasures we fight for yet.

Freedom to win and the freedom to fail, Liberties purchased with pain Often are bartered or offered for sale For some politicians gain. 03-30-80 * Arthur Symons (1865-1945) Ethereal as Soho candlelight Behind a fog-enfeathered window-pane Lurk Arthur Symons decadent designs: Poems, paling like a yellow haze to white, As all their pastel tones dissolve in rain, The storms of Time that curtain and confine The poets soul, and blot each precious line. And yet you glimpse his ghost in Drury Lane, Languid like a vagrant vagabond, A misty phantom fated to remain Forever flickering, in and out of sight. For Arthur Symons lived behind (beyond) This muted, modern age, amid the fond Yellow Nineties aesthetic yesternight. 03-30-80 * Troubadour-Tribute I love the songs of working people played In cabins and at dances, and along Highways where the vagabonds wander by, Unchanged since days of early English song. The English, Celtic minstrelsy can never die As long as mandolins and fiddles cry The ancient ballads of true love turned wrong Of Godand ghostsand deaths and birth, Wherever people and their folklore throng. Out on the sea (or prairies) where the songs are made Of people close to water, dust and earth: Elements that give music its true worth As folk song singers ply their timeless trade. 03-30-80 * Molecular Divination You wonder what is going to be, And how long is eternity? Explore a minute molecule, A space-time minuscule. Eternity glows and gleams, Illuminating your dreams, So let your imaginings race

Across Infinitys broad face. 04-08-80 * Elftune (for S. Slattery) Ethereal music cheers the night: Flute and tambourine, Fiddle and a soft guitar, Musicians never seen. Fey troubadours stay out of sight, Where the shadows are: Little men in gold and green Who sing to moon and star. 04-09-80 (rev. 1990) * Sham and Sorcery The Super-hero swings his sword Down clang, clang, clang, It rang, rang, rang, Went bang, bang, bang On his foemans thick, thick skull. The publishers commission more Such tales, tales, tales, (More sales, sales, sales!) And males, males, males Will imagine theyre Conan or Kull. 04-10-80 * Sweet Sanguinora How many hundred years Shes lived, I cannot say; Shes mine today And all my caution disappears. Hungarian heritage Ive heard her mention, yes; Her loveliness (Inherited) knows no age. Her kisses make us one, (My sweet unsanguined wife) Immortal life Is ours!if we but shun the sun. 04-10-80 * Lamia (for Michael Fantina)

The lady bade me linger for awhile Beside the cypress in the burying-yard. She fetched me to a graveside with her smile And set me on a marker cold and hard. She smiled. It all comes down to this, you know, That kings and merchants, each the same, Will sleep as brothers is a marble row Till mosses blanket over each proud name. I shiveredmid-November air breathed chill And I looked down at my watch. The hour was late. I said, However much Id like to listen still, My appointment scheduled in the village cannot wait. She smiledand begged my pocket-knife from me, Then carved my name upon the cypress tree. 04-18-80 (rev. 12-10-90) * Very, Very Soon Uneaseapproaching panic in me grew, As I walked out confronting carnage everywhere, Radiation-rotted corpses fouling all the air, Bodies bare of clothing, hair and skin, Slain by war that men thought men could win. The very carrion worms seemed ready to expire. And my internal clock was slowingthat I knew, Retarding with the halting tick of run-down Time, Tocking till the final knell of Doom would chime, Calling me to topple toward polluted grass, Letting life (not worth knowing) pass Atomically contaminated earth, my bier. 05-07-80 * Scent in the Air (for Julia Severs Eng) Hummingbird and hungry bee, Sharing in the free Honeysuckle growing sweet Fragrant summer treat. 05-22-80 * Illustrations for Elegies Raven, yew and cypress tree, Emblems of mortality, Survive in woodcuts on the page Of poems from the Gothic Age 05-80 * Italic Horror

The leather covers smooth with moldered Time Are held by weakened hinges, split with age, And as I open them with caution Im Amazed at underlinings on the ritual page. 05-80 * Drifter (in memory: Bliss Carman, 1861-1929) Give me the road and give me the rain, Give me the highway pain, Give me the heat, and the chilliness off the sea: Hot or frozen, wet or parched. Vagabond-free. 06-05-80 * Riposte Retaliate with beauty when the worlds too harsh on you, Poetry is poison to your foes. Metaphors and meter will annihilate those few Philistines you quietly oppose. 06-18-80 * Slimming Down I strive for simple life and simpler deeds, Cut down on needs, And minimize the multiples of me, And wriggle free Of whirligig complexity. 06-19-80 * Dont Play the Old Songs The disc jockey said, Tell ne, what were you doing, when this was number one? And were you cutting classes with somebody special, with surf boards in the sun? And who were you dating, what class were you taking, when this song hit the charts? And I sing along, then it hits me deep down---That old nostalgia starts. Id rather not sing when Im driving alone those songs we used to do, Remember how your mother said I told you so, that year when we were through? Theres nothing so sad as those million-selling songs that never seem to die We all bought a copy and we learned the words and the words can make you cry Dont play the old songs, The tears might fall; Dont play the old songs, I know them all. (And so do you.)

Coda: They say hes making you real happy 6-28-80 * A Toast: On the 68th Birthday of the late John Gawsworth (1912-1970) Whatever else he was, recall He was a Bookman after all, And at his quietest, a poet too. Redondawinethe sordid rest Ignore for nowextol his best! For there was good in Gawsworth, as in you. 06-29-80 * Suburban Commonplace The house is sold, it brought a price The owners took upon advice, And happily theyve moved away, Unmindful of what starts today. Today the vandal-salvage-crew Arrives to rip up bricks and strew About the bricks, and lift the doors Off hinges, and demolish floors. A super-drug-store must replace The house and once again erase Tradition for the glass and chrome Of Progress, where once stood a home. 6-29-80 * Dead Rainbow The shade of rage is a gory red, The glow of love is gold, The color of your indifference is lead: The grey of love grown cold. The hue of hate is ebony, The wash of faith is white, The dark of your disdain for me Is black as a loveless night. 07-04-80 * The Last Guest Enshrouding years came thronging all as one, Oppressing him, reminding him of Time Lichening his castle walls, all blackening with grime

Where never shone the golden glimmer of the dawning sun; The Count had lived for centuries with none. Magenta dusk was gathering once more, As evening came shadowing the hall, He, the red-lipped Count, a-striding restlessly, so tall And stately on the granite floor. Then inwardswungthe outer door. Ethereal ladya visitor at last, Assuaging decades of despaired retreat. Thus he takes her arm and guides her to a chair Till suddenly the crimson Count falls back dismayed, aghast She smiles. Dont ask my name. Your time is past. Decrepit vampires cannot everlast 07-09-80, (Rev.1990 and 04-30-92) * The Modern Version The subtlest sort of vampiry Will leave you with blood-full veins, But drain you of identity Till nothing of You remains. 07-09-80 Tete `a Tete Decrepit atmosphere of decadence! Battle scenes on ancient tapestries Hang upon the cob-webbed wall Within the Counts deserted dining hall, Silent with the pass of centuries. But now in vacant-eyed somnolence The Count arrives with guests to dine, Silent while they chatter on Remaining till banqueters are gone Sipping his glass of gore-red wine. He lounges with erotic, languid indolence, Till one exquisite lady guest returns, Smiling as the Count smiles too, I knew you would come backI knew Virgin blood like yours desiresand yearns. And later in the tarnished, antique opulence Of his apartment, there he knows shell stay Candles gutter low and dim Around one shadow: herand him. Now the Count and his plaything play. 07-14-80 * Winner

I wore a laurel wreath Placed on me, by me, My new-crowned head beneath Sneered triumphantly. I wore the offal flung Vengeful by the crowd, Instead of laurel, dung. Either one, worn proud. 07-21-80 * Extrapolation If my science sounds fictitious, Then Ill stick to ghosts and witches, Where theres much more evidence (Such as photographs and documents!) Than therell ever be for ships (1) Crossing Time is rocket-ships! (Or those Martians with green lips, Refugees from comic strips). Alternate second verse (2) For its lunacy to write of trips In time-traversing magic ships, Confronting Martians with green lips Resembling those in comic strips. 08-05-80 (rev. 11-15-90) * Below the Horizon Beginning poets write of sunsets, yes, And so do ending poets, too, Wan singers whose exhausted little tunes are through: Who sing one final time of purple-splendored rosiness, Of twilight turned to violet And then to grey. Poetic suns then set, As black-winged angels press their skeleton-caress. 08-80 (rev. 1990) * Erasing All Trace of Elaine Its true, I have forgotten you, Elaine, Utterly, as leaves when leaving summer trees Die unremembering, as they coast along the breeze Toward autumn ground. No souvenirs remain. Blurred images efface and fade. I cannot see your plain White dress, bedecked with flowered fineries: Poppiesyellow, orange, with Death-dark centers. Please Believe my loves dissolved, drowned in Falls grey rain. Through dimming years Ill rarely, any more

View you in my imaginings. Your summer-tinted hair Of golden tawn recedes. My lust cannot recall Your criminally-carnal figure, or Your rose-flushed mouth. Romance lies in Deaths lair. In winters pall, I have forgotten all. 08-80 * Gadfly Back and forth, to and fro, Forth and back, both I go Fro and too, constantly In search of elusive, uncapturable Me. 08-80 * Rabid Curs The war-dogs chew at the throat of Man, Killing as canines can, With drooling jowls and fetor that fouls The air, with harrowing warrior-howls-They herald the End with their yelps and yowls. 08-80 * Treading Water (Willingly) Adrift, adrift (my usual trip) In icy, unmapped sea, A splintered spar my only ship I clutch it willfully. Afloat, afloat, each nerve alive, I brave what is to be, Instead of cowering, to but survive On land, secure, not free. 09-02-80 * Coffee at Foxs Bookstore: Nashville Our conversation was all of books: He chatted charmingly Of firsts and points unknown to me Me, that customer who looks Instead of buys, most frequently: But whether I bought books or not, the store (And mind and heart) swung wide an open door. 09-11-80 * Gone

Pastel people with water-color dreams Melt with the wash of years, Fading, dimming, their future blurs and streams Coloringdisappears. 09-22-80 * Orchards of Wonder The dreams are all sown in the early Spring, Plated by poets who hope to bring A harvest of splendor in early fall, Fantasies blooming tall. They water the crops with their childhood tears, Wept with the pang of passing years, And sunned by the joy of the aging child, Bold, unafraid and wild. The plants soon arise with their ripened yield,-Fantasies filling the fruited field! And readers of wonder arrive and reap Glamour to glean and keep, 09-27-80 * Astral Projection Imagine the ultimate empires of star, Those silver galaxies so far You cannot see them, but in dream. Reenter their shimmering seas of light, Bejeweled glimmerings of bright Resplendent saffron suns, that beam Inside your head. Their visions stream, And craze you with their glamoured, gloried gleam. 10-04-1980 (Rev. 08-28-1991) * Oregon Trail In-pine-sweet air In humus soil Is where I rest, away from care, And trail weary toil. One morning feathers filled the air, With wooden shafts that sped And left this traveler to lie With poisoned arrowhead. 10-16-80 * Lost

How many years alot themselves To fairies, sprites and elves? The fewest number, flying fast For childhood flutters past. Enchanted realms when you were small Capitulate and fall; Their palace guards of inch-high men Seek graves in days of Then. 10-25-80 (rev. 1990) * Sounds and Stillness November rustles in with noise: Winds, and leaves that little boys Kick and scatter loud as boys will do. November breathes in Autumns ear: Winters gusting very near, Soon exhaling silent snow on you. 11-16-80 * Over and Over and The greatest skill a writer learns Is licking stamps on envelopes, And what goes out, too soon returns: A boomerang of battered hopes. Revise, rewrite, submit once more, Until your tongue is dry From posting manuscripts that bore The editors who (wont/cant) say why. 11-18-80 * Manassas Split-rail fences, stark and grey Rim the Bull Run battlefield Where Confederates that day Forced the Union line to yield. Cannon still command the hill By the chiseled monument Where some of those who came to kill Sleepdank earth their tent. (alternate last line: Stayedwhile others went.) 11-12-80 (rev. 07-19-88) * Raison dEtre (for Joey Froehlich)

Why undertake to write another verse, When Undertaker Time and his black hearse Will bear your poems to their final resting place Interred without a stone, in some small weed-thick space? Becauseregardless of the tolling knell, As long as there are whispered tales to tell Brave poetry can help deter brute Time A moment more until he tolls his final chime. 11-29-80 * Mind-Flight I look out through my soul As if through iron prison bars: Life sentence, no parole, My sentence measured in Times scars. But still, this convicts goal Is brave escape, in dreams, to distant stars Giddy, down the galaxies space-borne ecstasies! 12-01-80 * Galactic Gothic The Age of Man Is but a brief, abbreviated span Of seconds ticking in a moments course. Infinity: the final source Is like a charnel house, with cypress tree And yew and myrtle, growing in the graves of Space, Where decomposes Times own face. 12-80 * Advertisement The purple-wanded wizard casts Enchantment that lasts Beyond your petty life and place: A spell that spans space. His work is even guaranteed; He hasnt got the greed To spin cheap magic like some do, So let him serve you. 1980 * Dawn Glory The gathering gold ascends Bright on the summer sky, And summertime morning blends

Yellow and blue up high And the shimmering clouds shift by. 1980 * Difference Little girls arent little boys, They dont make noise, Well, not quite as much When they reach to touch Delicate new toys. 1980 * Fifty-Per Cent He put ten years on her eyes in a single morning. He didnt do much to her except walk away. He never raised a hand and he never raised too damned much money. But he left her fifty-per cent of his final pay. Shes holding two jobs and shes holding her little heart together The children make their own beds and breakfast, too. The womens magazines provide adviceand coupons. And her Mama and her sister drop by, to see her through. Theres no hard feelings, theyre the best of friends, still. Hes taking the children on Sunday afternoon. Shes liberated from love, shes her own person. And no one sees her cry except the moon. Shes taking two classes down at the local college, A book-keeping course and volleyball 101. Shes twenty-eight, shes changed her hair, shes jogging! And her friends down at work say her life has just begun! But you know, fifty-per cent of the American dreams get broken. One-half of the brides and grooms pay lawyers fees. And fifty-per cent of the couples are coming uncoupled. But the precise percentage of tears nobody sees. 1980 *

Gallatin Road (Nashville) The house is sold. It brought a price The owners took upon advice, And willingly moved worlds away Obscene debasement starts today. Today the vandal-salvage crew Arrives to rip up boards and strew

The sundered bricks, and lift the doors From hinges, and demolish floors. A super drugstore will replace The house and once again erase Tradition. Thus the glass-and-chrome Of Progress triumphs. One less home. 1980 * Golden Spurs on a Silver Screen Golden spurs on a silver screen, Here comes the cowpoke, a-riding across the plains Tennessee Walking horse taking the reins, Golden spurs on a silver screen, That brave buckaroo in the colorful cowboy suit. Here come the outlaws, following in close pursuit. Those bad guys, they always get what they deserve, yeah, And the hero never kisses the girl, but he gets the horse, of course! Golden spurs on a silver screen, When I grew up I found it wasnt quite all like that: Sometimes the rustler, hes wearing a big white hat. Cause those bad guys they dont always get what they deserve, no, After they steal your girl, they ride off on your horse, of course! Golden spurs on a silver screen, When I die you can bury my body up in old Boot Hill, And wherever Im riding, you can say Im a cowboy still (You can donate my boots and saddle to the Goodwill!) 1980 * Have You Tried Music? Have you tried music when youre feeling down? Have you tried music in your own home town? Those city sidewalk going to set you free, Have you tried music? Try a tune with me. Well find a place thats got a big dance floor, Ill show you what a swinging band is for, So quit your crying, come along right now, Have you tried music? Let me show you how. Well dance until we get too tired to walk, Well find another spot to sit and talk, I know a place, they keep the lights down low, Have you tried music? When its soft and slow? So leave your troubles in the setting sun, Have you tried music when the day is done?

Have you tried music? Its the only way, Have you tried music? Let that music play. 1980 * House of Shame Theres nothing unusual about the way my day begins, As I walk up and down the streets with my mail pouch in my hands; Ive run this route for yearseverybody knows my nameEspecially at the old folks home, which I call the House of Shame. The old folks home is my last stop, thats where I end my daily route. And my pouch is usually empty, by thennot always, but just about, Except for an occasional letter, and they all wait anxiously With sad eyes that ask the question Is there anything for me? And I hear their trembling voices as they walk back and forth: I guess the children are just too busy to write Theyve got a lot of things to do, of course. And I try to cheer them up and say things to make them feel better (And I think to myself, just how little effort it takes to write a letter.) 1980 * Im a little more over you accidentally erased 1980 * Letter to Thoreau Walden is far, Unless you prefer, To open up your eyes, and see. Write who you are And who you were And who you ever hope to be. Chart your own star, Your planets whir, And map your own far galaxy. 1980 * Little Miss Sure-Shot Pretty funny name for a girlher name traveled round the world, little Miss Sure=Shot they called her everywhere. She sure shootin earned her fameAnnie Oakley was her other name She blasted those little glass balls right out of the air And a Winchester rifle became that girls best friend! Little Miss Sure-Shot, you shot through our hearts back then; And the likes of your marksmanship wont be seen again. Little Miss Sure-Shot you shot through our hearts back then

In your cowgirl costume you rode through our Western dream. Her Daddy died when she was tenshe picked up a rifle and then She filled up the table with rabbits and quail to eat. At fifteen she met her mangood lookin with a gun in his hand; He tried to outshoot her but that hero, he got beat. So he married little Anniethey hit the bulls eve with their love! She done pretty good for a girl Her boss he took her round the world Buffalo Bill on that Wild West show-biz trail. From Memphis to Cheyenneshe shook Queen Victorias hand, Little Miss sure-Shot, her aim it never failed. And she shot a cigarette out of Kaiser Wilhelms mouth! 1980 * One Too Many Memories Woke up sad and hung over, alarm clock is ringing my brain, Fell out of bed, I was grabbing my head, The dreams of you remain. Tried my best to cook breakfast, Im burning my toast like a fool, Cant concentrate on the eggs on my plate, The morning hits me cruel. One too many memories, one too many dreams, One too many nights alone, when love aint what it seems, One too many memories, one too many dreams, Of you Tried my best to get rolling, Im starting for work right on time, Stopped for a glass, and I felt my day pass, The way I live is a crime. Six oclock in the tavern, its peanuts and popcorn and friends, Talking till two, and the subject is you, The story never ends. 1980 * (Shes As Sad As) An Old-Time Country Song The years have passed her by, and so do men when they see her, Her eyes are full of all the dreams that were, The only men who dance with her are drunk, so they dont care, They make believe theres gold still in her hair. And evry body knows her and they tolerate her tears, And now and then they tell her, No more beers. And if you havent met her, youve met someone much the same, The story never changes, just the name. Shes as sad as an old-time country song, A pretty girl who wanted to belong To something other than this honky-tonk she lives in (You buy her one more beer and then she gives in); Shes as sad as an old-time Country song.

They find her in her room, her hand is on the telephone, The story ends just like Ive always known, The liquor wrote the lyrics and some man, he wrote the tune: (you see) She loved me, and I left her all too soon. 1980 * Pinned Like birdshot at the sparrows, She has shot her sympathy: She anchors you with arrows, Perched upon her tree. Why dont you fly to freedom? Are your broken wings impaled? The branch is good to see from, Why not stay there, nailed? 1980 * Smashed Reflection The parody of caring Is sentimental love When bliss becomes despairing, It crashes from above. Loves mirror no more pleases With smiles as once before It shatters into pieces Sharp shards upon the floor. 1980 *

The Man Who Won World War II He joked with the nurse till her face, it turned red, She laughed at those things that the old soldier said; His barracks was a Veterans Hospital bed. His body was busted but his eyes were bright, He told her his war stories every night, She shaved him and she bathed him and she tucked him in tight. From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine, He fought in the front of an infantry line, He got wounded twice but he struggled on through; Hes the man who won World War II. He battled the bottle but he called it a truce,

His liver was pickled from too much abuse; The doctor just shrugged and he said, Its no use. The nurse she sure missed him like she knew she would, His jokes and his memories, theyd made her feel good His family, they said theyd have come if they could From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine, He fought in the front of an infantry line, He got wounded twice but he struggled on through: Hes the man who won World War II. 1980 * Theres A Little Girl Inside of Every Woman Theres a little girl inside of every woman, you can find her if you try: Its not in her figure, and its not in her hairits right there in her eye. She plays with the boys, but not in a tree fortshes out on that hardwood floor That girlish gigglebut the way she dances, she aint a tom-boy no more. Cinderella fell for a truck-driving fella, but he left on a rainy night. The morning comes and that damned fairy godmother aint anywhere in sight. Instead of a doll, shes got a real babyhe cries and he coos and he wets. Instead of a tea-party, its called life, and loves late-night regrets. Theres a little girl inside of every woman, you can find her if you try: Its not in her file at the welfare officeits right there in her eye. She locates employment in a fried-chicken palace, and shes working for the minimum wage. She keeps her eyes open for the next Prince Charming, but she never volunteers her age. Theres a little girl inside of every woman, you can find her if you try: Its not in the date on her birth certificateits right there in her eye. 1980 * Unrecovered (for Alpha and Laura Castro) Connecticut summers recede and flow: Thirty-two years ago I first felt the breath of the pine-sweet air Whisper a welcome there. I walk through the bramble-thick paths and look For a lost, little laughing brook, I find it at last, still I cannot now see Boyhood that used to be. 1980 * Rev. Montague Summers (1880-1948) Arcane collector of Gothic lore,

Immersed in luridness and gore, He wryly catalogued it all The ivy-covered castle wall, The dungeon, and the secret door. He studied witches and werewolves too, Discovered Slavic vampire tales were true: A throw-back to another age He loved the Restoration stage And smiledas gossip round him grew. 01-20-81 * Yawn Oh, oh, andrepetitiouslyoh How fatigued and dulled with ennui am I, Slow, slow, so never-endingly slow Flow the moments as this lazy life slides by. 01-21-81 * Regret How sweet to be a critic, and be sure, sure, sure Of who is great and who comes only near, And what is flawed and what is pure And what is certain to endure And foist it all upon you without fear! How sad to be a writer, and be dense, dense, dense, Uncertain of what is, and isnt art, With the wit or confidence Or critical omniscient-sense To rip my latest manuscript apart. 01-25-81 * Lost, Lost The twists of tiring Time exhaust me, Enervated with endured despair, Regretting how I sought and lost the Rose mirage of a rainbow, some far Where. The happy Elfland horns that hallooed Are silent now, to ears of age. And Little People (and their dreams I followed) Sadly vanish under Times turned page. 01-28-81 * Prosody of Pain The poet of lonely rooms writes on, Of wine-drunk dawns and new love gone,

And landlords rattling at the cracked, thin door And thereher hairpins taunt him from the floor! 02-02-81 * In Due Time The song I sing you will not hear So sad and bleak is it, The requiem of Earths last year When Earth becomes a bit Of poisoned dustdestroyedunfit. For Man expends his fleeting day, And even planets die, And powder into ashen grey To strew the once blue sky. So soon-- atomic cinders fly! 02-07-81(rev. 11-11-90) * Missing Black aperture in space Absorbs me till I disappear, Ejected with no trail or trace Of where I gyroscoped from here: Its there Ill spin suspended, till my Million-billionth year. 02-08-81 * Lesson Plan (Recorded at the Second Conference on the Fantastic) Across the blackboard of galactic space Chalks the message Reason cant erase: There are no fantasies that cannot one day be! (Epigram-graffiti from Eternity.) 02-20-81 * Heard! Heard! Heard! The madness of the maiden is absolute, She hears the voices no one else could know, The ancient howling harbingers of who will stay and who will go The voices tell the maddened maiden so. The virtue of the maiden, it is absoluteShe sleeps alone on cold, unloving sheets, A man becomes her suitorthen in diffidence retreats, And leaves her with her voices and defeats. The sorrow of the maiden, it is absolute: For still the voices ring within her ear;

She hears a whispered name of one who dies this very year The nameher own!reiterates so clear. 03-05-81 * Minor Poet Work small, Craft all You can Of Man In microscopic space, Rewrite, erase, With miniature grace. 03-10-81 * Clock(2) Forty summers, forty springs You concentrate on brighter things. Then forty autumns, forty cold Decembersand youre growing old. 03-17-81 * The Robot and the Ghost The robot fancied he could write, And so he scribbled through the night And without fail sent off each tale Soon the world would know his name! His levers clicked, his motors purred, His gears and little wheels, they whirred But all came back with printed black Notices that read the same. At last the robot hired a ghost Who fixed his manuscripts till most Of them were placed, and soon they graced Magazinesfor cash and fame! 03-21-81 * Shattered He stands Above The happy sounds of sidewalk songs and childrens joy: Hes deaf to all. His hands Shake love Until it crumbles from his grasp, a cast-down toy That he lets fall.

03-26-81 * Approaching Hour When the fickle tick of Time Intensifies, then Im Aware of countless minutes past. And wonder: when the clock Explodes its final tock, Will I look foolish at the last, UnreadyGodlessand aghast? 04-05-81 * * Agoraphobia No walls! Naked space And panic born of openness, Where we confront loves dread expanse. Beware! Terror-place Of freedom where our hearts undress, And too much candor kills Romance. Retreat! Goretrace Our trail and trek where fear is less, And sentiment (old-fashioned) has a chance. 04-21-81 * Requiem A song for you, dear Wind, Whine it when you wail And howl it in the gale Though no one hears. I wrote it for you, Wind, Take it as your own And let it moan and drone On Mans deaf ears, And sing it always Wind, Down Eternity In memory of me And my brief years. 04-21-81 * Anachronize Spit contempt at Time. Write rhyme, Though rhyme is obsolete

And brings a doomed defeat. Dance a jig in place With grace, To meters measured beat, For freedom lies in shackles to poetic feet. 05-04-81 * Brevity Verses too short, Thoughts abort In tight, constricted space. Choking dreams Hear their screams, In claustrophobic place. 05-18-81 * Bardicide (in memory: Stanton A. Coblentz) I. There was Beauty on the highway, There was Beauty in the sky, And the poets, gold and silver, sang its praise. There were birds along the sky-way, All unfettered, soaring high, For the poets sang of birds in elder days. There was glamour on the heather, There was purple on the hill, And the poets sang the magic of the moor, Of the searing summer weather, Of romantic autumn chill, Of December fringing frost around the door, II. Then a gallows was erected With a gibbet made for bones, Where the poets swung, a-stinking, for the crows, And their books decay, neglected, And their graves unmarked by stones, And their evanescent music, no one knows. 06-03-81 * To Lie All poets lie: Self-dramatizing every hurt, Or otherwise, exaggerating bliss.

All poets lie (When life extinguishes) in dirt, And lips that used to sing, the grave-worms kiss. 06-08-81 * Unprecious Metal The corrosion of Time On your iron-wrought rhyme Is the color or reddening must. Though you write what you feel It is iron or steel Never gold, so it powders to dust. 06-22-81 * Aphrodite A kiss corrodes on the statues lips, Frozen for centuries, A tear made of marble softly slips Downward. But no one sees. The tourists walk past, indifferent. Bric-a-brac, they ignore. Erotic emotion in stones all spent, Cold as the art gallerys floor. 07-04-81 * Closing Time When the music stills, as the closing chords are played, I fancy I hear your name, I stay behind, and tipsy, I proclaim A toast! To our once-love, then limp home, passion-lame. 07-08-81 * The Price of Love (for Leilah Wendell) She was fashioned of nothing, wind and whispers, and sighing air, Yet she floated visible and taunting there, Faint phantom with ethereal, wispy hair. And she said, Come sleep with me In a voice like murmured, sombrous sea On the shoreline of Eternity. And I yearned with longing, thirsting for her liquid kiss, In a night of drawn-out, clinging bliss Still she hovered, teasing the air, and whispered this:

Beware, its understood In a bed of carven ebon wood On a black silk sheet well sleep for good. 07-12-81 * The Troubadour King The Troubadour King is an emperor, Over the realms untold Of mountainous heightof rivers and bright Deserts of sandy gold. The Troubadour King is a balladeer, Ruling by song or sword, And his enemies reel to the slash of his steel Swung by the poet-lord. And the royal refrain Is a chorus of rain, And sadness, uttered in song: Every life is so brief For a king--for a thief! And nothing endures for long! Now, plotters abound in the halls of the state, Bowing with grace and guile With their faces a mask, as they set to their task, Forcing an opaque smile. The monarch suspects, and so he ordains Sumptuous banqueting, Of spices and meats, and some sugary treats Afterwards, he will sing. The plotters lean back, with a belch and a sigh, Bored as theyve been before Then they gagand grow weakas the poisons wreak Death as they slide to the floor. And the royal refrain Is a chorus of rain And sadness, uttered in song: Every life is so brief For a kingand a thief! And nothing endures for long! 08-02-81 * Man-Of-Letters Requiem (for Kenneth Hopkins) The man-of numbers, not of letters, thrives, Computer-calculator-Man survives And shatters stained glass window-panes, Obsequious of Progress and its promised gains:

Arithmetic of Armageddon reigns. 09-15-81 * Bliss The seas of sleep Onrush and sweep Me to the shores of farthest dream, Where grounded, I In slumber lie Pillowed on diamond sands that gleam. Then dawning wakes My sleep and breaks Reddening-orange above my bed, And burns away With light of day Visions from night-land, fled and dead. 09-16-81 * Sacrifice Recalled I dreamed that by a grey-blue sea Familiar columns beckoned me, An onyx temple rearing stark Against the surf so dark. But in the temple drawn-out screams Destroyed nostalgic dreams The screams were mine, some four Millennia ago, in life before Black deja-vu, on Times far shore. 09-17-81 * Winner I wore a laurel wreath Placed on me, by me, My new-crowned head beneath Sneered triumphantly. I wore the offal flung Vengeful by the crowd, Instead of laurel, dung. Either one, worn proud. 07-21-80 * Rigged Game Life is a laugh of the grinning gods, Mockery dinning your ears; Finicky fortune arranges the odds:

Losers in Life win the tears. 09-29-81 * Road Ruts The wheel of failure, rolling near, Crushing each and all My flowers, till they disappear (April-sweet and Summer-tall) Flattened in the muds of Fall. 09-29-81 * Wee Watchers Little brother, look and see Fairy eyes that peep at me, Peep at me and peer at you, Fairies wearing leaves and dew. 10-02-81 * Certainty (or Bruce Boston) Theres a certain malaise I endure when I hear Muttering wind at night, And a certain alarm when I notice a queer Gaseous yellow-green light So ethereal and faintsee it now disappear, Dimming before my sight. But Im certain I saw it, unnervingly near, Swamp-vision, evil and bright. 10-09-81 * Posthumous Cuckold Why are you wiping your knife so clean? And isnt that blood on your handkerchief? (Goodness, my husband is angry Ive seen, Wishing hed dried it upon a leaf, Out in the forest to spare my grief.) Why are you staring at me, so cold, Oh Darling, he wasnt my lover, wait (Jealousys making my husband bold, Slaying my loverventing his hate Suddenly stabbing me!oh, Fate) (Finally peace is upon my heart, Im resting beneath an expensive stone.) Join me, my lover, we never will part, Up from our graves, out of rags and bone, Floating as one, in the Vast Unknown,

Leaving my husbandalivealone 10-12-81 * Holocaust Foreseen Mediaeval alchemist divined Atomic secrets of the cataclysmic kind, But veiled them under symbols so That only Adepts of the Quest would know. Those alchemists were cautious men They sensed potential Armageddoneven then. 10-13-81 * Last Visitor Who hears my cry in the night? Who smells the scent of my sweat? Who sees the pale of my fright? Who feels my forehead, so wet? None knows my tremble at all, None worries whether I die, None hears beyond the rooms wall, None hear my panicking cry, None but that Someone unseen to the eye Someone oppressing me here where I lie. 10-26-81 * Black Bridegroom Milady, I come for a kiss, You push me, rejected away, I offer you harlequin-bliss, The rapture of black and grey. Milady, youre yielding at last; My love is perpetually true, So press me against you, hold fast, My bed is cypress and yew, Im Thanatos. Eros is you. 10-29-81 * You I call your name aloud. This time. Not carefully in lyric rhyme, But shrill and all too recklessly Devoid of pretty poetry: YOU!!!! But penned, as spoken words, from me Are each the same: Futility. (you.)

11-02-81 * Song for Self-Immolators Resist Alluring, fatal nothingness Oblivions numbed, gloved caress And live. The valiant do no less; So brave all ill. Exist And more, enjoy! For grave ward we Must soon enough descend. Fight free. Above the ground, toward victory. For earth is chill. 11-06-81 * The Worlds Way The old and young are seldom near, Their voices sound apart: What makes one laugh, brings one a tear, Each has a different heart. The young think Loves a Tragedy, And older men are fools; The old reject youths honesty, And challenging of rules. 11-17-81 * Bright Prospect Armageddon is a new beginning! Everybody has a chance of winning Free vacation, pays for your expenses Warms you, and it stimulates your senses. Armageddon is everyones salvation. Born again in radiant creation. Come on in, and turn yourself to ashes! Melt away your eyeballs and lashes. 11-20-81 * Soaring The selfishness of poetry Consists of rhyming me Instead of you or him or her: Myself reflected, I prefer. The selflessness of poetry

Consists of being free Enough of me to shackle I-Effaced, yet visible to Gods vast eye. 12-08-81 * Cosmic Snub I cant convince Infinity To notice me, And galaxies of farther space Wont memorize my face. 12-21-81 * From Your Fianc I found your letters yesterday Eighteen years ago. You wisely wrote from Paris in francais Without the pride, without the show. Im glad to note, I feel no more, Reading you anew Except to marvel how your closing door Was shut so softly. Subtle you. The tactfulness in every line Missed me way back then. Your dignity indelibly divine Thanks come slow from certain men. 12-24-81 * On Meeting for the Last Time Contempt becomes your beauty not at all When adolescent passions pall. Your mockery, like my rebuked regret Should long ago have nulled and numbed. Forget. 12-25-81 * Aesthetes Passionless poets, posturing so cold Unmemorably pretty, never bold, Decadent, dreamy poseurs on the stage Unable to laugh, sob or rage. 1981 * A Vain Request Pain is much too personal for verse, Dont curse

The reader with your anger-anguished words. Rhyme flowers, sun and birds. 1981 * Arrested Development Im scarcely ready yet To write wise rhymes of middle age. What can be wrong? I still love song. And adolescent passions in me rage. My muse cannot grow up. Cold cautiousness Ill never learn. Until Im dust, sweet lyric lust With molten purple heat, will burn. 1981 * Delilah Goes Dancing Her Mama says, Daughter, take care when youre dancing, the boys, They dont step on your feet, Be fast on your toes. Wear your very best clothes, You never know who you might meet. Cause life is a ballroom, and youre at the center, With your dress and your pretty red hair. So get out there and dance, like a paperback romance, Cause you just might meet Fred Astaire. But the ballrooms were closed, and disco was over, Though in Texas they still like to swing. The fiddles enchant her, and the cowboys they dance her, And one of them offers his ring. Hes not big in cattle, no, and hes got no oil well, But hes got a Texas size grin. Shes in the family wayhe got a raise in pay And you ought to see her dance and spin Now her life is happy, and her life is tragic, And her life is like yours and mine. When her hair turns to grey and they lay her away, Her children walk by in a line. But sometimes at night you can see dear Delilah by the church at the top of the hill. She floats on the breeze, in and out of the trees. She dances and she always will Delilah goes dancing, shes spending her life in a whirl, Delilah goes dancing, that magical, musical dancing girl. 1981 * Exposed You really feel too deep, You let your sorrows seep Up the fissures in your soul:

Down your face they roll. 1981 * Frank James Been Living Too Long (1843-1915) The old man signs autographs, telling young boys how a lifetime of crime never pays, You heard from his legends he robbed a few banks in his younger and turbulent days; He works at the fairgrounds, hes starting the horse race, he shoots off his gun with a blast They use him for drawing a crowd with the tales of his troublesome, violent past. He works at the theater, taking the tickets, he works in a Wild West show, Reporters come round with the same old damned questions, and answers their readers must know: Now, say there, old-timer, hey what about Jesse your brotherwas he all that bad? And what about Northfield, and what about Nashville, those narrow escapes that you had? Frank James been living too long, and hes living on memories He tells you a story in trade for a drink or a job, Frank James been living too long, and hes living on memories. And how many payrolls and how many trains did he rob? Now he was eighteen when he joined up with Quantrill to fight in that sad Civil War, They rode into Lawrencea hundred and fifty civilians were slain, maybe more; And after the War both the Jamess and Youngers kept riding and robbing, so free But Frank James read Shakespeare and raised him a family and hid out in old Tennessee. Now Jesse was wilder and Frank James was milder, the difference was easy to tell, In St. Joe Missouri, his back to a friend, Jesse James took a bullet and fell, And Frank James surrendered, he came in so quiet, they took him to trial for his crimes Now airplanes and automobiles tell the outlaw he doesnt belong in these times. Frank James been living too long, and hes living on memories He tells you a story for a drink or a job, Frank James been living too long, and hes living on memories And how many payrolls and how many trains did he rob? 1981 *

Freedom Was the Death of Me We rode into Nacogdoches, with our pistols and our Bowie knives, Volunteers for Texaswe came to risk our lives. Some of us had families, and others, just the memory, And some of us they didnt hardly miss in Kentucky and in Tennessee. Some of us came for adventure, and others, we came for land; But at the Alamo down in San Antone we made our last stand.

Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it Liberty. But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republicso Texas could be free. But freedom was the death of me. Colonel Bowie from Louisiana, with a big knife at his side, He got drunk most every day, but he was sober when he died. Colonel Travis from Alabama, commander of the Alamo, He answered Santa Anna with a cannon shot, and he let the world know. Colonel Crockett, he was laughingwith his men he held the wall. But the Mexicans, they overcame them, and you know they killed them all. And the Mexicans kept coming, everyone of them was brave, But they turned the mission of the Alamo into a heroes grave. Susannah Dickinson, a lady from Tennessee Her husband died across his cannon, but Santa Anna let her go free, With her little girl, she went free. Santa Anna he grew careless Sam Houston he laid in wait Down on the San Jacinto River Santa Anna met his fate. Now the tourists load their cameras, in a San Antone motel, And they buy postcards and they suck on snow-cones, and they stand right where I fell. Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it Liberty. But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic, so Texas could be free. And freedom was the death of me. 1981 * Garden Despoiled (In commemoration, Mssrs. Thomas Eliot, and E. Pound, esqs.) Now the purpled poems pale To fading lavender: The brilliant orchids that they were Decline and droop and fail, And ugly, unpoetic weeds prevail. 1981 * Growth My jealousy was crushing: A friend had shouldered past, And seized my prize by rushing Past me, stealthy-fast. But jealousy can rust you, Corroding your inside; I shrug it off and trust new Friends, and quell my pride.

1981 * In Memory of Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1849) (for Neal S. Baron) Yes, Deaths the goal from birth, From womb to worms-in-earth, The distance but a seconds crazing race. Run well, run slack, the finish line, your coffin space. Yes, Deaths the favored theme (Mere Life, a tinsel dream) Chill Earth is real. Charade of livings not. In time, your silk-lined sleeping-box will rot. 1981 * Judy Garland Rainbow Go find yourself a Judy Garland rainbow, Shut your eyes and see it, oh, so clear. It draws you like a beacon, and it guides you like a star, so far from here. Keep searching for that Judy Garland Rainbow, People say youre foolish and nave. You walk that road of yellow bricks with confidence because you do believe. And its magic, yes, its magic, and oh, so pretty. Youre reaching, yes, youre reaching that Emerald City. And when you find that Judy Garland rainbow, Help somebody else to make it through, The Scarecrow and Tin Woodman know the secret, and I know theyll share it too. 1981 * Lifes Fleeting Day I. When the morning expands with a platinum smile, Horizon-wide, beaming grin, And the meadow extends, emerald mile upon mile, The anthems of sunrise begin! The diamond-dewed day suffices a glow Roseate on the blue, While sleepy-eyed people, stirring below, In renascence, waken anew. II. Afternoon is the chapter of life at its close, As shadows obtrude on your mind,

And lavender twilight turns purple the rose, And blackens until you are blind. The dusk hour descends till its shrouding your eyes, And earth is shoveled in place, Your eyelids now closed, as existence subsides, And clods carpet over your face. 1981 * Nashville Gentleman They called him Mister Howard when he lived in Nashville town, He lived inside a house that time has almost tumbled down, He lived across the river where the wealthy people did, He was a Nashville gentleman, he kept his real name hid. Nashville Gentleman, more than hundred years ago, Nashville Gentleman, someone you all know, Well-dressed, Nashville Gentleman. His Christian name was Jesse, and his brothers name was Frank, He made a living making large withdrawals from the bank, Missouri and Kentucky knew his name was Jesse James, In Nashville he was Mister Howard playing poker games. Nashville Gentleman, with a family, Nashville Gentleman, living secretly, Outlaw Nashville Gentleman. Now Jesse James left Nashville back in Eighteen Eighty-One, He died a short year later at the barrel of a gun, And Nashville still has heroes and their eyes are full of stars: Instead of loaded pistols, now theyre carrying guitars. Nashville Gentleman, just a memory, Nashville Gentleman, part of history, Jesse James of Nashville. 1981 * Nobody Knows Where the Good Times Are Gone Theres winners and losers and sometimes the difference aint nothing, Sometimes the losers in love must learn how to laugh, Theres not use reliving the past, or those twelve years of trying That woman, she emptied your walletexcept for that old photograph. Now, nobody knows where the good times are gone when theyre missing, Did you misplace them? Or did they just walk out the door? And nobody knows where the good times are gone when theyre over You wake up at four in the morning and wish you wont wake up no more. Nobody knows if the woman or man Was at fault, but you try and you try as you can

To recapture the love and the years that are just moving on. Nobody knows why her love had to cool, Why the future from here is a vinyl bar-stool, But its over. Nobody know where the good times are gone. Now, what kind of man prefers sad country songs in the morning? --Same kind of man that begins a new day with a beer. And what kind of man still remembers each one of their birthdays? --The same kind of man theyll discover one daywith a note thats too clear. 1981 * Playing By Ear (for Michael Eng) My fingers find the rusty strings And force them to the frets, And play a melody that rings Of love, and old regrets. The ancient tune is ever-new, The saddest song thats sung. The minor chordsthe color blue For fools who once were young. 1981 * Poetry Collection Ive bartered up my youth for books. And now my future looks Like one long glassed-in, book-lined shelf: Fairy poems. rhymes-of-elf, And dragon runesand songs-of-self. 1981 * Rodeo Troubadour The scars on his guitar were made by the rowels of a spur. He strums it so sweetly, pretending hes picking for her. But shes back at the ranch, and hes penned in this Utah motel: Hes the rodeo troubadour, with bronc-busting ballads to tell. A guitars not a cowboy, it only gets better with age. Its bones seldom fracture, and its corral is the bun-house or stage. It makes getting tromped in the dust sound like wild Western fun. Fir the rodeo troubadour, the musics the best prize hes won. And the melody rolls like the wind off the Pendleton plains. When his trophies are tarnished or pawned, his song remains. Red SovineRed SimpsonDave Dudley, they sing of those trucks. Roy AcuffBoxcar Williethey dont know that horse when it bucks. He might be an ex-Champion, or a cripple in a Calgary bar:

Hes the rodeo troubadour, and his fingers, they ride the guitar (coda) up and down, up and downyippietiyieeee 1981 * Soon (2) I cursed cursing And I blasphemed no more, My sinners soul rehearsing To face evermore. 1981 * Stilled Voice (for John Gawsworth, 1921-1970) Poetry is easy, life is hard, And so the bravest bard Begins to buckle with the weight of brutal years His singing disappears. 1981 * The Troubadour King Prologue: The song of the monarch of minstrelsy Hums down the hall of years, It echoes and rings in each gallery: The tune never disappears. Never, my child, no never my dear Venture away from here, Remain right at hand in a battle-red land With sword and your thirsty spear. Mother, I hear in the wind at night Voices that say take flight. They bid me to flea this insanity Away from this age-old fight. 1981 * Think Small You wonder what Im speaking of, Little words like faith and love, Flowers by the garden wall, Little children, two feet tall. Like a little paper boat, Like a one-page, thank-you note, Like a little rubber ball,

See it bouncing down the hall. Like a soft and warm hello Little words are big, you know, Compliments that you let fall, Think small, thats all, think small. 1981 * Truck Drivers Woman A truck drivers woman stays home and she raises the children, She talks about daddy, and how hes at work far away, And sometimes she wonders how some women marry the lawyers, And bankers, and college professors who come home each day. A truck drivers woman is lucky to see him on weekends, Shes happy to have a man who calls her up each night, From Boise or Memphis or someplace she never has heard of, Say, hello there, honey, I hope everythings going right. The years hasten by and theyre starting to show in her eyes, A truck drivers woman cant help it if sometimes she cries, The children are growing so fast she cant keep them in clothes, And they talk of that daddy the littlest one hardly knows. The truck drivers woman cant stand anymore so she changes, She rides in the truck now, to keep her tired husband awake, The children come too and they sometimes miss out on some schooling, But theyre all together, this family is too strong to break. 1981 * Two Kinds of Poets The Timeless and the Timely are so close and yet so far, The former scans beyond the Earth and sees the farthest star. The latter reads the fashions of the fleeting trends today. Tailoring his poems, fearing what the critics say. 1981 * Autumn Bloom (for Anne) Happiness reblooms anew, And age is less with me. The flowering is late, the petals few But planted youthfully by you. I pluck ecstatically. 01-10-82 * January

I love the winters whitened chill, It brings me close to me: For man who cannot bear to be Alone is soft, and lacks cold will. I loved the summers passion-heat Away from me, awhile toward you: Enticing me anew. But thens not now. Snow. Wind. Sleet. 01-15-82 * Devout God is dead, but women do not know it Charmingly refuse to show it! Performing major little acts of love: Little childrenlittle flowers plucked for wearing, Bigger burdens bearinggraceful caring And terrifying doubts, unmindful of. 01-16-82 * Souvenir I sail on a sea of crystal dream, Far from Realitys shore, And notice a phosphorescent gleam Lighting the ocean floor. The towers of deep Atlantis shine Underneath water and moon, And mermaids above form a chorus line Crooning a siren tune. Escaping their lure I set my sail Heading for home instead, And wake up to find a mermaid scale Dripping, beside my bed. 01-18-82 * Me, Since You Love shorn, Life torn, Hurt borne. Spiked thorn. 01-22-82 * Endangered Fowl The little people pray for peace, The supplication goes unheard The Christian nations bombs increase,

And soon the doves a dead white bird. 01-26-82 * Country Farmhouse No building long survives Times hurricane, It scatters shingles, rends each roof And bares the rafters to the rain, The skeleton of walls stands proof That nothing fashioned by mere Man endures aloof. 01-82 * Myopia Cured I must concede, I must confess My wisdoms from unhappiness: The insight of the salty tear Stings my cloudy vision clear. 02-06-82 * Realism I only rhyme things I can see, Facts irrefutably true Like the elves in the shade of a lollipop tree, And fairies of green and blue. To civilization Im blind: Cities and factory smoke Are scenarios out of a lunatics mind, And progress and peace the last joke. 02-10-82 * Cartographic-Typographic Note The place known as hell should be capitalized, So print it as Hell if you please. A particular place to where we tumbled from grace Noosed, as we dance in the breeze. 02-12-82 * Paradox Pieties A child asleep is wiser than A waking, book-befuddled man. A nursing mothers mightier Than all the kings that ever were. And blind old men, decrepit, lame,

Are visionaries all the same: Seers of divine, immortal flame. 02-17-82 * Bob Dylan (1941- ) They said he was this voice of youth. That was the biggest lie. It wasnt told, but he was old, And old men tell the truth. A Jewish gypsy with guitar Heard the children cry In napalm hells. His music tells Us who we were, and worse, still are. 02-21-82 * In the Name of Defense Its time to pay taxes once more, Well buy a new war, as before, And purchase some lead they can shoot in the head Of a baby in El Salvador. 02-21-82 * Ringing Up the Till Ive said before, And say once more A poems monetary worth is nil. Its heart-wrung cost Is always lost Inside the cash-drawer of the till. 02-28-82 * Documentary (for L. Sprague de Camp, author of Lands Beyond) The wilder is the tale, the more it must not die. Recorded historys the lie. Atlantis and Cibola, and Sargasso Sea And Flying Dutchmaneach, to me, reality. 03-06-82 * Wife Self-pity is my mistress and my muse. Her softness is erotic and sublime, And later when she vampires all my time

Ill bid her leave. But shell refuse. 03-08-82 * Death by Mirrors I cry in the hollow of my years: Reverberant despair resounds. None hears. I run searching down the corridors for you But youre not here. Echoes mock anew. Is this alls meant by silence, this? The violence of stillness. Deaf-mute bliss. On cold, metallic walls, I press a kiss And realize the surfaces are glass Mirrors Ive been passing. Reflected dreams harass As I fall crumbling, staring at the mass Of mocking memories that stare right back: I see you. Me. Then all goes black. 03-10-82 * Impregnation/Conflagration Ill love you on the eve of Armageddon, Our bodies will exult and cells unite, Semen I will seed wont bear fruition, As humankind aborts in blinding light. 03-13-82 * After Explaining the Draft to My Four-Year Old In our nations final, fatal stages Before our country falls From cowardice within, Our daughters die for soldiers wages. And when the bugle calls Out tapsit sounds our sin. 03-15-82 * Processional Imperial centuries march by, Purple canopies, and gold Enameled chairs that slaves lift high Pass before me. Pompous. Bold. Immortal Time himself rides past, Borne along in grand parade, A monarch from the first to last Skeleton in gilt brocade. Time, the cruelest cavalcade. 03-16-82 *

Geography If there is Heaven, it lies right here, And not just some farther place: The joyful crystal of a tear Hallowing your face. If there is Hades, it lieswhere? I rather would not say! Exact locationhere? Or there? Never ask. You know which way. 03-18-82 * Keeping on Course Over the oceans of airy dream Sailing the ship of joy, Tossed like a cardboard toy I steer by a stars enticing gleam. There on the rocks the sirens sigh, Hearkenahoy, ahoy, Hitherward, sailor boy But even in sleep, I sail right by. Wax-in-the-ears. Deaf to their luring cry. 04-04-82 * Inscrutable Is love a poem or just plain prose? Is it life instead of art? Is it religion, or a literary pose? Psychologyor the fragrance of the rose? Arcane, mysterium of the heart. 04-09-82 * The Song of Silence Singing lovers have their season, Till their melodies are mute And their words expire with lyrical regret. Yes, our music had its moment, Feeble notes upon the flute And a minor-chorded tune well soon forget. Never hearken for the encore. Never listen for the lute, For the strings are scraping rusty on each fret. 04-22-82 *

Victory (2) This thousandth time I vow to strive. Nine hundred ninety-nine Ive lost. But one more try proves Im alive, And heedless of lifes countless cost. 05-01-82 * Secret Therere poems enough, so why one more Cluttering up the page? The best were written long before Unrivaled by this age. The answer is only known to those Fools of verse and rhyme Who jingle their measures, till lifes close Uncowedunbowed!by Time. 05-11-82 * Two Flowers My daughter picks a golden Flower from the grass To wear within her hair, so proud: Shell stand out in the pre-school crowd. But flowerings of final Smoke will come to pass, And pick out her. Mushroom cloud Plucks children. Oh! So loud! 05-13-82 * Regrettably Yours He had grown up in a country run by politicians Who sent the pilots to man the bombers to kill The babies to make the world safer for children To grow up in. Ursula K. LeGuin, The Lathe of Heaven (1971) The Japanese were herded into prison pens, The pigmentation yellow was their crime (Their savings and their precious farms we stole in time) But things like that regrettably occur in war. We genocided Dresden, Hamburg, and Cologne, Incinerating families alive (But babies born of Germans needed not survive), And things like that regrettably occur in war.

We shipped the Russian refugees in box-cars back To certain death, or slave campswho could care? (Our soldiers shot the ones resisting-in-despair.) But things like that regrettably occur in war. We dropped the warning leaflets on the Japanese, Those stupid Orientals didnt take the cue So atom bombs were needed to convince them, too, That things like that regrettably occur in war. In Operation Phoenix many thousands died, Some pushed from planesfrom pegs punched through the ear Electrodes on the genitalsno one wants to hear The things America regrettably has done in war. The cockroach and the spider will inherit all, Uncaring why the human species burned Itself away, and why our leaders never learned Exactly what regrettably occurs in war. 06-02-82 * Halo The hair on my daughters head asleep Is precious as bullion, treasured deep, A golden reminder and proof that I Accomplished a little before I die. 06-29-82 * Birthday Eve The words of the witch from the smoky pyre Fell on my ancestors head. He spat disdain at the hissing fire And cursed at the curse she said. He died that month, his thirtieth year, Birthday and death-day the same, And so did is son, and his son, till here Im the last to possess their name. I carry a cross, but so did they. Doctor has checked meIm fine. But still I am panicked, todays the last day Of the year that Im twenty-nine. 06-30-82 * Sword-Song of a Paretic I. The echoing din of hammered steel

Anviled and tempered strong, Resounds in your head like a blacksmiths song Clanging till you feel The heat of the weapons shop. II. Old Thor and apprentices, forging new Weapons for gods to wield: The clatter of crafted blade and shield Deafens and maddens you Your brain is their weapons shop. III. The gods go to battle, valiantly. Clattering swords engage Each other, as breakers surge and rage Up from the storm-struck sea With throbbing that will not stop As wavesand the broad-axechop! 08-02-82 * Evaporation Im dreaming your face in the silvery dawn, An opaline image of white, Evanescently faint, like a hand-painted saint, Piously pale in the light. I worshipfully wait for the sharpening lines To clarify features of you, But planes in your face are dissolving in space, And another dull day starts anew. 08-03-82 * L Envoi Faded roses sadly flung, Graves and ghosts and grue: Such are songs Ive always sung And will. I hate the new. 08-03-82 * Cold-War Liberals Born-again nuclear warfare foes, Finally raising their voice, Now that wars fashionable to oppose, Making the comfortable choice. Now that their suburbs are under risk (Rather than Japanese),

They spin about face! And manage a brisk Chorus of Nuclear Freeze. 08-09-82 * An Idle Question You dont agree. You never have, you know, Ignoring poets every time. Humanity! Youve little distance left to go Before you wreak your final crime: A winnable nuclear war. (By whom? Our children asleep in their room?) 08-31-82 * Elaine, Ethereal (for Marge B. Simon) I glimpsed you strolling as you always used to do, Graceful as a playful breeze On the knoll alive with lilies, yesterday. You wore that tailored shirt of sailor-blue, Tattered jeans above your knees And your dust-gold hair in sunny disarray. Erotic wraith, I know youve been untrue! Deaths the lover whom you please. He seduced you, pretty phantompallid, fey, In denim-blue and sunlit gold. And I feel grey As your marker, where I kneel and pray. 09-10-82 * Except, Perhaps, Prayer Curse. Rail. Spit. In short impress your peers With your modernity. Sneer. Scoff. Hit. But naught will save You in eternity. 09-15-82 * Eastland Avenue The amber of autumn is tinting the trees Brown with a varnish of gold

From the sun-fall. Crisp, dry, brittle leaves softly die Like an unfinished story half-told. The leaves are like pages that nobody reads, Blowing indifferent on wind In September, like waste paper scattered in haste. Barren trees, like my passions: all thinned. 09-20-82 * Anne (3) Loves more than feeling, its will-power strained Tense as a wire, so pleasurably-pained. Love is decision, as firm as our Gods, Daring, defiant of all earthly odds. Love is a flower, but fashioned of stone, Rugged, unwithered, petals unblown. Love isnt poetry, love isnt song. Loves in your heat-tempered soulsteelystrong. 09-24-82 * Black Guide A shrouded and somber shape Carries each one of us home; Not a man nor a woman escape Repose, six feet in the loam. The guide is the gentlest of Servants: his soft, sweet hands Will caress us with holy love In black-curtained slumberlands. 09-29-82 * Destination (for Gerald W. Lunt) The bony finger beckons, The skeletons white hands Invites us all. The skull-pale pall Of marble juts and stands Monumental, in the grave-thick lands. Oblivions sweet country Is glowing moonlit-bright, The markers loom. Each urn-capped tomb Is skeletally stark tonight. Hasten toward the tempting, funereal light 09-82 * Demora, Goodbye

I. I slept, and saw your face again, pale against the dark of dream.. Demora, how you haunt my tossing sleep anew! Unfaithfulthis you sigh across oblivions black stream That flows like Lethe in my memory I left you, yesbut for that vampire-mistress, Poetry. II. She drains my youth and presses brief sanguine kisses on my soul, And I write sonnets named for her, not you, Although, Demora, you I rather should extol. But I was won away by Poetrys sweet lies, While you, Demora, stifle sobs and martyred cries. III. I woke and saw your face again, bright across the fog of years, Demora, all too late. Futility remains. All else is through. For Poetry deserted me, months ago. She left no tears, But hinted at a younger lover she desired. Her love for me (like mine for you, Demora), nows expired. IV. .. 10-13-82 * Anne (4) Your musical smile Tinkles like silver rain, On your face, a sky of gold. The tunes still in style Lyrical, fond refrain Like a diamond, never old. 10-18-82 * Gardening I pull up weeds and dig them Out by blade and hand, Then gasoline for poisoning To root them from my land. The toughest, most resistant Weeds are colored black: The choking dread within my head. I yank, but it grows back. 10-19-82 *

In a Glass, Clearly The politicians croak Defense! Patriot-pretense Of cowards wholl not live to see Results of their obscenity. Our childrens life spans hewn in half, Reaped like sickled chaff By scythes of war. Not if but when. Our sons will never be old men. 10-82 * The Last Victorian Stanton Coblentz (Aug. 24, 1896Sept. 6, 1982) He was an Atlantean seer decades ago In science fiction though hed not yet heard the word: In poetry his fantasies would flow Ecstatic toward the stars. A stellar, lyric bird, ThenArmageddons shadow seemed to grow And cloud his verse. He warnedbut was unheard. 11-05-82 * November Canvas Red dogwood limbs spike the sky-line And molten yellow oak Combines its gold with red this fall. Thus God has signed His by-line, With paint-brush masterstroke On the blue-glazed sky, with Pigment trees, so stately tall. 11-08-82 * Spoken by a Sprite Soft and unsubstantial , me, Im feathery, ethereal mist Slipping into hazed obscurity Through the fingers of lifes fist. Later, when you see the dew A-dazzle on the silver green, Know my vagrant spirits born anew In the crystal morning. Near. Unseen. 11-19-82 * Hadrians Wall, Revisited

Grim stones still undulate across green land, Mute monuments to legends passing on Imperial Roman eagles, rusted, gone Before barbarians, slaying with a hairy hand. Squat painted savages rose in a band Against the sentries on the fortressed wall Toppled standards, banners, each to fall Forever. Caesars empire could not withstand. There looms another siege-wracked wall today: Poets standing guardwith bureaucrats below Whose sharpened pencils for their sanguine spears. The ladders risedefenders join the fray As boiling oil is spilled in scalding flow But walls are breached. Poets pierced. No one hears. 11-25-82 * Bargain I suck life dry. The juice spurts out To slake my drought And some squirts in my eye. It stings. I blink But once or twice: A modest price To purchase life, I think. 12-08-82 * Chanson de la Mort Lets sing a song about Death! Lets hear it for graveyards and grue! Lets rhyme the word bones with the obvious stones Under stereotypical cypress and yew. Its charnel house comedy night. The bones dance around on the grass. Now the contests begunand the best couples won; A skeleton laddie and lass. 12-18-82 * Death of a Conqueror** (1907-1979) Did we murder John Wayne with our nuclear dust? The Duke was invincible when He won World War II in the films we all knew, A surrogate father back then. Did we murder John Wayne? Was it all the bad scripts? Or cancer, from taxes we paid? Did he lack the true grit to survive from a bit

Of fallout our precious bombs made? Did we murder John Wayne? Officials say no, Those nuclear tests were risk free. Like John, to us youth, bureaucrats tell the truth In this nuclear land of the Free. 12-19-82 **The incidence of cancer in the cast of The Conqueror (1956) Filmed in Utah is 65% above the national average. * Laugh-In (For Richard L. Tierney) I. Sardonical skulls in the afternoon Grin from across the sky, And their ivory hue is a vista of grue: Sockets without either eye. II. A skeletal yellows the face of the moon, Mocking and smirking, down At the trivial Earth, whose absence of worth Conjures up mirth, not a frown. III. The teeth form a sneer at the promise of soon, Total extinction below: A world catching firea suicide pyre Nuclear blast. What a show! Hey-dee-dee, ha-ha, ho! 12-25-82 * Christmas Symbols November casts its leaves and days away. The calendars last, best, page remains December. And our losses and our gains Are summed across a sky of frigid grey (Forgiving sins from some far August day), Our slate scrubbed clear. The month now wanes; And yet behind Decembers sleeted panes There crackles warmth: an ancient mystery play. Its symbols are the holly and the scented pine. Humility, not vanity, at end-of-year, And peace to our trespassers and our friends. The English mistletoethe gift of yours and mine And carols that poor sinners, like ourselves, most hear Then, manger-ward, a band of seers wends. 1982

* Diagnosis Insanity Is vanity, The narcissistic cry Of I, I, I, I, I, I, I. And happiness Consists of less Analysis, and more of trust In Him Who fashioned us from dust. 1982 * Its About Time My Time Came Around I love the blue denim dress you wear, and the way that your yellow hair glows, Wide-open eyes and a soft, sexy smile, like a late-blooming rose, Sometimes I wonder why I never noticed the way that you move when you walk. Lets go together somewhere in the country, I want to do more than just talk. Its about time my time came around, and Ive sure been down a time or two. Its about time my time came around, and its time I got around to you. Kick off your shoes and get closer to me, and well let all the years slip away, Bright country mornings and soft meadow grass, and a love that we knows going to stay. Spreading a blanket down under the tree, till our hearts and our bodies give in, I want to see how the sunlight reflects, when its smiling all over your skin. 1982 * Dont Play the Sad Songs The disc jockey said, Tell me, what were you doing, when this was number one? And were you cutting classes with somebody special, with surfboards in the sun? And who were you dating, what class were you taking, when this song hit the charts? And I sing along, then it hits me deep down. That old nostalgia starts. Dont play the old songs, The tears might fall. Dont play the old songs, I know them all (And so do you.) Id rather not sing when Im driving alone those songs we use to do. Remember how your mother said I told you so, that year when we were through? Theres nothing so sad as those million-selling songs that never seem to die; We all bought a copy and we learned the words and words can make you cry. 1982

Eternal Balladry I hear the songs of working people played By three-piece bands, sung part off-key In taverns, with electric amplifiers turned up high, Or up the mountains where the tunes have stayed Changeless, for two hundred years of song. This Anglo-Celtic minstrelsy can never die So long as mandolins and fiddles cry Their plaintive songs of true, true love turned wrong Of Godand ghostsand deaths and birth, And square-dance reels where clapping couples throng. Upon the oceanson the plainsthere, the songs are made For people close to water, dust and earth, Where love and grief give music all its worth, And where the troubadours ply their timeless trade. 1982 *

Eternal Soldier (2) Ive marched this field before In lives Ive lived long past, And yet Ill strive and last A thousand lifetimes more Through smoke and cannon-roar. Ive fought with club and gun, And on and on Ill fight Till radiating bright New bombs as bright as sun Combust us, everyone. 1982 *

Faith (2) I have clung loyal to my dear poetic line, Its stilted constancy, Its artificial, all too fine Stiffened symmetry. For twenty years it has been truly mine, If borrowed from before; Old quatrains in the quaint design

Modernists abhor. 1982 *

Four Kinds of Lonely Theres four kinds of lonely, and I know them all, One of thems summer. And one of thems fall, One of thems winter. And one of thems spring; Theres four kinds of lonely, to each one I sing. In spring-time I think of that year when we met, In summer I think how you hadnt left het, In autumn I think how you left like the leaves, In winter I hear you when the wind hits the eaves. In spring-time I look at those flowers you grew, In summer I walk through the woods we once knew, In autumn I miss you, and I always will, In winter I stand by your stone in the chill. Theres four kinds of lonely, and I know them all, One of thems summer. And one of thems fall, One of thems winter. And one of thems spring; Theres four kinds of lonely, to each one I sing. 1982 * Frost Dirge You scatter songs upon the breeze Of August, casting all Your lyrics and your May-time melodies Away, before Fall Descends with desolating pall. You hear your tunes on autumn gales, In banshee-echoed sound Of late November. Music wails In mockery as storm-gusts pound. Your summer chords cannot be found. The dirge of winter-time completes Oblivion of all youve sung. December weathers wind defeats Your muse. With ice, your lyre is hung, Its frost-snapped strings unstrung. Your sleet-bejeweled Deaths head strives to sing Through Time-clenched teeth. But no notes ring. 1982

* Home-Town Reunion Have you ever come home, after years on the run? Have you gone through the years of yesterdays fun? Have the friends youve forsaken remained true to you? Have you paid for their drinks, while you asked them whats new? Have you listened to names echo out of the years? Have you tried hard to feel any laughter or tears? Have you tried to remember that long-ago love? Have you heard that shes got a new name that shes proud of? Have you come to remember why your friends stayed behind? And what about all those things you must find? Is your destiny here, or in some other town? Its a home-town reunion, and you drink the wine down. For the highways a heaven youve learned to love well, And the stories youve seen, no one wants you to tell. Its a home-town reunion, and you talk of the past, You must be polite, and you mustnt leave fast. Its a home-town reunion, but you feel far away, Its a home-town reunion, and you dont want to stay. 1982 * How Do I Sign This Christmas Card? How do I sign this Christmas card? Is it from me and you? Do we let everybody know This time were really through? Your leaving caught me off my guard, How do I sign this Christmas card? How do I sign this Christmas card? I hate to forge your name, I hate to let our people learn This year were not the same. 1982 * Jane Merchant (2) Invalid of flesh (but not of soul), She saw Creation whole, And hymned the seasons come to pass Beyond her bedroom window-glass December treesand April rain-wet grass. 1982

* On Learning of a Third Claimant to the Throne of Redonda Redondas mystery abides, Luring soul toward soul Across Atlantics calms and tides, Questing for the goal. But all is mist. Redonda hides, Its truth inscrutable upon its royal scroll. 1982 * Poetry Rules Speak your heart as women can, Yet be brutal as a man, And like a little child, use rhyme, Then like the very old, brave Time. Take from Nature, take from town, But write your observations down, And steal from ancient poets, too (But leave no fingerprints, no clue). 1982 * Requiem for Rhymesters You have stood against the crowd, Indifferent as it hooted loud And leering at your maundering. But the crowd forever wins Its vast, collective Deaths Head grins, And all you poets are Lifes underlings. 1982 * Rodeo Rainbow His belt buckles holding his courage up, Its polished and engraved, like a golden cup, Its a bronze bucking bronco he wears with pride Its a symbol of a man born to ride. His horse trailers parked by that old truck stop. A plate full of pancakes on the counter-top. The waitress is serving him her breakfast grin His eyes are open rangesand she rides right in. And she sees Indian silvershe sees Oklahoma sun She sees Montana blue, and those prizes hes won, She sees blood on the horns of a devil steer, The pictures so clear, Its a rodeo rainbow,

Its a rodeo rainbow. The date on his buckles 1988 He tucks a dollar bill under his plate; He says, Honey, Id like to take you dancing some time, But Im on that come-back ride, and its a climb. A highway patrolman drops by around nine, He says, Some motorist been drinkingand he crossed the solid line Influential and hes wealthyand some cowboys dead By that hot greasy griddle, she bows her head. And she sees Indian silvershe sees Oklahoma sun She sees blood on the horns of a devil steer, The pictures so clear, Its a rode rainbow, She sees a rodeo rainbowfor a long, long time. 1982 * Spatial Symphony The song of the planets echo on, Long after Earth spins still. Gyroscopic cosmic will Revolves when petty Man is gone. Infinitudes rhapsody is the score, Played by the starry choir: Spheric strumming on Gods lyre Endures melodic, evermore. 1982 (rev. 1991) * Take Arms Against Adversity Punctured psyches leak their essence out, Seized by fear, diminished by the lees; Courage, perforated by the brains fool doubt, Unreservoired, cascades towards Deaths black seas. Dyke your valor, dam your pooled-up will! Panic breaches sea-walls in your heart. Brave the craven oceans salty chill Till cowardice recedes, its tides depart. 1982 * The Battle of Northfields Begun Somebody special just rode into Northfield, Somebody famous and bold, Long linen dusters concealing their pistols, Theyve come to steal all our gold.

James boys and Youngers, theyre up from Missouri, Riding so slow into town, Mighty warm welcome in South Minnesota, Were going to cut that gang down. Peace-loving farmers, were New England Yankees, Swedes and Norwegians here too. Weve got a college and weve got some churches, Weve got a bank, yes we do. Up to the windows and ready your rifles, The Battle of Northfields begun! Blasting those bandits right out of their saddles, Dropping them dead in the sun, The Battle of Northfields begun, The Battle of Northfields begun! Mister Gustavson, he couldnt speak English, He didnt do what they said, After they killed him they murdered another: Bank-teller shot in the head. Out in the street, now were using our shotguns, This time weve evened the score. Couple of outlaws stretched out on the sidewalk: They wont rob banks anymore. Well put Cole Younger in Stillwater Prison, Twenty-five years in a cell. Time to think over September the seventh, Northfield turned into hell. Up to the windows and ready your rifles, The Battle of Northfields begun! Blasting those bandits right out of their saddles, Dropping them dead in the sun. The Battle of Northfields begun! 1982 * Legacy I seize a torch, near guttered black, And blow its glow to flame. And for a moments glint of fame It sparks, then fails. True breath I lack. Before the ember coals, Ill pass it to Some bolder bard than me, To breathe its luminosity, All right. Perhapsthat poets you. 01-03-83 * Citadel Stormed

Hark! The marching feet of fears, Tramping down your battlefield brain: An army no one hearsbut you. You feel sharp spears That thrust and hurl with scarlet stain. Flee! The phantom infantries descend Massacring angels in your mind With scimitars that rend. Retreat. Do not defend, But cower, maimed and blind. And now: victorious fifers pipe a piercing skirl! Atop the turret of your soul black flags unfurl. 01-03-83 * Your Servant I am your bayonet, spiking the peasants child, I am the phallus, raping the peasants wife, I am the maggot, boring the corpses piled; I will protect your way of life For I am Wardeployed by you On missions civilian hands wont do. 01-21-83 * Monday Morning I dreamed I was back in the land that lies In back of the farthest lands The pastures of crystalline silver grass Where the brown-sugar castle stands. And under the opaline-tinted skies I gamboled with childish glee, Till rain washed the turrets away, alas, And the meadow turned mud on me. Thus slumber seduces with dreamland lies, I wake up a cynic, and old. Outside the cacophonous traffic will pass While I wait for my bus in the cold. 02-09-83 * Todays Style Sheet Rhyme is a crime, A misdemeanor or more. And cadence is worsea rhythmical verse Is a felony critics abhor. Love gets a shove In the ash-can where Beauty belongs. Psychosis is inoptimisms a sin: Down the toilet with heart wringing songs!

02-16-83 * Times Palmistry (for Rose Wolf) Between your fingers slip the diamonds of each day; Seconds, minutes, hours as well Are strewn like cinders in the muddy mire away, Tamped and trampled where they swiftly fell. Inside your palm, faint diamond shapes remain Outlines, etched from clutching tight These lines remind you of gemmed years upon the wane Diamonds gone. Soon comes the onyx night. 02-18-83 * Empty Palm The grasping fingers grip The straws of life in vain, They splinter, snap or slip Away, and naught remain. The seizing hand holds dust. Lifes legislated law Decrees: who clutches, must Not even keep one straw. 02-22-83 * On Seeing Joan Baez Close the Grammy Awards Show, February 23, 1983 She came on at the end, An old nostalgic friend, And Blowin in the Windthey let her do that song. But yet the lyrics blurred The last lines were not heard About how many deaths? that still are wrong. El Salvador: VietnamJoan never will belong On television. Flower-soft and soldier-strong. 02-24-83 * Necrobibliophilia My house of cards is built of books And rare first editionstattered paper-backs Photocopied pages (where no scholar ever looks) Of curiosa, unobtainable, in rows on rowstall stacks. My house of cards all topples when The gust of passing years exhales

And volumes tumble, like their owner then, The copies scattered in the dealers sales And grieve quaint poetrybizarre forgotten tales My bookless phantom wails. 03-15-83 * The Tritest Song RenewalEaster,,,April loverebirth Are easy, archetypal terms for when Fresh shoots begin to green the thawing Earth And fill with sweet clichs this poets pen. At least I know what Spring is not The cruelest months not April, no, In spite of Mister T. S. Elliot Whose Spring and soul were both of snow. But he was young. Age brings surcease, And Spring, forsythia and daffodils, As flowered sonnets sprout, increase, And decorate the rain-swelled rills. Thus, in the landscape of my autumn brain The hues of yellow and of green remain. 03-23-83 * Lycanthropic Liberation (2) Her grand-dame, years before, Had warned her: Never look Inside that black-bound book Of German, legend-whispered lore! She opens it today Her husband wonders why Until he hears the cry So bestial, weird and far away. And now he lives alone, His health is dimming fast. But hark! He chills aghast To hear that distant, female moan. 04-05-83 * Graveyard Verse Verities (2) (for A. Langley Searles) I. The raven, yew and cypress, each Reminded Man of deaths long reach, Two hundred years ago: a page Of wood-cuts from the Gothic age. II.

Today, the poets sense of gloom Is fear of life, not of the tomb; And shrouds of existential dread Enshadow Mans dank crypt: his head. 04-14-83 * Riven Fools believe in fantasy. Skeptics see through all. Devout and doubting, both in me, Divided by a schizoid wall. 05-17-83 * Devouring Yesterdays We grind up centuries between our teeth. We gulp the decades down, Digesting eras with a self-pleased smile. We spit out months that taste too green, But chew up years all brown, And swallow ripened seasons served in style. At Times vast feast millennia are spread For banqueting: we glutton gods are fed. 05-18-83 * On Viewing New Buildings in Washington, D. C. (for Natalie Eng) Mans lofty hopes once soared in stone. His architecture sought Gods sky, In spires uprisen, sprung from earth. Today, mans mood is crudely shown In concrete cubes that smite the eye, Brute paleoliths of stone-age worth That future archeologists, amazed, will scan, And ponder did ape-like artisans evolve from man? 05-18-83 * Sahara Doom Scape I. Whitening sands upmirror desert glare, Glinting, underneath my minds burnt sun Paling, dream expanse. And there I wander, rootless in some Netherwhere Mental vagabond, my trek begun

Picaresque romance! II. Whitening bones appear by poison springs, Dread oasis, tempting me to drink. Shining, silver pool, Mirage aglow. A maiden floats on glassine wings Beckoning me toward the toxic sink. Reckless, I sip cool Blighted waters. Thirsty fool. 05-20-83 * Anti-Communist Manifesto World Communisms sure to spread Where U. S. moneys spent, And mild reformers turn bright red As Yankee guns are sent To kill those who dissent. The Marxists actually approve Our foreign policy. By arming tyrannies, we move Poor nations left as left can be. The real dupes are you and me. 05-26-83 * Nashville: 1978: Marie Ragghianti Well-manicured and rich Clandestine fingers spent, And purchased murder, down in Tennessee. They meant to kill the bitch Who hung embarrassment Upon their cozy aristocracy. They aimed to slay each snitch Informing on their permanent Regime. And two or three They got, but not their protg Marie, Turned nemesis, Marie. 05-31-83 * Suburban Sidewalk An ancient hitching-post survives Too strong and stable to tear down; The horse-drawn cart no more arrives, For Time has altered Man and town. 05-83 *

Seeing Sammi Smith in Nashville (Printers Alley, June 7, 1983, 1:00 AM) Fell in love with her in Oregon A dozen dreams ago, And two hard thousand miles away. Juke box in a reeking tavern Took my quarters in a row So one same song incessantly could play. Now the distance is foreshortened Scant twenty feet or so My minstrel-mistress sprung from yesterday Makes love-by-microphone across the night-club floor, Beguilingly, like countless times before. 06-07-83 * Marie Ragghianti: Nashville, 1977-83 The heroine is human, happily (To sanctify the living is a blasphemy); And all that matters is her crucial act, Irreducible, brave crystal fact. Yet in her home-town, always shell bestir Disdainand awe: mixed monument to her. 06-19-83 * Embrace (2) Iron-winged angel with riveted wings Gliding down steel-colored skies Is fashioned of girders and concrete and brick, Floating toward you. You thrill when she sings, Sweet as a jack-hammerweep when she cries Forgiveness in phrases metallic and thick. The Angel descends , and industrial fumes Exhale from her lips. Copper nostrils shoot spumes Of vaporthe chemical angel now looms. 7-83 * Rudder My life is a tool Obeying the rule Of vast supernatural force With faith for my fuel To rocket me forth, on course 08-27-83 * Condemned

Curse the poets with oblivion. They havent changed a thing. There still is war and pestilential greed In spite of how they sing. Damn the poets to perdition. They havent fathomed Fate. The grave is still inscrutable, yet near No poet makes death wait. Banish poets to cruelest torture. They deserve the rack For promising your heart to me When rhymes wont woo you back. 09-23-83 * Pruned There is not long before the severing of all. Sheared off in bloom the rose will fall, Crushed underfoot, on lifes stone walk. The moments left to bloom are prized ones still, Split-second, flowering!until Black snipping scissors clip lifes stalk. 10-09-83 * No Sex Sex cannot be in poetry. The details might offend, So when in verse, pretend Its never done by you or me. 10-10-83 * Conviction A man, to survive must never once care For what the effete folk think Vicarious cowards who, jealous, stare And knowingly share a wink. The cautious exceed the daring, ten On twenty to one, at least. They never suspect, for actual men Adventure is lifes vast feast. They tally success by approvals nod, Of fashionable acclaim Real heroes feed vultures on fear-soaked sod, No marble to mark their name. 12-04-83

* Thrust Home I strive to smelt my feelings in a crucible of art, I plunge them into tears until the hissing starts; And after they are cooling, then I hammer them with zeal: A rapier forged of supple, double-edged poetic steel. I lunge it at my enemies imaginedusually, Or raise it in salute to valiant friends, so loyally, Or turn the weapon on myself, then finally To stab my pretenses, skewered with Why me? 12-04-83 * Periodical Horror Ephemeral pulp magazines survive In readers memories Or microfilm archive reels, Where desolate graveyards are still alive And shapes under cypress trees Arise, as the death-knell peels. The sensuous covers are livid red Or luminous greenish-blue Where maidens fend off some beast, Within: certain stories endure, undead, The classics of fear and grue Where literate ghouls still feast. 12-09-83 * Self-Strangle Barbed-wire words Wrap my neck around, And noose me, sanguine-tight, Feet kicking off the ground. 12-21-83 * To Not Return Theres an arc of a rainbow ringing Round the horizons rim, And the colors collect on the brim Of the world. I hear singing, But of angels (or sirens) its not clear. Either way, they entice me afar from here. 12-23-83 * Back Then They Called Us Rustlers

The gunfighters came up from Texas; they arrived on the railroad train; The Cattlemens Association was bound to control the range. They had a sheet of paper, a list of names, of men they had to kill; And they left some cowboys bodies in the Wyoming April chill. Back then they called us rustlers, cause we fought for our own piece of land, Back then they called us rustlers, cause now and then we changed a brand. They had the money, and they owned the Governor, Back in the year of Ninety-Two, in the Johnson County War. In a cold Wyoming November, we lost our three-year old boy, And my woman she didnt say nothing, as she packed up for Illinois. And you wouldnt believe it to see me now, I work for the biggest ranch in the state, And the owner, hes my very best friendwe overcame our range-war hate. Back then hed have called me a rustler, cause I fought for my own piece of land, Back then hed have called me a rustlernow and then I changed one or his brands: With a .44-40 in my hand 1983 * Dont Let Your Dreams Get Away From You So many people you see on the street Are walking heads down with their eyes at their feet, You tell from how they move theyve let it die. You see an old friend and you ask him Whats new? --He changes the topic to talk about you, He hates to let you see his dream went by. Everyone says, Son, youre wasting your life, The years come down like a rusty knife And cut the heart from out of your fantasy. Its damned good advice but the kind you ignore, You smile and youre keeping right on like before, That golden dream is your reality. Dont let your dreams get away from you, Theres nothing thats quite as true As a dream of your ownits stronger than stone, Dont let your dreams get away from you Theres nothing thats quite as true. 1983 * Fifty-Per Cent He put ten years on her eyes in a single morning. He didnt do much to her except walk away. He never raised a hand and he never raised too damned much money. But he left her fifty-per cent of his final pay.

Shes holding two jobs and shes holding her little heart together The children make their own beds and breakfast, too. The womens magazines provide adviceand coupons. And her Mama and her sister drop by, to see her through. Theres no hard feelings, theyre the best of friends, still. Hes taking the children on Sunday afternoon. Shes liberated from love, shes her own person. And no one sees her cry except the moon. Shes taking two classes down at the local college, A book-keeping course and volleyball 101. Shes twenty-eight, shes changed her hair, shes jogging! And her friends down at work say her life has just begun! But you know, fifty-per cent of the American dreams get broken. One-half of the brides and grooms pay lawyers fees. And fifty-per cent of the couples are coming uncoupled. But the precise percentage of tears nobody sees. 1983 * Fill Up A Glass Full of Memories Heres to the heroes whove left us, In war-time, or on the freeways, or in the bars. Heres to the ladies whove known us For the kisses, for the tears, and for the scars. Heres to the futures weve squandered, Heres to the songs we play, Heres to our friends, both living and dead, May we all get together one day. Fill up a glass full of memories, drink to the dreams gone by, Fill up a glass full of memoriesnostalgia is making me high. 1983 *

Lured by the Looking Glass Im running backwards down the hall of years, Beseeching Time to halt. Time turns deaf ears. I race down corridors in quest of you, In vain, in vain. Echoes mock anew, Reverberating in the tunnel of my dreams Loves playback of my heart-recorded screams. On cold, metallic walls I press a kiss, Then realize their surfaces are glass Reflections, nothing more. And as I pass,

Their fun-house images distort and bend. While down loves labyrinth I blindly wend. 1983 * Poetaster Manifesto Irreverence to us is All-Sacred, Light lampoons, devoid of real hatred, Our metrical crime Is limerick rhyme: Were strippin the stuffed-shirts bare naked. 1983 * Rainbows and Daydreams Ive chased a thousand fading rainbows, but youre the first one that remained, You fill up my horizons with the colors of your loving, every day. Ive lost a thousand dying daydreams, but youre the first one coming true, I open up my eyes and cant believe your love has really come my way. Rainbows and daydreams, they come like a gift from above, Sometimes I lose them, and sometimes they linger with love Rainbows and daydreams of you. Ive faced a thousand cloudy mornings, Ive weathered all those stormy years, My night fears turn to daydreams when the rainbow of your loving falls on me. And when my eyes grow dim and misty, Ill see your love light shining through. Ill close my eyes one final time and see your rainbow shine eternally. Rainbows and daydreams, they come like a gift from above, Sometimes I lose them, and sometimes they linger with love Rainbows and daydreams of you. 1983 * Reassurance (After reading Joseph Payne Brennans Creep to Death) Hour ticking late, The kindling you plied Is embered. Charring sticks fall Down in the grate. Decembers outside And shadows ascend the wall. Listen!and wait Theresomeone just cried The chimney wind? Or a wraiths call? Its nothing, no, nothing at all! 1983 * Shackled Imagination lights

A path through all your nights, For you to follow blind Down your-moon-struck mind. But deeper in your brain Are beasts you have to chain: The ancient howling fears Hammering your ears. 1983 * Sideshow Across the sawdust circus ground Where bells and penny whistles sound, The gypsy reads your fate for gold, Good fortune, or dire doom, foretold. She scans the stars, consults the gods, And reckons up your life-death odds: You tremble at what lies in store, Then stumble from her tent front door 1983 *

Vincent Millay (1892-1950) Hair the shade of fire Flaring like a spire Over the sad space Of her gypsy face: Candle colored red Burning down and dead. Candle in a breeze Of eternities, Edna flickered faint, Charring like some martyred saint Scarlet at the stake, Embered for arts sake. 1983 * Were Passing Through Life On a Song From the nursery-rhyme tunes of the children, To the funeral dirge played at the end, You wander through life in the arms of a song, And the musics your favorite friend. From those rock-n-roll songs with your sweetheart, To the music on her wedding day, The organ was playing and your eyes were blurring

As you watched her and him drive away The song doesnt last, no, its fading too fast, And you cant hold the note very long, Its a little off key but it warms you and me: Were passing through life on a song. From those uncensored songs when youre drinking, To the taps at the soldiers farewell, Those lullabies crooned to your very first child, To those hymns that brought you home from Hell. As hamlet might say, the question in this: To sing or not to sing? The answers so easy and I know you know Yes, your life is a song on the wing 1983 * While Reading Brennans Creep to Death Hour ticking late. The kindling you plied Is embered. Charring sticks fall Down in the grate. And shadows ascend the wall. Listen!and wait Theresomeone just cried The chimney wind? Or a wraiths call? Its nothing, no nothing at all! 1983 * Yellow Rider Now the villagers are waking from the dreams inside their heads, Theyre locking doors and windows, and theyre hiding in their beds; Its a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone. Its a legend sprung to life, and its a horror story true, You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too, And the sound is getting closer till its beating in your bones, And its hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones. Yellow Rider coming Through the early light of day, Hear the hoof beats drumming Too late for you to pray. And the Riders coming closer still you stay inside your room, Youre looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume, But you cannot see his face because its hidden by the brim, Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him. For its silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,

His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan, And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France And theres nobody escaping, everybodys had his chance. Yellow Rider coming Like a bandit through the rain, Hear the hoof beats drumming Till they echo in your brain. Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came, Hes taking someone with him and I will not tell his name, But its either you or me or maybe someone else we know Now the Yellow Riders leaving as the sun begins to show. And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors, The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores, And the villages will make believe he never came at all But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call Yellow Rider going, And hes taking someone new, Someone were both knowing, Is it me or you? Is it me or you? 1983 * You Look Like a Soldier to Me They drafted my body for South Vietnam, I said take a look, Cant you see what I am? A queer and a Commie and I take LSD, They said Son, you look like a soldier to me. Although I protested they were being unfair, They volunteered me for a vacation out there, And then they sent me home on a hospital ship. Writing poems of protest about the whole trip. After I learned them upon my guitar, I wondered where all of the folk singers are? Are all of them out, is something else in? I went back home to start over again. I sold my guitar for a five dollar bill, And purchased some pleasure inside of a pill, That softened my head where it used to be hard, And bought me some bagpipes on my credit card. Too many songs, too many rhymes, Changing my instruments to keep with the times. 1983 * Zombie Bards

Poetry turns from the common man, Turns on its arrogant heel, Stalking away toward the cloistered academe. Nothing is duller or deader than Poets unable to feel Loveor compassion, or dream the lofty dream. Thus poetry turns from you, from me, And talks to itself, indulgently, And nobody hears. Quite understandably. 1983 * Villon Revisited (After Francois Villon, b. 1431) I. Ive been a hero at Culloden Though my sword was made of lath, And my Redcoats were imagined in my mind My other playmates looked, but they were blind. Ive walked the streets of Tombstone. O. K. Corral was where I would face (with boyhood pistol in my hand) Embattled cowboys making their grim stand. II. Now I raise my grown-up weapon, A poets pen against the foe. But my ink is watery and swiftly fades, And pens cannot replace boys wooden blades. Valhalla. Dodge City. No longer near. Where are the six-guns of yesteryear? 01-27-84 * And I Never Got Over You and Me I missed the last few class reunions, Youve been to one, theyre all the same; I shut my eyes and see those yearbook faces That silly heart you drew around my name. Growing up for some means growing older Ive traveled light, Ive traveled far But out there on that lifetime highway Sometimes you find exactly who you are: And I never, never, never got over you and me. Hate to see how you have changed, for God knows time

Has left its lines on me. Growing old but still I cant outgrow remembering What we said wed be, you and me. Ive traveled continents and oceans, Ive slept in palaces and cheap hotels, Ive danced with ladies of a foreign language, But all Ive really learned is what time tells: And I never, never, never got over you and me. 02-04-84 * Winter Renewed February coughing more snow In the face of our premature thaw, Is chilling us back to a few weeks ago Fickleness: Natures own law. 02-05-84 * Youre Passing Through Life On a Song Those lullabies became a funeral dirge when your Mama passed away. Then you studied love, and rocknroll, on the radio in your Daddys Chevrolet. And that wedding organ music, it took Sue from you that sad June day. You bought your first guitar so you could protest a war you didnt have to fight. But your best friend from Eleventh Grade, they played those military taps for him just right. You got the news, and you got drunk, and sang his favorite songs all night. You laughed at Country Music till some woman laughed at you, and left you broke and blue. For the next two years, those old Hank Williams songs, they all came true. Then some television gospel singer with a toll-free number saved the soul in you. Your children love those nursery rhymes that Daddy takes the time to sing. You hit that dance floor with your wifeshe stands beside you in spite of every crazy thing. And when that preacher reads those final words your friends will make their voices ring! From your birth to the end, the musics your friend, And you were born to sing along. Youre a little off-key, but you sound good to me: Youre passing through life on a song. 03-27-84 * Crazed Carnival (for Gary William Crawford , editor of Yellow Rider, And Other Fantasy Poems, by Steve Eng) The fair of folly arrives in town: The furled-up banners are flopping down, The Fool is enthroned as the King of all. So welcome: idiots, leap and fall.

The clowns cavort on the midway strip, Revolving acrobats tumble, flip. The Fool himself on the trapeze wire Disports himself in a dizzy gyre. The madness mounts and the crowd joins in, The laughter of lunatics makes a din: The circus tents an asylum jail Imprisoned spectators weep and wail And Folly triumphs. Fools prevail. 04-09-84 * Ganier Ridge, Radnor Lake, TN Nature affronts the arch-modernist Feather and scale and skin and fur, Crystal and stone and fern and burr Challenge his gears that wheel and whir. Nature consoles the romanticist Gaseous fumes and stench of town, Billowing plumes that bloom with brown Hasten him toward the woods green gown. 04-15-84 * No Valhalla: Death of Robert E. Howard (for Don Herron) Battlefield flows red, Celtic swordsman dead By his own remorseless hand, Carried on his shield Down the skull-strewn field By embattled comrades from his band. How can gods forgive Craven warrior terrified to live? Will his ghost win peace? Or haunt this patch of post-oak land. 05-19-84 * A Womans Work is Never Done It takes a lot of trouble and toil forgetting you, But everybody says Ill find me someone, But Ive been working overtime on your memory A womans work is never done. It takes a lot of labor and effort to greet the day, It takes a lot of courage to face the sun, It aint easy but Ill be getting up one more time

A womans work is never done. Ive struggled hard to make a life as if theres really nothing wrong. And everybody down at work respects me, and they say I do belong. It takes a lot of practice at home to get things right, A fishing poleand baseballand B-B gun. I wrap each package, sign your name to the greeting card A womans work is never done. 05-27-84 * Prayer When my standing turns to falling, Lift me toward my petty perch. When my running runs to stalling Goad me back again to search. Horizons widening ahead Re-sparked! All languor shed. 06-18-84 *

When the Tears Outnumber the Years Everyone said we were crazy, our love wouldnt last out the year, But weve been together a dozenwe fooled them awhile , didnt we dear? Our first years were ragged and tough ones, harder by far than the rest, We had our love and a big stack of bills, but I think those first years were best. How do you measure your losses, when the love in your life disappears? Is it in heartachesor housesor automobiles? .When the tears outnumber the years, When the tears outnumber the years. Everyone says we are wise now, sensible people at last, Making the grown-up decisiontearing the page from our past. But I question my own calculations, did I figure everything right? Did I total the times with the children? Did I add up each sweet loving night? How do you measure your losses, when the love in your life disappears? Is it in in-lawsor court lawsor who keeps the dog? When the tears outnumber the years, When the tears outnumber the years. 06-28-84 * Regal Revenge The twelve-cursed king,

Defies the maledictions, one by one: You cannot kill me with your imprecations He utters to his wizard foes. Your insults ring But cannot slaughter me or even stun. Exhaust yourself in futile fulminations. My royal thunder strikes down blows. So writhe to deathin final throes. 07-11-84 * I Once Had an Angel I once had an angelshe had silvery wings, Now the memory of her, it burns and it stings. We both lived in heaven, till she crashed to the ground, And Id rather not mention that devil she found Now her wings have turned scarlet From the shame of her life, I once had an angel, I once had a wife. I try to forget heras I look in my glass But whiskey reflections of her will not pass. I once had an angeland the chance wont come twice; To hell with salvation. I lost paradise. 07-24-84 * Sabbath, 1966, 1984 Those motel memories return. The colored comic pages opened first And water bubbling in an urn And powdered coffee slaking my communion thirst. Montana windswept plains outside. Stark desolations existential rites within. But earth Ive trekked since then rolls wide: And prayer, not newsprint, now assuages sin. 08-05-84 * Theres a Black Wreath Down in Nashville Theres a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store. It commemorates a troubadour who used to walk the floor He was Lone Star long and lanky with a voice like Texas sand. Its adios to Ernest Tubb, with his County Western Band. Theres a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store. Its near the place where the Grand Old Opry aint going to play no more, Where E. T. helped the girl from Butchers Holler shine the light, Across from Tootsies Orchid Lounge, where Tom T. used to write.

Theres a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store. Ive browsed those crowded album racks three dozen times or more, I sometimes came to purchase, or look and not to buy. Those photographs of Kitty Wells and Jimmy got me by. Theres a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store. You can shed a tear if you want to, but tragedys a bore, The man himself is best remembered for his Texas smile. Lets hit he dance floor, Ernest Tubb is still in style. 09-06-84 * Adios to Ernest Tubb (02-09-14 to 09-06-84) In Nashville, all those tourists visit Broadway every day; They buy those Dolly Parton posters there; But the record shop of Ernest Tubb wont seem the same no more Sing Adios to Ernest Tubbhe used to walk that floor. Inside therere old brown photographs displayed upon the wall Of Jimmie Rodgers, and Roy, and Kitty Wells; On his radio show he helped some kid name of Elvis get a chance Sing Adios to Ernest Tubb, and his Western-Country dance. Across the street is Tootsies Lounge, where beer and memories flow; Nearby, the Grand Ole Opry used to play Where E. T. helped Loretta face that famous microphone; Sing Adios to Ernest Tubbhes the best friend Nashvilles known. He was Lone Star lean and lanky, with a voice like Texas sand And he used electric guitars, `way back when; Instead of wasting tears tonight, lets everybody sing Sing Adios to Ernest Tubbhe made that dance floor swing. 09-07-84 * Bird Dung of Doom The prophets forewarned us in ancient words Of monstrous, metallic, reptilian birds Igniting skies with a flight of fire: Below them the smoke of charred Earth will spire. These death-pterodactyls are coming true: Their pilots turn bleak the horizons of blue, Sleek avian avatars, spilling down Their droppings that cinder the field and town. The creatures themselves are consumed in flame, And man is a dinosaur, obsolete-name, Forgotten as prophesied, slain by sleek Low-swooping pteranodons, bones-in-beak. 12-03-84

* Aubrey Beardsley (1872-1898) Boney, hawk-beaked boy, Beardsley was a toy Of fickle Times disdain: Consumptive, blood-flecked pain. Furiously he drew, Knowing all was through Too soon. His paling face Foreshadowed Times brief race. Harlequins and whores, Dwarves and marble floors Are Beardsleys legacy. Sublime perversity. 1984 *

Back Then They Called Us Rustlers The gunfighters came up from Texas; they arrived on the railroad train; The Cattlemens Association was bound to control the range. They had a sheet of paper, a list of names, of men they had to kill; And they left some cowboys bodies in the Wyoming April chill. Back then they called us rustlers, cause we fought for our own piece of land, Back then they called us rustlers, cause now and then we changed a brand. They had the money, and they owned the Governor, Back in the year of Ninety-Two, in the Johnson County War. In a cold Wyoming November, we lost our three-year old boy, And my woman she didnt say nothing, as she packed up for Illinois. And you wouldnt believe it to see me now, I work for the biggest ranch in the state, And the owner, hes my very best friendwe overcame our range-war hate. Back then hed have called me a rustler, cause I fought for my own piece of land, Back then hed have called me a rustlernow and then I changed one or his brands: With a .44-40 in my hand 1984 * Caf of the Sad Guitar The caf of the sad guitar Is where the late-night dreamers are. Theyre leaning on the polished bar

For another misty song. The sad guitar is playing low The music of so long ago, With all the songs you used to know, Has it really been that long? So have another drink and stay And listen to the singer play, Hes bringing back your yesterday Over all your used-up years. So clap your hands and when he is through Hell play your requests for you, Hell make a happy song sound blue; Buy another round of beers. He makes the evening flow fast, And nothing beautiful can last; He plays your favorites from the past, Songs you thought youd left behind. And now theyre turning on the light, Its time for telling him goodnight, That old-time music felt so right, Now its melting in your mind. 1984 * Dont Laugh at Cowboys Dont laugh at cowboys, for most of them pay their own dues, West-Texas riders put leather on your ladys shoes, Dont laugh at people in steel mills or ship yards or mines; Theyve earned the right to get drunk on those grocery store wines. Dont laugh at cowboys in back of that cattlemens bar, Theyve earned their money, theyre proud of whoever they are. They speak plain English so clear that they sometimes offend, Theyve got no time to impress you or try to pretend. Funerals and taxes and weddings and prayers fill their lives, Some take things serious, and others take other mens wives. Dont laugh at them with your New York-Los Angeles sneer; Dont laugh at cowboys, or people who cry in their beer. Dont laugh at cowboys or Hank Williams songs that they sing; Wait till that morning Youre drunk when you lose everything, Dont laugh at cowboys or black men or Redmen or brown. Dont laugh at anyone, one day your house will come down, One day your house will come down. 1984 Its a Dusty Road Its a dusty road, and lifes its name No guarantee of gold or fame, A cloud of dust for your royal gown,

And a sweaty brow for your regal crown. Its a dusty road, all men have trod. The Devil waits, but so does God. Theres one companion you must choose Theres wealth to win and a soul to lose. Its a dusty road, but youre not alone, Though your feet are bloody from the ice and stone; The blizzard comes to chill your skin But you travel warm from your faith within. Its a dusty road, and it soon is gone, The rich and poor both travel on. They might bury you in some gravel ditch But if your faith was strong, then your years were rich. Its a dusty road, and its been trekked before, Nineteen hundred years and more A wooden burdenand some Roman whips came down And a ring of thorns for the regal crown. Its a dusty road, soon left behind, A greener valley you will find, A peaceful pasture comes into view And Living Water will cleanse the dust from you. 1984 * Jesse, Im Coming to Know You Jesse, Im coming to know you, Better than ever before. Danger and trouble are leaving our lives Children are crawling the floor. Jesse, Im coming to know you, Youre drawing closer to me. Finding a future and finding a farm Thank God, we found Tennessee! Sometimes at night when Im sleeping, Nightmares, they enter my head. Hear people shooting and dying Wake upso safe in our bed. Jesse, Im coming to know you, Even though weve changed our names. Worth it to find a new life full of peace Theyll never catch Jesse James. Not while youre holding me In Tennessee 1984 *

Jesus, Dont Come Back Today Jesus, dont come back today, Ive got too much to do, Jesus, Ill be ready for you In a day or two. I know it sounds a little strange, I need at least a day to change, Ive got some people to repay, So Jesus, dont come back today. Jesus, dont come back today, Ive got too much to do, Jesus, Ill be ready for you In a day or two. I need to change the way I live, Ive got some people to forgive, Im busy learning how to pray, So Jesus, dont come back today 1984. * Like the Wind on a Winters Day Love used to be the answer. Now its a painful question. Are you staying, or are you blowing away Like the wind on a winters day? Love was the whisper of Springtime, Sighing around us so softly. Our rose-colored sky is turning grey, Like the wind on a winters day, Summertime love full of laughter, Firing our bodies and our dreams. Sensuous hot August passion, Turns cold like December snowon our skin. Love is like ice on your fingers Burning and freezing at once. Goodbye is a chilly word to say Like the wind on a winters day. Love is a Springtime illusion Wedding bells ringing in June. Later, they toll for the heartbreak Like the wind on a winters day. 1984 * Marys Song Above the sunken lake of Galilee,

Lay isolated disdained Nazareth, Where misted in obscurity Was Mary born. Her kin Elizabeth Gave John the Baptist birth. But Mary wrought The Motherhood of ages: Jesus, Son Of Man, Whose prophesied arrival brought Astrologers and shepherds one by one To marvel. Mary, in a squalid cave In Bethlehem nursed Infant Child with care. The Savior Whose death forgave Our primal sin too weightisome to bear. To celebrate that first far Christmastime, Let carillons of joy inside us chime. 1984 * Palomino Lady, So Exquisite There were sailors up from Sidney, singing loud Australian songs In a San Francisco dive off Market Street; There were hookers hustling salesmen, there were tourists out of place, And I sat there staring drunkenly in space. And all at once I saw her; she was up behind the bar, She was a portrait on black velvet, etched in gold, She rode a golden stallion, sombrero in her hand, And I swore I could hear the cheering from the stands. Palomino Lady, so exquisite, With silver on your saddle, and ivory on your guns, Palomino Lady, so exquisite, Lets ride off in the Colorado sun. I saw her once in Denver, this time she was for real, She was leading a rodeo parade, With turquoise on her buckles, and rhinestones on her clothes, Reflecting the Rocky Mountain snows. Now my bunkhouse walls are pale green; therere nurses everywhere. And we discuss Korea and Vietnam. And that surgeon with his scalpel, it looks like a Bowie knife And the anesthetics help to ease my life. Palomino Lady, so exquisite, With silver on your saddle, and ivory on your guns, Palomino Lady, so exquisite, Lets ride off in the Colorado sun. 1984 *

The Queen of the Mojave Desert The old man lived out by the desert, selling postcards and gasoline, He sold road-maps and Navajo silver, and True West magazine. And under his Gabby Hays beard beat the heart of a dashing young man; With arthritic fingers he cleaned off my windshieldhe once was a Dapper Dan. He said Take care on the desert, carry plenty water to spare And look out for mirages that float like a dreamtheres all kinds of dangers out there. And you better watch out for that sweet senorita, the travelers all agree They call her the Queen of the Mojave Desertbut she once belonged to me, Yes, she once belonged to me I thought the old man was demented, from too many years in the sun; But there in his gas station office I noticed a Winchester gun And I saw a faded brown photoa Mexican beauty was she Right next to a newspaper clippingabout a murder in 1953 Then later that night on the desert, my car overheated and died And I saw the Queen of the Mojave Desertwith a bullet hole gaping wide! So I hoofed it on back to the station, left my automobile behind And that grizzled gas station attendant, he told me one final time Youd better look out for that sweet senorita, the travelers all agree, They call her the Queen of the Mojave Desertbut she once belonged to me, She was unfaithful to meback in 1953she was unfaithful to me... 1984 * The Vietnam War Aint Over Yet (It Takes a Long, Long Time) His daddy died from workin, the boy dropped out of school, He shouldve hid out in college, that patriotic fool. His mama, she was weepin that day he raised his hand, He wrote her almost evry week from a Southeast Asian land. He led his men in battle, he risked his ass each day, He hit the dirt but not in time when a bullet came his way. A purple decorationrehabilitation, and an ex-wife And now his nations awarding himjust twenty years to life. The details they dont matter, no, its just some Veterans crime, The Vietnam War aint over yet, it takes a long, long time. Psychiatrists and lawyers, they fashioned his defense, They tried to make him crazy, but the jury took offense.

Now he dont sniff that cocaine, no, and all he drinks is beer; But hes got memories in living color, they re-run all so clear. He hears those people screamin, he sees the bombs bright light It all came back one fatal nightinside that bar-room fight. The details dont matter, no, its just some Veterans crime, The Vietnam War aint over yet, it takes a long, long time. 1984 * Striking Out (for Charles Lewis) The color of lemonade washing the sky Popsicle memories revive Of baseball connecting with ash wood, hit high In an arcing, outfield drive. Are summers forever? Or only a day? Moth-eaten , major-league hat Decembers the umpire, miscalling the play, And theres ice on my Louisville bat. 03-09-85 * Message from Heaven . . . . . 4-85 * Nuclear Aqua-Archaeology The map was inscribed upon a scroll. It marked where the land fell under. The floor of the sea became my goal, Submerged Atlantis unplumbed wonder. Past stones sunk in sand, grown green with slime, I swam through remaining arches standing, Aghast, to discern, from ancient time An algae-crusted airstrip landing. Metallic devices were moored in place, Cylinders balanced steady, With barnacles clinging upon their face, Otherwise aimed and ready. The rustless contraptions were set to spring, I noticed a coral-coated lever Still cocked like a cannon, set to zing-I pulled itreleased the lethal thing

The missile smashed half of Denver! 07-08-85 (rev. 09-28-90) * Immortal Bouquet The withered arm of Time has plucked the blooms That crowned the brow of Love and rent the ring Of roses round Loves head. Decay consumes The petals. Powdered grey flecks everything. Thus shorn of blossoms, Loves skull draws Its scalp in wrinkles that retract And tighten. The first of all Times laws Would seem the last as well: the fatal fact That life means death. Yet death becomes rebirth: Loves phantom sheds its flesh and rides the sky. Below, its skeleton sinks deep in earth, The gnarled old arm of Time grasps high But cannot seize the cloud as it encloses In silken mistgold-ruby roses. 08-06-85 * Manger Monument Had Yahweh picked a palace for the birth Of Christ, its splendored Solomonic worth Would stagger calculation: sheeted gold Might overspread its cedar walls, and bold Phoenician carved designs would praise the Child. But who today would know? Instead, a wild And rude unlikely cavern cradled Him; Above--a star millennia cant dim, More brilliant than lamps of oil aflame, Illumining the cave where Jesus came. Thus Bethlehem endures, a citadel Within our hearts, where mankinds chief event Occurred. Though Nineveh and Tyre each fell, The manger outlasts every monument. 12-85 * And Im Never Going to Leave You, Girl When the years come down like snowflakes, and they flutter in your eyes, Ill rise up like the midnight sun and Ill warm your winter skies, And warm your winter skies. When your dreams dissolve to ashes laying cold upon the stone, Ill build the biggest bonfire your heart has ever known, Your heart has ever know. And Im never going to leave you girl, Im never going to let you go. When the devil comes knocking and you forget to pray, Ill kneel right down beside you girl and help you find your way,

And help you find your way. And when at last its over, our love will still survive Two names carved on a heart-shaped stone will keep the flame alive, Will keep the flame alive. 1985 * Better Him Than Me A friend of mine came by the house, this morning, Sat around and talked an hour or so. I poured him out a big hot cup of coffee, Told me that his wife and he were through. Better him than me, I guess, if someone has to lose, Ive still got my loving family, All the things Ive done, and still your love for me is real. It hurts to say, its better him than me. He left his cup upon my kitchen table, Cigarettes and ashes everywhere, He left me looking at my favorite picture, You and all the children smiling there. You know, if love dies, I think it dies by inches, So dear, help me not say those things that might kill yours. Id hate to be like him someday, for someone else to say: Better him than me, I guess, if someone has to lose, Ive still got my loving family, All the things Ive done, and still your love for me is real. It hurts to say, its better him than me. 1985 * Buffalo Skull on the Desert Buffalo skull on the desert, White from the wind and the sun; Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull I really dont need anyone. Buffalo skull on the desert, Spider makes a home in its head; Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull When I think of those last words you said. You said to me, Adios, caballero, were crossing the border, A posses close on our trail; Were wanted for love, and theres a price on our hearts Were fugitives from somebodys jail. And our ponies are starting to fail Buffalo skull on the desert,

Gila monster scurries by; Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull Under the dry desert sky. You said to me, Adios, caballero, were crossing the border, A posses close on our trail; Were wanted for love, and theres a price on our hearts Were fugitives from somebodys marital jail, And our ponies are starting to fail Buffalo skull on the desert, Might make a good souvenir; Sometimes I feel like that buffalo skull On a fence-post so far from here. 1985 * Brushy Bill Roberts (died 1950) Brushy Bill Roberts was born quite a long time ago; Eighteen Eighty-Eight, he rode the Cheyenne Rodeo; He even trained horses in Argentina, he said; When he rode for the Pinkertons he left a few rustlers dead. Brushy Bill Roberts had twenty-six wounds that had healed, Scars from the horses, and bullets, and knives, he revealed; His real name and date of his birth are a mystery still, But he used to break mustangs and broncos for sure, Brushy Bill. Brushy Bill Roberts went off to a faraway shore, In the Shetland Islands, roping ponies, Eighteen-Ninety Four, And down there in Cuba, he was a Roosevelt Rough Rider too, And he smuggled horses to help Poncho Villa, its true. He went crazy, there at the end In 1950he even surrendered, To the governor of New Mexico Asking for a pardon for his crimes. It seemed that all those years hed been Keeping it hid Yes, he even confessed he wasreally Billy the Kid! They laughed at Brushy Bill and three weeks Later he died Brushy Bill Roberts was born quite a long time ago, They still tell his legend way down in old New Mexico, And hes still in the saddle like a ghost in a rodeo dream. You see, sometimes those cowboys are quite a bit more than they seem. 1985 * Civil War Marker: Vanderbilt Campus

Historys unpopular these days, No one cares where Blues shot Greys, Or where the tons of cannonballs were kept. Union marker stands aloof, alone, Monument of bronze and chisled stone, And students giggle where the Northern troops once swept. 1985 * Freedom Was the Death of Me (for Chris Wiener) We rode into Nacogdoches, with our pistols and our Bowie knives, Volunteers for Texaswe came to risk our lives. Some of us had families, and others, just the memory, And some of us they didnt hardly miss in Kentucky and in Tennessee. Some of us came for adventure, and others, we came for land; But at the Alamo down in San Anton we made our last stand. Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it Liberty. But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republicso Texas could be free. But freedom was the death of me. Colonel Bowie from Louisiana, with a big knife at his side, He got drunk most every day, but he was sober when he died. Colonel Travis from Alabama, commander of the Alamo, He answered Santa Anna with a cannon shot, and he let the world know. Colonel Crockett, he was laughingwith his men he held the wall. But the Mexicans, they overcame them, and you know they killed them all. And the Mexicans kept coming, everyone of them was brave, But they turned the mission of the Alamo into a heroes grave. Susannah Dickinson, a lady from Tennessee Her husband died across his cannon, but Santa Anna let her go free, With her little girl, she went free. Santa Anna he grew careless Sam Houston he laid in wait Down on the San Jacinto River Santa Anna met his fate. Now the tourists load their cameras, in a San Anton motel, And they buy postcards and they suck on snow-cones, and they stand right where I fell. Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it Liberty. But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic, so Texas could be free. And freedom was the death of me. 1985 * Here Come the Cowboys Now one year its this, and the next year its that, And this is the year for the ten-gallon hat, They wear them in Dallas, they wear them in Spain,

They wear them in London to keep off the rain. Some cowboys punch cattle and some punch time-clocks, And some punch the buttons upon the juke-box, Theres cowboys in offices, cowboys in schools, And cowboys whose saddle is just a bar-stool. Here come the cowboys, theyre walkin and talkin real slow. Here come the cowboys, just like a movie show (And its a western.) Some cowboys are riding the dreams in their heads, With posters of rodeos hung by their beds, And some think theyre cowboys when they pick guitar, In Texas or Tokyo. Thats where they are. 1985 * How Can I Give Jesus Everything That He Deserves? How can I give Jesus everything that He deserves? How can I repay Him for His time? Three long hours he spent upon the Cross of Calvary That you and I might live eternally. How can I give Jesus everything that He deserves? Gold and silver slip right through my hands. All I have to offer Him is my thanksgiving prayer With Jesus, I am rich beyond compare. He loves me though Im a sinner, And He purchased me with all his blood and pain, And it makes me feel so humble His loss upon the Cross became my gain. How can I give Jesus everything that He deserves? His suffering and tears have washed me clean. Forgiving me for all the evil wickedness Ive done Thank God for giving me His only Son. 1985 * Independence! Hear that wagon-master shout Now keep those wagons moving out, Stay close together. Well do twenty miles today And day by day well make our way Thought sun and snowy weather Talkin about. Independence. Independence. IndependenceMissouri! Keep those wagons moving on, Now weve got dreams of Oregon

It sounds like heaven, Leave New England far behind, Weve got a restless state of mine, In eighteen thirty-seven, Thinkin about. Independence. Independence. IndependenceMissouri! Independence is a word The sweetest word youve ever heard It stands for freedom. Like a high-flying bird. Independence. Independence. IndependenceMissouri! You cant wait till you get there, Youll tie some ribbons in your hair Youll make your showing, Youll buy a cotton dress or two, Those city men will stare at you Until were going, Moving along Independence. Independence. IndependenceMissouri! 1985 * Response Poetry! I begged from life She answered with a knife Plunged hilt-high hard into my breast, Aware I wear no metal vest! 1985 * Retrospect I. The margin of memory is stretched along The edge of waking eye: A glimpse of a field of yellow years A flicker of sun, a tinge of tears Nostalgias blue-gold sky. II. The hope of Forever extends across Horizons in front of you, The mellowing mist of dewy grass The rim of the rainbows tinted glass A kaleidoscope-colored view. 1985 *

She Never Got Back From Frisco She had cable cars in her brain, And she said she loved the rain, She had Golden Gate horizons in her eyes. She said she had to get away To that city by the Bay For a vacation under California skies. And now shes come back home, But I feel her memories roam She hung a San Francisco poster on our wall. Now I work hard every week, But late at night I hear her speak In a whisper on a long-distance call. She never got back from Frisco, she never got back from Frisco, When I kiss her shes two thousand miles from me; She never got back from Frisco, she never got back from Frisco, She makes believe her minds in Tennessee. Now I feel I dont belong When she plays her favorite song you guessed itTony Bennett, from so many years ago. And how I hate to see Those old movies on T.V Clint Eastwoodand Bogartand San Francisco! I lost my wife to San Franciscohigh on a hillshe cheated me! 1985 * The All-American Ladies Choice (for Dorothy and our child) You know she missed her period and she missed graduation, And she missed those wedding bells. And her daddys shot-gun missed the boy next door Where hes gone nobody can tell. Its a simple operationher sister recommends it Her daddys going to foot the bill, Its the All-American Ladies Choice Its a legalized license to kill. God help me Jesus, forgive what weve done, Did we murder a daughter, or a rambunctious bouncing son? God help me, Jesus, please hear my voice Forgive mefor making the All-American Ladies Choice! The weary old world takes a couple rotations And she marries someone new, But every year round Mothers Day, Shes unaccountably blue. Ten years later in a Frisco apartment A cowboy tunes his guitar. Hes been educated in the Land of the Free

That your songs reveal who you are. He sings, God help me Jesus, forgive what weve done, Did we murder a daughter, or annihilate a rambunctious, bouncing son? God help me, Jesus, please hear my voice Forgive mefor helping her make the All-American Ladies Choice. 1985 * The Kingdom of Redonda (in memory of M. P. Shiel and John Gawsworth0 In eighteen sixty-five an Irish merchant found an island in the ocean. It rose up so majestic like a crown upon the Caribbean blue; He claimed it as an undiscovered Kingdom that he swore would last forever: He named his little boy as King to make a fathers fantasy come true. Officials up in London thought the father and the Kingdom both were crazy; They hoisted up the Union Jack to claim the island for their bloody own. The story of the Kingdom still survives in all its tarnished, royal splendor; And high up in the sky the birds look down upon the island all alone. The island that was found was called Redonda, with a legend left behind. The kingdom that was crowned is called Redonda. Its a royal state of mind. The Kingdom of Redonda The little boy grew up and went to London where he earned to be a writer, And on his death, the Kingdomlike a legacywas left unto a friend. The Kingdom lost some glory down the years, but it acquired some jaded wisdom. The troubadours and jesters and the Dukes declare the Kingdom has no end! 1985 * (This Just Might Be) The Last Old-Time Train Song Come on little children, put your ears upon that shiny silver rail. You know that train is comin and you know this time it isnt going to fail, So listen in the distance, you can hear the whistle whining in the air, So hurry to the station, bring your neighbors, evrybody will be there. This just might be the last old-time train song, Sing it one more time for you and me, Kickin up cinders down the line, The engineer, hes a friend of mine, This just might be the last old-time train song. Hurry to the platform, try to see the train, its just a mile away, And listen to those drivers poundin, bringin back the sounds of yesterday, The engineer is waving, all the little boys, they seem to know his name, The stations full of people, and the train is here, and aint you glad you came? Now the whistles blowing, now the firemans stoking up a little steam, The passengers are boarding and I wonder, is this really all a dream? And is that train returning, or will it be gone forever down the track?

It doesnt matter, well keep singing, just as if that train is comin back. 1985 * Wee Melody Voices of wind-chimes tinkle, Laughter of childrens glee Sprinkle the air with music Under the ice-cream tree. 03-24-86 * Canonization St. Jeanne of Arc carols in the pyre, Sainted for her final song. Her martyred voice, a human lyre, Her ashes, immemorially strong. 04-09-86 * Youve Taken Her for Granted You call her without warning, late one Friday night, She says Give me half-an hour, and she leaves on the light. Comes the morning after, eggs and bacon, coffee black Youve taken her for granted, but she always takes you back. She isnt quite as flashy as those others you prefer, But like some lonesome boomerang, you return to her. Shes got old-fashioned compassion, that these Nineties ladies lack Youve taken her for granted, but she always takes you back. Could it be that she loves you? Or else got nothing else to do? She understands you like a sister Shes the best friend that you knew. Now the twisting road is narrow, when the years come crowding in, And you look inside your glass, and see the man you might have been. Shes got two childrenshes got a husbandand you, youve got the railroad track, Youve taken her for granted, but she always took you back Until she found somebody newsomebody true. 05-04-86 * High-Wire Walk The tight-rope of salvation Is a straining, wire-taut strand You inch along on foot-chafed trepidation Defying Satans law of gravitation, Gods balance-pole inside your hand. Below, the audience is cheering,

Your equipoise of faith precludes all fearing Your toes assert their knowing, nimble grasp. The platform, once so far, nows nearing. Step upon it! Crowd gives out a gasp Satan curses with a hoarse and rueful rasp. 06-24-86 * Aspirations Greatnessthe goal of ermined kings, Sainthoodnun and priest, Famethe troubadour who sings, Mankindthe charnel worms who feast. 09-09-86 * The Color of Your Goodbye I love the purple of the mountain peaks at twilight, Yes, and I love the same color in the wine glass after midnight, And I love the silver on the ocean in the moonlight But youve exposed me to something new: Its the blue of your eye, Its that bleak November sky, Darling, youve painted me the color of goodbye. I love the music on the Southern country radio, Yes, and I love those guitars on the back porch in the ghetto, And I love Memphis music in a jazz club out in Frisco But youve acquainted me with something new: Darling, youve painted me the color of goodbye. 11-03-86 * Eternal Timber The Cross is our crutch: we are lamed and maimed, Crippling sin in our soul, Defiled and scourged, our faith defamed, Golgotha our gloried goal. The Cross is a bludgeon for smiting down Death in his sable gown. Its Roman-hewn and Jesus-borne, Encircled with blood-flecked thorn. 12-10-86 * Carpe Diem Your life is like a brief Elusive, wind-blown leaf Upon the gales of March. So seize

And clutch it captive from Times breeze. But leaves are hard to hold In autumns coming cold; Before they powder in your hand (Right through your fingers, like fine sand) Enwreathe them in a floral band. 12-29-86 * A Song Written on a Paper Napkin This trucking life can kill a man, but Im bearing it as best I can, And I aint ashamed to share my point of view. My second cup or coffees gone, and I feel a song thats coming on, So let me sing a trucking tune to you. Its a song written on a paper napkin, Written on a polished counter top. Its a song written on a paper napkin, Written in the light of a truck stop. The second verse is for my wife, and I wonder how she stands this life, Never knowing if Im safe or in a ditch. A truckers wife is out of luck, and she knows Ill never sell this truck; Theyll find me dead before Ill ever switch. Mister, this is meant for you, while youre sitting home, not much to do, Im delivering the food that fills your plate. So next time you call me a bum, you remember where your meal came from, I brought it to you down the Inter-state. Its a song written on a paper napkin, Written on a polished counter top. Its a song written on a paper napkin, Written in the light of a truck stop. 1986 * Brushy Bill Roberts (died 1950) Brushy Bill Roberts was born quite a long time ago; Eighteen Eighty-Eight, he rode the Cheyenne Rodeo; He even trained horses in Argentina, he said; When he rode for the Pinkertons he left a few rustlers dead. Brushy Bill Roberts had twenty-six wounds that had healed, Scars from the horses, and bullets, and knives, he revealed; His real name and date of his birth are a mystery still, But he used to break mustangs and broncos for sure, Brushy Bill. Brushy Bill Roberts went off to a faraway shore, In the Shetland Islands, roping ponies, Eighteen-Ninety Four, And down there in Cuba, he was a Roosevelt Rough Rider too,

And he smuggled horses to help Poncho Villa, its true. He went crazy, there at the end In 1950he even surrendered, To the governor of New Mexico Asking for a pardon for his crimes. It seemed that all those years hed been Keeping it hid Yes, he even confessed he wasreally Billy the Kid! They laughed at Brushy Bill and three weeks Later he died Brushy Bill Roberts was born quite a long time ago, They still tell his legend way down in old New Mexico, And hes still in the saddle like a ghost in a rodeo dream. You see, sometimes those cowboys are quite a bit more than they seem. 1986 * Its a Nineteen-Twenties Song Its a Nineteen-Twenties tune Forgive me, I was born too soon, Going to fake it anyway, And bring back yesterday. Inka-dinka-do, That old soft shoe And I danced with Georgia Brown. Muskrat rag Can you spare me a fag? And the stock market came dow-w-w-w-w-w-n! Its A Nineteen-Twenties song, The decade didnt last too long, Nineteen-Thirties knocked it flat, Like a Babe Ruth baseball bat. Black-face minstrel on a white mans stage, Girl smoking cigarettes, its all the rage And New York made that music move. Bath-tub gin in your coffee cup Home-town girl acting so grown up Those East Coast boys, her Mama wont approve! Scott Fitzgerald and his wayward wife, She danced on the tables while he drank up his life And only Billy Sunday told the truth: They corrupted the nations youth! Its a Nineteen-Twenties dance If you missed it once, heres another chance. Charleston, if you can Honey, swing that man. Its a Nineteen-Twenties beat, Hotel ball-room, move your feet. Flapper with the short, short hair

Young folks, I declare! Sweet, sweet Sue Making eyes at you And a gangster named Capone. Razz-a-ma-tazz, And that Dixie jazz And that famous slide trombone Its a Nineteen-Twenties dream--Make that sweet nostalgia gleam, Press your ear to the radio Will Rogers says Hello! 1986 * Its Never Too Late for Love (for Anne) Its never too late for love, no, its never too late for love, Its never too, never too, never too late for love. Everybody says Slow down, dont you know what time its getting to be? I dont watch the clock, I just look in my heart, and its time for you and me, Stop! Wait a minuteits time for a time check Its half-past getting to know you, and its a quarter-to-a midnight kiss! Daylight savings time, getting close to you, on a long winters night. Youre always in season, baby, Im writing your name on every calendar page, as brown hair turns to white. Its never too late for love, no, its never too late for love, Its never too, never too, never too late for love. 1986 * J. Frank Dalton (1842-1951) He rode a twisted trail, He lied a tortured, fact-faked tale Of Jesse James and unexpected shames Of Quantrills carnage, powder-smoke and flames. He wasnt who he said He wasnt Jesse James, long dead But something gaudier and grander yet Imposter-champion none can forget. 1986 * The Pioneer Waltz Now the wagons rolled out of Missouri, Heading west on the Oregon Trail, Through the blizzards and ice-covered mountains,

And the winds, and the rains, and the hail. We crossed every river and desert, And we never gave one backward glance, And if we werent too weary each evening, Wed take out the fiddle and dance. Wed dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time, And the mandolin played right along, And the children, they clapped, and the old people napped, And the Pioneer Waltz was our song. When the heat or the cold overcame us, Then we pioneers lightened our load, And we left half our precious belongings Cast away by the side of the road. And we sometimes left little wood crosses, The graves, they were sometimes quite small, But we finally set foot up in Oregon, And the music helped us through it all. Now the years hurried by without warning, And we pioneers built us a town, But you can still hear that old fiddle Now and then, when the sun has gone down. We dance to the Pioneer Waltz, in time And the mandolin plays right along, The children, they clap, and the old people nap, And the Pioneer Waltz is our song. 1986 * Blue Western Dream Shes a Blue Western Dream, like no cowpokes ever seen, Shes got Gold Rush nuggets in her eyes, Shes a gunfighters galshes like the O.K. Corral, Shell leave you in Boot Hill, bye and bye. On the Oregon Trail, her heart was for sale, So she took the Wagonmaster to bed; But his wife found out, so the pioneers kicked her out On the desert in her dress made of red. Shes part Cherokeeand shes all Tennessee, But Texas werent big enough for her. A cattleman from Cheyenne, she told him Youre my man. Then she raked him with the rowels of her spur. And she finally settles down in a Nevada ghost town, Population, seventeen. Through her memories and her tears she relives all those years Through the pages of a Western magazine

06-17-87 * Dale Evans Is Riding Tonight The young girls pony is made from the stick of a broom, With posters of rodeos thumb-tacked all over her room. She heads off to school with her lunch in a metal lunch pail With a picture of a cowgirl and the words HAPPY TRAILS! Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen In the midst of a young girls dream; Dale Evans is riding tonight Shes the Queen of the West, with her red leather vest Dale Evans is riding tonight. The little girl grows up but she clings to her childhood games, She looks for Roy Rogers but she always attracts Jesse James. She takes a couple of falls in the rodeo called married life Now shes back in the saddleAdios to those years as a wife. Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen In the midst of a young womans dream; Dale Evans is riding to night Shes the Queen of the West, shes got fringe on her dress Dale Evans is riding tonight. Shes home on the range with her friend the acoustic guitar; Its state fairs and rodeos and too many years in the bars; Tonight on the stage in Cheyenne shes raising her hand The crowd, gives a roarshes married some guy in her band! Dale Evans is riding tonight, on the bright silver screen In the midst of a cowgirls dream; Dale Evans is riding tonight Shes the Queen of the West, in her cattle-brand vest Dale Evans is riding tonight. 08-17-87 * Nashville Christmas1779 Scots-Irish borderers, devout, austere With Anglo-Saxonsmade their rugged route West from Watauga, in the chilliest year Marked in history. Five hundred miles out Across Kentucky , down to Tanase They trekked with horses, cattle, sheep. James Robertson led forth this odyssey That halted opposite where bluffs of steep And craggy cedar-guarded limestone, rose Above the Cumberlanda river iced and white, That Christmas Day when ever rivers froze. And when the cliff-side landmark loomed in sight

The cavalcade traversed the waters frigid span. Then, in their lean-tos. praised the Son of Man. 12-19-87 * The Forest Gift The tree was cut and roped by boys Who brought it home to guard the toys And treasures stacked up round its rootless base: The pine has found an indoor resting place. And underneath the tree are set The gifts of Christmastide for yet Another year and tree have come to mark His birth, with fragrant needles, cones and bark. 12-25-87 * And Im Never, Never going to Leave You, Girl When the years come down like snowflakes, and they flutter in your eyes, Ill rise up like the midnight sun and Ill warm your winter skies, And Ill warm you winter skies. When your dreams dissolve to ashes laying cold upon the stone, Ill build the biggest bonfire your heart has ever known, Your heart has ever known. And Im never, never, never going to leave you, girl. Im never, never, never going to let you go; And Im never, never, never going to leave you girl, And Im never, never, never going to let you go. When the devil comes in knocking, and you forget to pray, Ill kneel right down beside you girl, and help you find your way, And help you find your way. And Im never, never, never going to leave you, girl. Im never, never, never going to let you go; And Im never, never, never going to leave you girl, And Im never, never, never going to let you go. 1987

Back Then They Called Us Rustlers The gunfighters came up from Texas; they arrived on the railroad train; The Cattlemens Association was bound to control the range. They had a sheet of paper, a list of names, of men they had to kill;

And they left some cowboys bodies in the Wyoming April chill. Back then they called us rustlers, cause we fought for our own piece of land, Back then they called us rustlers, cause now and then we changed a brand. They had the money, and they owned the Governor, Back in the year of Ninety-Two, in the Johnson County War. In a cold Wyoming November, we lost our three-year old boy, And my woman she didnt say nothing, as she packed up for Illinois. And you wouldnt believe it to see me now: I work for the biggest ranch in the state, And the owner, hes my very best friendwe overcame our range-war hate. Back then hed have called me a rustler, cause I fought for my own piece of land, Back then hed have called me a rustlernow and then I changed one or his brands: With a .44-40 in my hand 1987 *

By the Side of the Trail You pack up your dreams in a four-by-ten wagon, It looks like a ship with a sail, Your neighbors in old Pennsylvania are waving Farewellby the side of the trail. You tell evrybody Theres land up in Oregon, Youll find you a farm that dont fail, Youll stop with your children each evening for supper, And cook by the side of the trail. But out in Nebraska theres late falling snow into April, You wake up one morningthe frostbite took three of your toes; Your children are sleeping so sweetly and so sadly so peaceful Theyll sleep there together long after the wagon train goes. Youll raise some new children when youre up in Oregon, And you and your wife will prevail, But some nights youll dream of those little wood crosses Back thereby the side of the road. 1987 * Country Crazy I yearn for meadow grass beneath my feet, It isnt even safe to walk my street, I take the cross-town bus and some man takes my seat, Im city-wise, but Im still country crazy. I go downtown to work, most every day, But something in my eyes is far away,

And when I turn my back, I hear those people say, Shes city-wise, but shes still country crazy. And I can see those Smoky Mountains when I dream, And I wish I was walking barefoot in a stream, Those city lights arent what they seem; Im city-wise, but Im still country crazy. I got your letter yesterday, you know, I guess this time you really told me so, I guess this time Ill have to pack my bags and go, I miss your love, and Im still country crazy. 1987

Covert Cathedral Your mental windows fashioned from Panes of glinting bright stained glass, And through them streaming sun rays come. Your mind conducts its private Mass. Soft hymns and Sacramental rite, Holy water at the secret fount. Communion hidden out of sight. Inside your heart, an Olive Mount. 1987 * Crazed Cavorting Ive danced in a clowning jig, Bells on my nimble toes, Askew on my head, a wig, Smile painted over my woes. Ive clapped in a rhythm inane--Jumped in my floppy clothes My grease-paint dissolved in rain While tear-drop insanity flows. 1987 *

Delilah Goes Dancing Her Mama says, Daughter, take care when youre dancing, the boys, They dont step on your feet, Be fast on your toes. Wear your very best clothes, You never know who you might meet. Cause life is a ballroom, and youre at the center, With your dress and your pretty red hair. So get out there and dance, like a paperback romance,

Cause you just might meet Fred Astaire. But the ballrooms were closed, and disco was over, But in Texas they still like to swing. The fiddles enchant her, and the cowboys they dance her, And one of them offers his ring. Hes not big in cattle, no, and hes got no oil well, But hes got a Texas size grin. Shes in the family wayhe got a raise in pay And you ought to see her dance and spin Now her life is happy, and her life is tragic, And her life is like yours and mine. When her hair turns to grey and they lay her away, Her children walk by in a line. But sometimes at night you can see dear Delilah by the church at the top of the hill. She floats on the breeze, in and out of the trees. She dances and she always will Delilah goes dancing, shes spending her life in a whirl, Delilah goes dancing, that magical, musical dancing girl. 1987 *

Essential Persistence The wisdom of the wind is motion, Wandering ecstatic, yet sublime. The charity of rain is laving lotion, Cleansing residues of urban grime. The genius of the sun is searing passion Violent, erotic rampant fire. But cooling clay and earth we wear in fashion Finally, when our hot hearts expire. Our flesh erodes. Our bones flake too. But souls need neitherborn, anew. 1987 * Extermination I stand indifferent to rat-nosed Time who gnaws, I stride oblivious to Times laws, His ravenous, remorseless years assault. The rats teeth sink. Then halt. My leg withstands, impervious to fangs of Time. Acknowledging that rodent is a crime. The vermin soon is mashed beneath my heel To grease. Therehearken to his squeal. 1987 * He Stopped Song Writing Today He said Ill song-write till I die.

They said Youll wise up in time. But as the decades drifted by His mind was filled with rhyme. He kept his demos by the bed, Back to 1972, And the s--t the publishers said, Hed underline in blue. Willie Nelsons picture on the wall. He went half crazy now and then; And his best friend, Alcohol, It helped him guide his pen. I went to see him just today. First time Id seen him in years; Hed finally passed away From fifteen thousand beers. He stopped songwriting today. They placed him on the funeral pyre. And they threw his demos in, And the flames grew higher and higher. The publishers came by to see him one last time, Just the way I knew they would, They clapped their hands and clicked their heels This time theyre through with him for good 1987 * I Can See My Husband Riding I can see my husband riding across Montana plains, With his uniform of buckskin, and his hands upon the reins, With his yellow hair a-flowing, And his eyes like baby blue. General George Custer, my husband, I love him true. Hes riding with the soldiers of the Seventh Calvary; On that river known as Yellowstone, they ride courageously Theyre searching for those Indians, That tribe thats known as Sioux General George Custer, he knows just what to do. I can see my husband riding home, to see his loving wife, He says he won the battle and the soldiers saved his life, At the Little Big Horn River Now the Indian Wars are through General George Custer, he knows I love him true. And that was twenty years ago, its part of history, And I realized my dream was a widows fantasy. I put a wreath upon his grave, and I bid his soul adieu General George Custer, in heaven where dreams come true. 1987

* Life is A Western Movie They say life is like a sit-com, Honeymooners reruns play on down the years; They say life is like a soap opera You wash your dishes and then you dry your tears. They say life is like a cop show Big blue light follows you in close pursuit; They say life is like a game show You win a set of luggage from the man in the shiny suit. But I say life is a Western movie, On the Chisholm Trail you ride through the wind and rain; Life is a Western movie, Cause every now and then youve got to face that high noon train. Yes, life is a Western movie, In the California gold rush you just might get rich; Or down in Texas they might run off all your cattle, So you might form a posse and string up the son-of-a-gun. I tell you, life is a Western movie, Cowgirls watch you when you make that rodeo ride; But all you really need is one good cowgirl To stand beside till you cross that Great Divide. But I say life is a Western movie, On the Chisholm Trail you ride through the wind and rain, Life is Western movie, Cause every now and then youve got to face that high noon train, And ride off in the distance just like Shane Just like Shane. 1987 * Myopie de la Mort Death has a blood-laced eye, Bleary from watching the world. By Christ he is blinded from brightness on high: Lasers of light at Deaths eyes have been hurled. 1987 * Tiana, I Will Always Love You Sam Houston was governor of Tennessee, When he went off to live with the Cherokee, Kicked out of his bed by his wife so he went away Sat under a tree and he got drunk most every day. Tiana was Scottish, she was Indian, too. When she saw that big man, she knew just what to do

She kissed him, and she caressed him, and she tended his broken heart. Sam Houston, he told her, Tiana, well never part. Tiana, I will always love you, Tiana, I will always care. Sam Houston loved Tiana, and you know she loved him Ah, but that was a long, long time ago Texas came calling, it pounded like a drum. Sam Houston he answered, they knew hed come. Remember the Alamo became his battle-cry Sam Houston and Texas, and the Lone Star was flying high. The Cherokee were shoved right off their land Four thousand of them died, I understand. And General Sam Houston, he shared their pain; (And the grave of Tiana was washed away with the rain) Tiana, I will always love you. Tiana, I will always care. Sam Houston loved Tiana, and you know that she loved him Ah, but that was a long, long time ago 1987 * Your Television Set Dont Love You, Darlin Youre wasting your weekends on electronic lovers, They float by like ghosts on the screen, Youre kissing Clark Gable and you waltz Fred Astaire In re-runs youve already seen. Youre changing the stationsyou change your emotions From channel to channel in vain. The six oclock news man is laughing at you, And the talk show believes youre insane. Your television set dont love you, darlin So how come you watch it from bed? Your television set dont love you, darlin, So why dont you love me instead? Down at the tavern my Budweiser loves me, Theres a TV set over the bar, And the girl on the screen, she reminds me of you, So I get up and go to my car. I drive through the night and the windshield wipers Remove all the rain from the glass Its like a wide screen, and our shows off the air Our soap opera just didnt last 1987 * How? How staunch the flow of loves hot blood?

How check its ceaseless flood Sucked by devil-leaches draining pale A heart once healthy robust and hale? 07-10-88 * Ocean Victim Regret in runnels flows Downward to the sea Of voided love. Emotion goes Flotsam-like toward nullity. Weve drowned in salt what cannot be. 07-19-88 * The Muse At Four A. M. The pre-dawn ennui of sleeplessness Chafes raw the nerves of poetry, As tensing cadences of song caress The rain with mist-vague melody. The mind becomes a frescoed wall, Mad metaphors are muraled there: Pastels and paling pigments sprawl Tableauxedtranslucentbrushed with air. 07-19-88 * Bliss (2) The kiss of Time corrodes Bronze Venuses to flaking rust, Times transitoriness erodes Marble aphrodites down to dust. But Loves caress slays Time. Eternities succumb to Loves soft sigh. And nuptial church bells ever chime: Gods clarion echo heard on high. 09-29-88 * The Last Laugh Love laughs at life, Scorns the scourging whip of years, Dulls lifes sawing knife And watersheds its tears. Love smiles at death, Soul withstanding soil, Heaped upon the flesh whose breath Expires. Loves Deaths foil. 10-15-88

* Gold Songs Dreams are coins you toss, Sweet loss, Gambled young or old, Fools gold. Dreams are songs unheard, Sounds blurred Like fragile, tinkling chimes, By times. 1988 * Historys Horse-Hooves Historys horse-hooves are clattering by, Cobblestones ring with sound, Dinning our frightened ears Over the futures ground, Signaling coming years. But hooves trample you and me. Damned history. 1988 * Lamp Love (2) (for Anne) I rubbed on my lamp with three strokes, Eliciting vaporous smokes; A lady appeared in the haze In robes of red glimmering rays, Pressing upon me a kiss And with me she loyally stays: Mystical, marital bliss. 1988 * Onyx Beach (for Gary William Crawford) Gold ships Ploughing through storms in your brain. Gale rips Canvas with ebony rain. Black stars Reaching with magnetic hands. Gold spars Strewn carelessly on black sands. Dementia That none understands. 1988 *

Skeptics Song Marble philosophies Quarried by slaves, Hewn out by pedants, Polished by knaves, Worshiped by sycophants Tower-like headstones! Over Ideologys graves. 1-24-89 * The Sahara of My Soul I. The gales of Hell, they gust my soul; I shutter up in vain-Cracked windows of my storm-rent brain, Shuddering as wind-tides roll. Rattling rhythms wrack my soul. The wind-voice screeches out my name With banshee-clarity and tone Skirling, high-pitched, like a lone Lover who slew herself in shame Wind-wraith woman howls my name! II. The winds wax silent, shorn of sound, A pall afflicts the land, Breezeless, arid, bone-strewn sand There my cerements are found Rotting on the charnel ground. 7-28-89 and 8-9-89 * Pie-Supper Summer Blueberry and cherry, and home-made apple pie, Country girls bake them, the apple of your eye; Each pies got a numberwhich one will you choose? Look at all those country girls, looking right at you. Its a Pie-Supper Summed, in Nineteen and Thirty-Eight, Down at the school houseyou know you cant be late; Lemonade and coffee, wash that pie right down; Your friends and your neighbors, from the hills and from the town. Its a Pie-Supper Summer, in the Ozark mountain hills, Mighty big appetite--you know youre going to get your fill; Its a Pie-Supper Summer in ht Ozark mountain hills: You can shut your eyesyou can see that picture still.

Billy brings along his Gene Autry, Sears guitar, He likes Tex Ritter, and those cowboy picture stars; Bill buys a pie prepared by Becky Lou Look at all those young folkssneaking off two-by-two! Becky. She says Now Billy, I think wed better get hitched soon I can see Daddys shotgun reflecting the Ozark moon! So they get married down in Arkansas, late one Saturday Billys dropping out of schoolnow hes baling hay. Pearl Harbor comes along in December of Forty-One On an Okinawa Beach, Billy tests out his M-1 gun His mama gets a Gold Starand he never got to know his kids, And Becky, she dont say nothingshe keeps those feelings hid. And you know that Time, Time, Time has a way of adjusting All your dreams, And the years, keep right on flowing Like an Ozark mountain stream. Becky lives in Springfield in a high-rise all alone, And her son performs in Branson, in a theater all his own; On Decoration Day she puts a wreath on a heros grave, And she shuts her eyes and looks at yesterday. Its a Pie-Supper Summer, in the Ozark mountain hills, Mighty big appetite, you know youre going to get your fill, Its a Pie-Supper Summer, in the Ozark mountain hills You can shut your eyesyou can see that picture still. Blueberry and cherry, and home-made apple pie; Country girls bake them, the apple of your eye; Each pies got a numberwhich one will you chose? Look at all those country girls, looking right at you. 09-07-89 * Springdale Confederate Cemetery, Chattanooga Sacred grounds. Please dont trespass legend on bronze tablet Secluded cemetery flaunts a flag Unflown much now on Southern land, Where wooden markers once proclaimed Lost names and ranks from Braggs Command. Hospitals disgorged this dead One hundred fifty-five in all; Today, anonymously one stone Stands for stalwarts born to fall. 09-18-89 Burger King, Brainerd Rd., Chattanooga, TN * Welcome Home, Sister

She wears a metal bracelet, oh, so proudly, With a POWs name upon her arm. She earns her living working in an office, Typing letters and filing all those forms. The girls down at work, they tend to gossip, They talk about her, but not in an unkind way. But all the same, sometimes it gets too personal On the coffee-break, you ought to hear what the girls say. Welcome home, sister, tell us about Vietnam, Welcome home, sister, tell us all about it, if you can Now what possessed a girl like you to go over there? Were you running from yourself?thats what we heard. Did you go for the thrills, did you go for the men, did you like those uniforms? To carry it on this long, it seems absurd. Yes, I played Country music for the G.I.s, I made that USO club tour scene. And I rode with body bags in the helicopters And I saw a night-club blown to smithereens. And yes, I go to D.C. on vacation, I spend a lot of time beside that cold, black wall. I recognize some names upon the surface Sometimes it feels just like I know them all. 11-03-89 * I Dont Know Why I Love You (for Anne) I dont know why I love you, I dont know why I care; If love required a reason, Then love would not be there. I dont know why I love you, I only know I do. Some things you never question, Your heart knows what is true. 1989 * Progress (2) Modernity has ravaged golden thrones, The Kings are toppled, ornate crowns displaced, That roll and ring upon the palace stones: Decapitated, those heads the crowns once graced; And severed, all the links of language with the past. Dumb, unlettered beasts, we grunt and snort Among the vine-choked, fluted pillars. No words last. Antiquitys philosophies abort

Inside the wordless womb of Now. We swine Have overthrown the ruined emperies, Boar-tusk crude, we rove--barbaric and bovine. The parchments all are shredded. Smashed, each frieze Of carved Hellenic majesty. We root Amongst the marble rubble where weeds shoot. 1989 * The Defrauding of the Worms The ashes of the years diffuse in dust, Their motes exuding mauvish glow That alters grey to black. But Ive no trust In Time, that cut-purse thief, who robs us so. For, graveward borne, my gathered decades shorn From off my limbs, my soul but cuts adrift And cheats the maggotry of Death. Forlorn And cheated, Satan rues my flight! Christs gift Of sweet perpetuation foils those worms of Earth Who rend my flesh when nothing live, lives there. My human husk decaysto wait rebirth. Ethereal, my souls exultant, where Abide infinities of angelswhite And efflorescentbeaming lucent light. 1989 (rev. 92) * You Music (for Anne) Theres music today, and the melodys you, Progression of chords is new But exquisitely right, and the rhythm is tight, And the lyrics so magically true: Written in laughter, written in pain But its you, and the echoes remain. 1989 * Bandits Bulls Eye I curse the brigands as they ride Off with the peasants hog, And a sack of corn from the peasants crib, With a sword through the peasants dog. The thieves curse me as I track them down, Archers at my command, Encircling them with their bow-strings taut, Aimed at the outlaw band Suddenly, I bring down my hand! 05-21-90 *

Can You Hear That Voice on the Lonesome Wind? Can you hear that voice on the lonesome wind? Its just some woman who knows shes sinned. Her husband took her in his loving arms And he cast her down where shell do no harm. He dropped her down a lead- mine shaft, And he walked away with a bitter laugh, But lying head down in the weeds, A little boy witnessed his deed. That little boy, he ran to town, They formed a posse and they hunted him down. They brought him is, he was wearing chains, And the little boy felt so ashamed. The funeral was the very next day. And on a hill, about a mile away, They built a platform, with thirteen steps. As I shut my eyes, I can see it yet. Now here I sit in this Memphis bar, Im so damned drunk, I wonder where we are. Bartender, lets have another round. And I think of how I let my daddy down. Can you hear that voice on the lonesome wind? Its just some woman who knows shes sinned. Her husband took her in his loving arms And he cast her down where shell do no harm. 05-28-90 *

A Plea Evanescently blurred, half beyond recall, Her voice down a midnight hall Or her visage in oils once glimpsed on sale, Remote, and feminine-pale. Whoever was she? Forget, forget Her classical silhouette: Let her image diffuse in a twilight haze Of vapored blues and greys 12-20-90 * Reunion (2) December winds moan, As tomb-gratings groan,

With Lorna bestirred from her sleep; She slides back the stone Committed to vows she must keep. You cuckold!youve nailed Her coffin, but failed To fasten the wooden lid tight. So Lorna, unjailed Returns to set certain wrongs right. The castle dogs smell The odors that tell Them something putrescent is near No, Lorna! you yell (Of you, thats the last your dogs hear). 12-26-90 * Reverie (2) Far over the mountains and lands away Expands a voluptuous scene: Lush valleys of dewy, silver-green Where frivolous fairies play. In meadows of velveteen moss and grass The unicorns graze and browse, While over the crimson-colored cows Pterodactyls slowly pass. So track the meandering, winding trail That wends through your restive mind Relaxing your weary eyelids, find Your path to the dappled dale. 12-26-90 * Septembers Showers Summer weeps and grieves, Rain-tears moisten leaves, Grey replaces blue Autumn cries anew. 1990 * In Vain Pursuit Limpid nymph amid the leaves Furtive, as the twilight weaves Shadow raiments round her limbs; Naked as the sunshine dims. Mauvish-tinted pigments drape Twilight on her supple shape; Down the forest trails shell dart

Drawing me, with racing heart! 05-31-91 * A Little Bit Deeper Than Usual This time you put the knife in a little bit deeper than usual, You twisted the blade a time or two, too much, This time my thoughts run a little bit deeper than usual, Ive lost my sensitivity to your touch. This time the wishing well seems a little bit deeper than usual, The old oaken bucket comes up, without a dream inside, This time the river of tears runs a little bit deeper than usual, And I dont think Im going to make it to the other side. This time my memories run a little bit deeper than usual, I think about al the crazy stuff we did, We ran hand in hand right through the green meadow, Picking wildflowers like a couple of lovesick kids. This time the talk ran a little bit deeper than usual, A couple of lawyers going to send us both a bill, And the childrens nightmares run a little bit deeper than usual, And that old flame. I wonder, does she love me still? Does she love me still? 6-8-91 * Bareback Rider Out on the heath hies a lady in white, Riding a giant toad; Who is that woman, luminescently bright, Spurring her steed on the road? West Country witch whom, legends recount, Transformed her man with a spell: Cuckolding lover, she made him her mount Unclad, she straddles him well. Reptile croaking along on the path; Lady, equestrienne witch, Whacking his scaly skin with a lath, Hopping each brook and broad ditch. 07-01-91 * Blood Harvest Hay is threshed by the rotor blades, Hay along with the arms, Legs, and heads of the milking maids, Down on the carrion farms. Farmer Misogynist reaps his yield

Satan nurtured the crop Psychopathology wet the field Whing! Now the rotor blade lops! 07-10-91 * Inscrutable (2) You prowl in the weeds in search of a sliver Of timber from logs where her cabin once stood. But the structure is gone from the Little Pigeon River, Its remnants embedded in a mansion in Brentwood. You hearken for echoes on the hollowed old speaker At Studio B where the tourists now gape, Where JoshuaJoleneand the poor, sinful Seeker Were captured by Porter on RCA tape. You pause at the quick-mart for a tabloid injection Just how many wigs can one woman own? And how many escapades dodge our detection? Three-fourths of her story will never be known. 07-13-91 * Shelley (The Birth of Science Fiction) I. Young Shelley at Eton imbibed the mystique Of science romanticized into extremes: He gave his poor tutor a shock and a shriek Electric jolt!eliciting screams. II. Explosives and fire-balloons were his joy, Chemicals tainting his fingers and arms, Steam engine blew-up(another mere toy). Mad Shelley continually causing alarms III. His tutor named Walker is wholly forgot Blueprint for someone whose name weve all read Frankensteins prototype, likely as not, Mixed up with Shelley in wife Marys head. 9-23-91 * Rejection Slip to Editors I cannot sing to the wax-eared deaf, Nor paint for the color-blind, So flunk my verse with the grade of F Sheer praise of the highest kind. 09-08-91 *

The Lens of the Future I. From three-power up to nine Telescope tunnels through space Galileo scanned Gods vast design: Thirty-power soon found its place. Then Jupiters moons loomed in view. Heresy! Earth wasnt right In the midst of Creationa new Insight suffused its strong light. Could people traverse what lay there? Hypothetical pioneers far Ascending the galaxies stair Ladder-like, star after star. II. The moon was the goal to reach, Johannes Kepler briskly agreed Like Columbus toward Salvadors beach, Borne at incredible speed. 09-21 & 22-91 * Nautical Galactic (For Columbus and Armstrong) I. Old sailors pine for salt and spars, New vessels sliding down the slips, Valiant skippers holding by the helms. II. Young sailors dream of reaching stars, Midshipmen berthed in rocket ships Trajected far to planetary realms. 09-28-91 * From a 23rd Century Text The gates of Time yawned back, And let the Western seas attack, Hurling tidal waves That turned the towns to graves. Atlantis sank before And then the California shore

Settled out of view Below Pacific blue. 11-01-91 * Illiteracy Children never learn today Where the meadow-fairies play, Where the elves bask in the sun Where their inch-high horses run. 11-02-91 * Archeological Reverence The golden chair of opulence Seats a stately emperor, Enrobed in royal purple hue Of lichen moss that shrouds his bones from view. And yet he holds you in his thrall, Millennia since he has lived, You bow before his exhumed throne, And kiss, in fealty, his toe of bone. 11-16-91 * The Womans Victory From the ivory heights of heaven I am catapulted down To the bottom side of Nothing Where envy gilds my crown Separation, subjugation, Force my frantic frown. Rev. 1991 * A Family Visit Your prison is a tomb, A vaulted, marble room Where your wan spirit lives, Denied the peace death gives. And now your spirit goes In shrouded coffin clothes Across the headstones for Your brothers portal door. His new wife sees you clear And screams. Hes here, hes here! Your former wife was her And he, your murderer.

02-20-92 * Prehistoric Precision I. Stonehenge wrought of bluestone Each massive megalith Positioned by shamans (date unknown) For timing the heavens with. II. Cheops awesome pyramid Aligned with compass care, Demarking distance, map-like grid, Emplaced, finitely, there. III. Star-clocks and calendars, Astronomic gauges, Immortal instruments, sighting stars, For scientists and mages. 03-03-92 * Marriage is Forever The voice in the attic clamors, As you ascend the stairs-The sound subsides and stammers Just wind. Theres no one there. Old jewelry and dresses, Your late wifes finery, Her wigs and braided tresses You turntoo late you see Shes coffin less, and free. 03-06-92 * Rendezvous With the Reaper I cant remember the date of my death For the life of me. I scribbled it down on a fragment of brown Paper bag. Now where can it be? For Id hate to miss out on that vital event; I have to be there, With everyone dressed in their ebony best Else theyll think I had nothing to wear! 04-13-92 *

Night Songs Night songs on the radio, Disc jockey popping pills, Accepting payola from Satanists Blood, on the turn-table, spills. 04-14-92 * The Gallery of Gothic Princesses I. On the right is Emily Bronte, Bard of Yorkshire moor Her talented, tormented family Wrote novels which still endure. II. On the lefts Christina Rossetti, Who chastely did refuse The goblins fruit of ecstasy; Pre-Raphaelite recluse. III. In the centers a filmy mirror, Dusty-looking glass; You rub it till its clearer And see a skull-faced lass Yourselfat Requiem Mass. 09-28-92 * Hester Prynne The whiteness of her virtue Bleeds red with scarlet sin; Her crimson cheeks alert you To guilt concealed within. Like sapphires set in ivory, Or roses wet with snow, Once-pallid flesh turns fiery: Her shame for all to know. 10-21-92 * Somewhere, Under the Rainbow The ghost of Judy Garland Is visible at night: Amphetamine-white phantom Floats through the moon-mist light.

The Emerald Citys toppled, The yellow bricks are dust, And Dorothys dead in Kansas; Tin Woodmans gone to rust. The ghost of Judy Garland is audible as well New York, New Yorks her kind of town Manhattan-angels Hell. 10-92 * Jungian Serendipity The telephone rings and the voice you hear Repeats the thought in your brain: Just synchronicity, loud and clear, Links you on some esoteric plane. Its not telepathy, mind-to-mind, But incalculably doubtful odds, Defying coincidence, like a blind Toss of the dice by the gambling gods. 1992 * Retort to Time The crispness of your knife goes snick! Cutting up my dreams like celery, To make hors doeuvres that you, Time, pick And gobble till youve swallowed me. But while you cut, your blade will knick Hard upon my iron bone; It trims me to the very quick But still, my skull will dull its hone. 1992 * Song of the Stellar Assassins Can you hear the blades revolving Within the crystal sphere? Hear them descendrotate and rend Your scalp and half your ear! Can you hear the pilots chorus Their extra-earthly tongue? A stately hymnyour requiem The space-sprites now have sung. 02-25-93 * Crosswalk Encounter

I saw the old Death Angel Walking cross the street, Disguised as a pedestrian, Visage coy and sweet. I rolled up my window, Didnt pause to wait I drove right past the lady Cant we have a date? No time to talkIm late 03-05-93 * Anonymous Inquisitors Do you hear gratings creak Upon the cellar bricks? Just autumn winds that wreak Deceptive, noisy tricks. And did you hear the knell Of bells from long ago? The belfry long since fell In ruins, this I know. Who calls your name aloud Outside your bolted door? I sleep. No ones allowed To rouse me while I snore. Excuse us, please forgive Our frivolous remarks Youve moments left to live Our claws will leave red marks! 06-14-93 * Chill-Charred Winterlude December warmth is frozen hell, Icicles stab your psyche through; Frigid furnace embers swell Frosted flames ignite in you. 12-13-93 * Women Need Words Good morning, dear, how are you? The breakfast tastes so good, Ill call you from my lunch break, the way I said I would. And Ive got one word for you thats in my vocabulary, And that words forever and its in your dictionary! The Army wrote your mother With the deepest of regret, And the police told your sister, We aint found your little brother yet, And the preacher gets the final words, upon the wind-swept hill,

But I just said I love you, and I know I always will. Women need words, yes they do, Women need words, sincere and true, Women need wordssuch as I love you. Wedding ceremony, and somebody says I do, And later he says, Im sorry, and the lawyers say its through, Women need words but they dont always get the ones they need, They get separation and visitation and liberation. Indeed! Women need words in the morning, And they need them in the afternoon, Women need words at the crack of midnight, underneath the moon. 1993 * The Death of August Derleth: July 4, 1971 The summer air hangs still. Hawk and whippoorwill Wing mournful down the graying skies Hearken to their cries! And then the faintest breeze Murmurs in the trees And at the Lonesome Place Spirits sigh in space. 04-20-94 * Bay of Pigs Encore The Cuban migration commences Refugees floating ashore; Floridians mount their defenses, With weapons unweilded before. Radiation transmitters are mustered Incinerate Castro the goal! Too many times has he blustered His ashes now swirl, as waves roll. SunMart parking lot, Silver Spring Blvd. Ocala, Florida, 3:00 a.m., 09-03-94 * Phototropism I. The grave is the adolescent goal, Deaths the teenage cult, Byronic, the melodramatic role, With suicide, oft the result.

II. Transcending malaise is the urgent task, Evading those marble tombs; Your soul in Sonlight beams must bask, Defying Deaths crypt-like gloom. 10-28-94 * Immortal Mansion Macabre The white house on the hillside Bright as ivory, Entombs lost generations, Coffined lovingly. The mausoleum glimmers, Glinting skull-white pale A marble paradise where Ancestors prevail Hearken! Hear them wail! 07-95 * Golgothan Solace The wooden frame to which youre nailed (Roman penalty) With outspread wrists and spikes impaled Transcends mere agony. Between your brother thief and you Upon His wooden span, Sags a Shape soon raised anew Reprieving faith-filled man. 09-05-95 *