Weekend Glory

Some clichty folks don't know the facts, posin' and preenin' and puttin' on acts, stretchin' their backs. They move into condos up over the ranks, pawn their souls to the local banks.

Ode To The Moon

Ode To The Moon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Usually after the sun's disappear Weary birds return their nests, Tired workers close day-works All get back respective home, The house wives make dinner Silently the night falls on them

A Legend Of Truth

Once on a time, the ancient legends tell, Truth, rising from the bottom of her well, Looked on the world, but, hearing how it lied, Returned to her seclusion horrified. There she abode, so conscious of her worth, Not even Pilate's Question called her forth, Nor Galileo, kneeling to deny The Laws that hold our Planet 'neath the sky. Meantime, her kindlier sister, whom men call Fiction, did all her work and more than all,

Ode To A Poet

Ode To A Poet .................... Hey poet! You are a great, You think of mankind Universe, nature and God, Civilizations, cultures, societies Countries, nations and communities, These all are the very subjects of you, poet

A Dream

Guid-Mornin' to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang thae birth-day dresses Sae fine this day.

The Shooting Of Dan Mcgrew

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon; The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew, And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou. When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare, There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear. He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,

The First And Last Time

Since we first met, I can’t seem to forget you You mesmerize me with your beautiful face There are not enough words to describe How perfect you are It’s like you’re my guardian angel I felt your presence when I needed someone to comfort me I felt your existence in the weakest moments of my life I felt your support in every little things I’ve done

The Tyre

Just how it came to rest where it rested, miles out, miles from the last farmhouse even, was a fair question. Dropped by hurricane or aeroplane perhaps for some reason, put down as a cairn or marker, then lost. Tractor-size, six or seven feet across, it was sloughed, unconscious, warm to the touch, its gashed, rhinoceros, sea-lion skin nursing a gallon of rain in its gut. Lashed to the planet with grasses and roots,

Protocols

What can I say to you? How can I retract All that that fool my voice has spoken - Now that the facts are plain, the placid surface cracked, The protocols of friendship broken? I cannot walk by day as now I walk at dawn Past the still house where you lie sleeping. May the sun burn these footprints on the lawn And hold you in its warmth and keeping.

* I Love You *

I love you Illusive intrusions like thunderous voices Blowing my mind away…. I am here to conceal the chronology All facts and figures Embezzling the dazzles Digging deep into your soul You’re the artifact Of ancient’s sag Beneath you history shines

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die. And you will have a window in your head. Not even your future will be a mystery any more. Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer.

Justice Delayed

Can justice be delayed under any circumstances? Numerous cases can be sighted for instances Can that not be amounted as justice denied? Well, conscious should always bite if it is laid Constitution enshrined for liberty and freedom Forefathers too considered and thought it as wisdom Sacrifice made for freedom struggle should not go as waste To live with true freedom was need of an hour and taste

As I Sat Alone By Blue Ontario's Shores

AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore, As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me; Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America- chant me the carol of victory; And strike up the marches of Libertad- marches more powerful yet; And sing me before you go, the song of the throes of Democracy. (Democracy- the destin'd conqueror- yet treacherous lip-smiles

Castile

Orange blossoms blowing over Castile children begging for coins I met my love under an orange tree or was it an acacia tree or was he not my love? I read this, then I dreamed this: can waking take back what happened to me? Bells of San Miguel

Behind Ghost And Its Story

In the evening, the passerby while lonely passing Heard some noises of an unseen cart on other way Which he mistook bone breaking, tearing, chopping, Murmuring, rumbling, trembling sounds all around, He was confused, fixed, feared and crying uttering 'Is there a ghost? Oh, ghost! Ghost! ! A ghost! ! ! ' 'Where? ' Some curious people were rushing to 'Oh! Here is, trying to kill me, can't you see, men? ' 'Oh! Where, how looking? ' They were roaming about 'Skeleton like, just skeleton like, oh! Horror! ! Horror! ! '

Bishop Blougram's Apology

NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart! I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes, Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere; It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh? These hot long ceremonies of our church

Elegy In The Classroom

In the thin classroom, where your face was noble and your words were all things, I find this boily creature in your place; find you disarranged, squatting on the window sill, irrefutably placed up there, like a hunk of some big frog watching us through the V of your woolen legs.

Epilogue

Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme-- why are they no help to me now I want to make something imagined, not recalled? I hear the noise of my own voice: The painter's vision is not a lens, it trembles to caress the light. But sometimes everything I write with the threadbare art of my eye seems a snapshot,

A Farewell To Agassiz

How the mountains talked together, Looking down upon the weather, When they heard our friend had planned his Little trip among the Andes How they'll bare their snowy scalps To the climber of the Alps When the cry goes through their passes, "Here comes the great Agassiz!" "Yes, I'm tall," says Chimborazo, "But I wait for him to say so,--

The Interpretation Of Nature And

I. MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything. II. Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.