Biography of Hal Caufield
Post Tenebras Lux
Hal Caufield Poems
The Irony Of Love
Irony is a literary or rhetorical device. The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote: “any definition of irony —though hundreds might be given,
My Mother's Tears
My mother cried again last night. I looked down trying to avoid her eyes, Knowing that I was the cause of the pain. She wrestled with my stare
I Want To Paint You
I want to paint you. Not to achieve immortality For you or me By the exquisiteness of your portrait.
What Lies Beneath
It’s not your golden curls Or sky blue eyes That I love most. Although they delight
Lancelot To Guinevere
Believe thee not shame upon our love. Believe thee not disgrace upon our kiss. There is honor in our hearts endowed above. There is nobility in our lips’ blessed bliss.
My Father's Words
Yesterday I finally understood “Beauty like a tightened bow” And as read “No Second Troy” Things, though already clear,
I Will Always Stand For You
I will always stand for you. I will always stare, In slack jawed awe, When you walk into a room.
I drank all the Allegrini wine Trying to shake the pain And chase the cold That of late has overcome my heart.
I have come to the conclusion of late, That even if I were to become The master of all I survey, I would have nothing,
The Morning Sun
You are the morning sun, Its luminance never extinguished By overcast skies. The morning sun’s splendor
Have You Noticed?
I don’t know if you noticed darling, But from the first day I professed my love I disarmed and disrobed myself before you. I did this not out of vanity or weakness,
How Do I Live
Tell me, tell me, My dearest June! What words do I use To prove to you
How I Knew It Was Your Hand
I knew it was your hand. Even though in my dream I did not see The sweetness of your face.
I Perfer A Battlefield
I would that I were on a battlefield. The heart is much safer there. I would gladly don sword and shield, Or dig in for violent onslaught without care,
What Lies Beneath
It’s not your golden curls
Or sky blue eyes
That I love most.
Although they delight
The visage with angelic beauty
And make my heart sputter,
They are not what
Soothes my soul on restless nights.