Malcolm Wheatman Poems
|3.||Sunset On The Boulevard||9/4/2012|
|4.||A Proverbial Haiku||9/4/2012|
|5.||My Twelve Days One Christmas||9/4/2012|
|10.||The Six-Day Week||9/6/2012|
|13.||Literary Clerihew 2||9/5/2012|
|15.||Entering Into The Spirit?||9/5/2012|
|16.||... And The Hatchet?||9/5/2012|
|17.||Watching That Space||9/5/2012|
|19.||Dusk To Dusk||9/6/2012|
Now the world is almost dark
You ask what colour are your eyes? ...
The colour of the night I see reflected there,
Tinged with hues of sorrow and of joy;
The glints of rainbowed thoughts and, deeper,
Palettes of emotion, unfilled space,
Grey scales that trace the trails of past endeavour,
Down to velvet-black behind your star-strewn dreams.
The tints of time inch forward in their circle,
Uncurtaining emotion as they pass;
Purple thunder echoes blue, and far away within,
The world soon gathers brightness from your gaze,
Becoming that first light ...
Milton and Tennyson - no fools,
Likely went to public schools
Where, not by their own designs
When forced to write a hundred lines,
Did they take the opportunity to wade
Into more of their Paradise Lost and Charge of the Light Brigade?