A Lovers' Quarrel

We two were lovers, the Sea and I;
We plighted our troth ‘neath a summer sky.

And all through the riotous ardent weather
We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together.
* * *
At times my lover would rage and storm.
I said: ‘No matter, his heart is warm.’

Whatever his humour, I loved his ways,

A Character

How often do I wish I were
What people call a character;
A ripe and cherubic old chappie
Who lives to make his fellows happy;
With in his eyes a merry twinkle,
And round his lips a laughing wrinkle;
Who radiating hope and cheer
Grows kindlier with every year.
For this ideal let me strive,
And keep the lad in me alive;

Being Old: The Advantages And Disadvantages....... [(See The Title): Long; Personal? ; Humour? ]

For my poems, my friend Valsa George has a hunger.
She’s over fifty, but, compared to me, she is younger.
She suggested I write about ‘the advantages of being old’.
It’s a challenge, but, Valsa, on this idea you have sold......
me.

I – The Advantages

Retirement income though you’re done working.
[Why, now, are some of you readers smirking? ]

Wonderful Man (Inspired By Maya Angelou's Great Poem 'phenomenal Woman')

Handsome man ponder at my masculine size.
I'm not huge or toned to appeal to the judges eyes,
but when I begin to tell them
they think I'm telling lies.
I say,
it's in the heat of my endurance,
the sweat on my neck,
the direction of my stride,
and the strength of my pecks
I'm a man

Drinking Song, On The Excellence Of Burgundy Wine

My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,
Come, open the door to us, let us come in.
A score of stout fellows who think it no sin
If they toast till they're hoarse, and drink till they spin,
Hoofed it amain
Rain or no rain,
To crack your old jokes, and your bottle to drain.

Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets
As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,

Galaxy Of Poetry

On that dark night when I was not able to sleep
When I wanted to escape from this earth
to a different galaxy..  I flew high and landed in this galaxy of poetry
Where I am happy and more satisfied than ever before
I saw lots of glittering and shooting stars
Illuminating my Darkest night
Some are glowing like sun and rendering
warmth to brighten my day
Each one is unique in their writings
The wonderful poets who cherish my life

Waking In The Blue

The night attendant, a B.U. sophomore,
rouses from the mare's-nest of his drowsy head
propped on The Meaning of Meaning.
He catwalks down our corridor.
Azure day
makes my agonized blue window bleaker.
Crows maunder on the petrified fairway.
Absence! My hearts grows tense
as though a harpoon were sparring for the kill.
(This is the house for the "mentally ill.")

The White Man's Burden

Take up the White man's burden --
Send forth the best ye breed --
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild --
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man's burden --

A Luminous Butterfly

I.
Wonder winged luminous in my eyes.
Elegance sheer I perceive and prize
On a flower who plays the sun of skies.
What psyche fair in colours does rise
In flight of swerve and curve amid ease?
It my eyes trail wherever to please
Me to relish harmony it frees
Through me as my heart awes in its choice.
My heart sings of its hush to rejoice

The Iliad: Book 1

Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought
countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send
hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs
and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the
day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first
fell out with one another.
And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the
son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a

Epistle Ii: To A Lady (Of The Characters Of Women )

NOTHING so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.

How many pictures of one Nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermin'd pride,
Is, there, Pastora by a fountain side.
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,

Joint Laughter

We laugh at the same funny things,
Our quick sense of humour just springs
From being together,
Whatever the weather,
It's wonderful what such laughter brings.

We can each see the funny side, that's true,
But of course we can sometimes be blue,
But if one of us is down,
Then the others a clown

My Strength

MY STRENGTH

What is in life, so great?
Hard times arrive to hurt
with no notice prior.
Fortunes...ah so promiscuous,
flirt awhile and disappear!
Lo, this is life,
full of strain, struggle and strife!

The Georgics


GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights

'Poetic Pizza' Pieces For Poemhunter Pals....[fantasy Poem/Pizza Creation; Personal]

Kanav Justa suggested I share my pizza with PoemHunter friends,
but I’ve found, when trying to send real pizza, my wife’s computer bends.
So you PoemHunter friends will have to settle for.... slices of my thoughts.
You’ll have to settle for “Poetic Pizza” Pieces my mind and pen have wrought.

Instead of dough for its foundation, I use what I see and hear and think.
Instead of an oven for baking, I bake on notebook pages (or paper scraps) with ink.

Instead of tomato or pesto sauce I spread a layer of imagination and/or knowledge.

I And Me And You

I am the redeemer
I will search your soul
to look for all you've given
and seek for all you hold

I will give no quarter
no inkling shall you find
of weakness nor of favour
as I explore your mind

The Idiot Boy

'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night,
The moon is up,--the sky is blue,
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!

--Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?

Self-Love

He that cannot choose but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move,
For he loves 'gainst his will;
Nor he which is all his own,
And can at pleasure choose,
When I am caught he can be gone,
And when he list refuse.
Nor he that loves none but fair,
For such by all are sought;

Is It Humour?

Everybody say I'm down to earth.
My explanation.
Miss Gravity works at my place.

The Iliad (Bk I)

Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.

And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant's wreath and he besought the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs.