Clown In The Moon
My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.
Magic
You have magic in your finger tips,
Magic in your eye.
Magic in the arms that hold
And tell me not to cry.
There is magic in your voice
When you talk to me each day.
There is magic in your smile
And in the things you say.
there is magic in the way
You let me be myself with you.
The Owners Of The Magic Lamp
The magic lamp!
How wonderfully works to them! !
They show you magic
To charm,
They show you a one
Give another one
You are charmed to them
All the time;
But whenever I go to take
Instantly it does fall,
My Father Is A Retired Magician
(for ifa, p.t., & bisa)
my father is a retired magician
which accounts for my irregular behavior
everythin comes outta magic hats
or bottles wit no bottoms & parakeets
are as easy to get as a couple a rabbits
or 3 fifty cent pieces/ 1958
my daddy retired from magic & took
A Smile
A smile
is a frown turned upside down.
A smile
is painted on the face of a clown.
A smile
brightens a dreary day.
A smile
chases tears away.
A smile
is a gift that shows you care.
May I Never Cease To Wonder
May I never cease to wonder:
At the cascading crystal blue waters
Of the waterfall; at each new dawn's
Sweet sunbursts of flesh pink magic.
At the moonlight flashing in my mirror;
At the night's stars gently vibrating;
At the jellyfish swell of oceanic dreaming;
At the sheer joy of eternal becoming.
A Poplar And The Moon
There stood a Poplar, tall and straight;
The fair, round Moon, uprisen late,
Made the long shadow on the grass
A ghostly bridge ’twixt heaven and me.
But May, with slumbrous nights, must pass;
And blustering winds will strip the tree.
And I’ve no magic to express
The moment of that loveliness;
So from these words you’ll never guess
The stars and lilies I could see.
In The Mood
Hear that rhythm, check that beat,
Feel that pulse beneath your feet,
Find that tempo, measure the pace,
Perceive that smile upon your face.
Music is such a magic sound,
Throbbing through the underground,
Rising up to assail the ears,
Supplying too, a few apt tears,
Without it, life would be subdued,
So up that volume, get in the mood!
When I Set Out For Lyonnesse
When I set out for Lyonnesse,
A hundred miles away,
The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
A hundred miles away.
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there
No prophet durst declare,
Never The Time And The Place
Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May -- what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
# A Beautiful Dawn
the morning is so beautiful..friend
wake up and see it yourself
the young dawns magic..nothing seems old
as the new day unfolds
wake up and see for yourself...friend
if i shake you to wake you
you wake up with a shock in mind
sleep will leave its dread behind
the morning is so beautiful...
Laughter
Laughter is a pleasant sound, it spreads joy all around
Whether you're young or old, laughter can be like
Magic to our souls, whenever we're feeling sad
Laughter can sustain us so that things don't seem
Quite so bad, if we give into laughter, it can be like
A cure for something that seems impossible to endure
So any time your spirits need a lift fill yourself
With laughter and you will find, a much happier
Person with a peaceful frame of mind
Magic
Sandra's seen a leprechaun,
Eddie touched a troll,
Laurie danced with witches once,
Charlie found some goblins' gold.
Donald heard a mermaid sing,
Susy spied an elf,
But all the magic I have known
I've had to make myself.
Cat Scat
I am watching Cleo listening, our cat
listening to Mozart's Magic Flute. What
can she be hearing? What
can the air carry into her ears like that,
her ears swivelling like radio dishes that
are tuned to all the noise of the world, flat
and sharp, high and low, a scramble of this and that
she can decode like nobody's business, acrobat
of random airs as she is? Although of course a bat
is better at it, sifting out of its acoustic habitat
Invitation
If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by the fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
Love's Magic Touch
Love,
A burning torch
Of Happiness,
Of which
We never have
Enough,
The one
You really love
You never tire of
Magic splendor,
Novemberness
Snowflakes create mosaics of moonlace.
They paint fantastic shadows on the glass.
A word or two accents the falling day.
Dusk flickers like a magic picture light.
The mood is older than Methuselah,
As ageless as a speech by Robert Byrd.
Time captures him in his Novemberness,
Eternal as the Appalachian frost.
## An Amazing Creator
an amazing creator
we have here
a scientist
a poet
an economist
an all in one he is
and after all this
if i just expect a magic
out of him
to prove himself to me
Hymns To The Night : 2
Must the morning always return? Will the despotism of the earthly never cease? Unholy activity consumes the angel-visit of the Night. Will the time never come when Love's hidden sacrifice shall burn eternally? To the Light a season was set; but everlasting and boundless is the dominion of the Night. -- Endless is the duration of sleep. Holy Sleep -- gladden not too seldom in this earthly day-labor, the devoted servant of the Night. Fools alone mistake thee, knowing nought of sleep but the shadow which, in the twilight of the real Night, thou pitifully castest over us. They feel thee not in the golden flood of the grapes -- in the magic oil of the almond tree -- and the brown juice of the poppy. They know not that it is thou who hauntest the bosom of the tender maiden, and makest a heaven of her lap -- never suspect it is thou, opening the doors to Heaven, that steppest to meet them out of ancient stories, bearing the key to the dwellings of the blessed, silent messenger of secrets infinite.
Upstairs
I too have a garret of old playthings.
I have tin soldiers with broken arms upstairs.
I have a wagon and the wheels gone upstairs.
I have guns and a drum, a jumping-jack and a magic lantern.
And dust is on them and I never look at them upstairs.
I too have a garret of old playthings.