I begin my tale by pleading to be thought humbled by the circumstance I relate. By no means have my musings and the answer I derived from them made me wiser or more worthy than any other holy man. But it is fitting that I next tell you that I…
A hero like the ones of old I ply my skill to sing. What would you call the hero Who comes to serve a king Whose country needs his power Lest they fall in dark despair? I call him one sent by the gods. But no bard's words…
And thus I stood where thresholds melt like glass Becoming indistinct as light, withdrawn, Denies the pilgrim knowledge of the mass And weight of this, the journey he is on. There I remained, awaiting thresholds, taut As dogs await the master's sign to run. The pilgrim finds delight…
Parnassus has called forth in beauty here; Has made the voice to tremble for the end. So come the words which echo, calling clear For roads of poetry to twist and bend Until there is a fork dividing ways: First one unto the mountain peak for more The other to…
Let love fall on solid ground; Let it not diffuse like rain Which, landing in the ocean Disappears within again. Let it fall like meteors; Let it leave unearthly cracks In solid earth, the canyons Sending waves of mercy back. Let a good catastrophe Shake the earth in rushing light.…
Next year take me dancing in the moonlight, Remembering our very first summer nights And how two years I go I became yours And then last summer pledged my forever more. This is the year and summer we are one And I give all I have to be undone Uncertain…
4.27: Sophia by *LaBruyereA beautiful piece of fixed form poetry postscript Why is it all my weary days are spent In turning cowslips into rays of sun And floating over blades of grass, unbent And drawing four conclusions out of one? No mercy hath the stone and wooden fence…
The long, low sound of Bass clarinets And the slow progress On a half-size concert bass Bring forth the long duress First wrought by sunsets And which now has Stretched And won't be snapping back Anytime soon. So here's the moon Mocking age and books. Plodding,…