Category Archives: Poetry

Poems and poetry

Shall I Shout Against the Wind

A force obliterates my scream and carries it spent and shattered among whistling branches of lifeless wood. Am I to be such a fool that I would rage alone against the calamity of this gloomy oppression. Where are the legions that cannot deny the plain truth of passion written in their hearts?

Was I formed in the image of despair? Better my heart be wounded than marking time in lonely parody. The world is full of broken bored fools who exchanged their passion for dull fantasies with only faint remembrances of real vision. Who will avoid the silent painless death that is life without passion?

Beggar’s WIne

How much does it cost to buy a man’s soul
You can have him for the purchase of his lips
Talk is cheaper than beggar’s wine
Words entice, deceive—like harlot’s hips

An idle stroll takes the bitter road
The one you said you never would
The fate you wove will bind its charge
The weaver who knew he never could

Dwelling in the unholy place
Cherished within our selfish space
Opium pity and shaking fist
Soothe awhile the bitterness

Darkened moods fall in around
Yet more dark moods fall in

An ill-made choice dooms every path
Till there’s only the smugglers track
Where carried on the backs of slaves
Their souls they burdened to their graves
Fools, they know what makes their might
Despair has taken their natal light
Burnt their hearts and left them cold
Blood-soot ashes of poison woe
Broken, yet when pressed to flee
Whirl and spit with tongues that sting
There but for any grace go I
Not so different—to death so neigh

Hopes as dust ground by time
Dwindling through the hourglass
A shifting grave for dreams to die
A perfect tapered bower, alas
Grain of life that falls unchecked
Join your daubs in tumbling splay
Your pitiless fatal arrow flecked
Offends all fortune—mark the day

What loss have I—it’s poured out red
Hide me from this bleeding bed
I made this resting place of mine
Formed by careless wastes of time
Now I see me lying there
Now I see my true despair
Dreams exchanged at pauper’s price
No harm perhaps, if once or twice
But swift are feet to follies taken
Easy steps and all’s forsaken
Lies to self and shared aloud
Shame the heart and tame the proud
Talk is cheaper than beggar’s wine
Talk is cheaper than beggar’s wine

Those Little Ones

 

Oh to see them—those little ones—with outstretched pudgy arms

Little fingers curling air, in working ways to draw me in

Smiling, laughing, running races, unmindful of life’s myriad harms

What blessed fleeting moments these, encompassed by their cheerful din

 

The trust they have is honey sweet, and to feel it’s worth, sublime

To be the object of such faith is scary lovely through and through

That trust is good and fast I know, untainted by sad effects of time

Sure enough, that I am, I’ll stumble here and there, it’s true

But by God’s good grace and their charming face I’ll be worthy yet

Of simple love, and unforced smiles, hugs and kisses too

1997 April 3

Forgotten Futures

Last night I listened to the whispering wind
Imagining it told of love in a language I couldn’t understand
Loneliness hollowed my body
Gripping my heart with a cold hand

I wrestled with memories of forgotten futures
all laid to waste in the dark allies of a mind
that’s taken a thousand ill conceived turns
Only the passion erases the last false promise
Only the passion still burns