Contents
Invocation of the Poet
The Mariner
Overtime
The Moon, Yes, the Moon!
Relief for the little girl
On the writing process
A dead man whispers advice into my ear
Maritime Aphorisms
On the cusp of a great Dream
Invocation of the Poet
I.
I call upon the guardians at the gate,
I hail the Keeper of the Door,
that none shall pass while here I speak,
for this is not my least duty.
II.
Speak clearly and speak true,
get to know your heart
and peer through the blood that stains your eyes
Hold your pen aloft
and be not sluggard in your duties —
if ever there was a time for doing, surely this is it.
The Hour is late and yet the winding hands
have not yet closed the gate:
But even now I hear the hushed voice saying,
Hurry, Hurry . . .
III.
To moss and to oak due thanks be given
for what would I be without them?
I must say this true and come again:
I am a man and this is not new.
Hope to pass, hope to pray, riven once more
at my post upon the break of Day.
IV.
Hurtle not your stones upon the Keep
but know surely that it is I inside,
that I may weep.
The Mariner
I.
Swirl and swirl round the dark glade
ever bending thus upon the gnave
know not what it is for or whosoever
shall openeth the Door
Speak not to me of what cometh before
or who saw her there on the floor —
Think not that I care,
but listen close to the embers whisper
when the glade is hush with frozen Winter
and all is dark upon the glen
know not who cometh and goeth,
know not who be foe and who be friend
But back to me you cometh round and round again —
Tis I alone who could stomach
The howling silence in that tower cold and damp
by the Sea
and do not ever think
to abandon me.
II.
I it is who swirl and swirl round the four winds
that hurl all the other mortals ‘pon their fated doom
and I alone survive to tell the tale
of darkened Noon,
but know now that I am not Mad,
for here’s a jem to prove the lad true:
Eye for eye
and colored blind
use the stool
and tell the time
Rhyme with reason
Don’t ask twice
Here’s the linen
and here’s the mice!
Bite hard the dirt upon your palm
And know without a doubt it’s I
your arm!
III.
Forsooth and took and jamboree
you think it is you
but really it’s me!
(What sheer hypocrisy!)
Talk to the women and talk to the nice young lads
they will tell you warmly in the kitchen
if supper they’ve had
that all is well and ne’er a day has left them
that they weren’t grateful.
But surely you know liars one and all!
Liars all except one: I, tis I,
the downward drunken rascal
lost in the flames upon the High Sea,
tis I who survived
through witchery.
IV.
Stones and tosses purple and morn
Don’t ask questions you don’t want knowin’
No sense in dyin’ if ya ain’t been born
Now I ride the coattails of another.
Overtime
Working in the bite,
working through the blood,
talk to me awhile, give yourself a shove,
that all may see more clearly
the inner workings of the mind
much as I hold dearly
to the whistlings of Time:
know that even one who has escaped death
cannot forestall decay,
and all the rest
is mere child’s play.
The Moon, Yes, the Moon!
When you see a well
at night
deep water reflection
know that all is well,
it’s Heaven that’s blessing
the silence of the air
the water we all share
and the future will be there
on the Moon!
Relief for the little girl
Early in the Morning,
early at the door,
there come a bird a’knockin’
to find what was in store
But the mother said not here,
not now,
little Sally is not well:
But then, said the Bird,
at least allow me one little treat:
to kiss the girl goodbye
for she it was
who minded not to trample me
‘neath her feet
when I was ill
and small.
But Ah!, we all come ‘round again!
On the writing process
Coffee coffee in the eye coffee
coffee makes me sick of fuckin’
coffee — how can I write poetry
under these conditions?
A dead man whispers advice into my ear
You must be firm in your position
but fast in your decision
move the pen according to the rhythme
and leave the Rhyme to me,
you shall see.
Turn up the fury turn up the pace
it would be a shame to give up the chase
but you must beat your mind at its own game,
think twice and you’ve lost, a’gain.
Do not expect to always win:
just circle it and drown it in sin.
To bust and cry and goggle my eye
isn’t worth the missing of the rhyme.
Maritime Aphorisms
I.
I loved you only for a moment
yet is it not written?
This suffices to bring even the mighty mountains
into an embrace
with the sea.
II.
How can I take advice from one who does not even see
the Angel standing there, dropping blessings in his tea?
III.
I told you once I told you twice do not think me cruel or nice —
just know that I’m the whisper in the wind.
IV.
To bark and to bite is neither cruel nor nice but to fight
and to win makes much good sense and little sin.
V.
I once was a child of the age of four then Time came knocking
and I the fool opened the door.
VI.
Time, Time, what has not already been accounted for?
I open the dresser, I close the door.
There wanders Solomon upon the sands
and here I am learning to dance.
VII.
Frugal, frugal with the hours of the day
but little sense it makes
for when Time does His Kingdom rule, it is by Divine Decree
that all go bowing upon the knee — rotting, perpetually.
VIII.
To walk, to dress, to eat, to weep
all these things are fine for meat
but don’t you think
there’s something more we could be doing?
On the cusp of a great Dream
Juices will flow
Protoplasm will grow
But will the lotus take root in the four corners
of the earth
and flower
in the Center?