Insomnia I

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1. THE DAYS GO BY for Daniel Weissbort Some poems meant only for my eyes About a grief I can’t let go But I want to, want to throw It away like an old worn-out cloak Or screw up like a ball of over-written Trash and toss into the corner bin. I said it must come up or out I […]...
2. Alfred Moir Why was I not devoured by self-contempt, And rotted down by indifference And impotent revolt like Indignation Jones? Why, with all of my errant steps Did I miss the fate of Willard Fluke? And why, though I stood at Burchard’s bar, As a sort of decoy for the house to the boys To buy the […]...
3. Insomnia The moon in the bureau mirror Looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, But she never, never smiles) Far and away beyond sleep, or Perhaps she’s a daytime sleeper. By the Universe deserted, She’d tell it to go to hell, And she’d find a body of water, Or a mirror, on […]...
4. The Tide of Sorrow ON the twilight-burnished hills I lie and long and gaze Where below the grey-lipped sands drink in the flowing tides, Drink, and fade and disappear: interpreting their ways A seer in my heart abides. Once the diamond dancing day-waves laved thy thirsty lips: Now they drink the dusky night-tide running cold and fleet, Drink, and […]...
5. Haroun Al Raschid One day, Haroun Al Raschid read A book wherein the poet said: “Where are the kings, and where the rest Of those who once the world possessed? “They’re gone with all their pomp and show, They’re gone the way that thou shalt go. “O thou who choosest for thy share The world, and what the […]...
6. Insomnia Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try; Since twelve I haven’t closed an eye, And now it’s three, and as I lie, From Notre Dame to St. Denis The bells of Paris chime to me; “You’re young,” they say, “and strong and free.” I do not turn with sighs and groans To ease my limbs, […]...
7. Epitaph Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C. That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death […]...
8. My Book Before I drink myself to death, God, let me finish up my Book! At night, I fear, I fight for breath, And wake up whiter than a spook; And crawl off to a bistro near, And drink until my brain is clear. Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength To write and write; and so […]...
9. A drinking song Come, brothers, share the fellowship We celebrate to-night; There’s grace of song on every lip And every heart is light! But first, before our mentor chimes The hour of jubilee, Let’s drink a health to good old times, And good times yet to be! Clink, clink, clink! Merrily let us drink! There’s store of wealth […]...
10. The Man Who Knew The Dreamer visioned Life as it might be, And from his dream forthright a picture grew, A painting all the people thronged to see, And joyed therein till came the Man Who Knew, Saying: “‘Tis bad! Why do ye gape, ye fools! He painteth not according to the schools.” The Dreamer probed Life’s mystery of […]...
11. Hotel Insomnia I liked my little hole, Its window facing a brick wall. Next door there was a piano. A few evenings a month A crippled old man came to play “My Blue Heaven.” Mostly, though, it was quiet. Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat Catching his fly with a web Of cigarette smoke and […]...
12. Djolan Soft was the night, the eve how airy, When through the big, fat dictionary I wandered on in careless ease, And read the a’s, b’s, c’s and d’s! But stop! What is this form I see, Beginning with a hump-backed d? I pause! I gasp! I falter there! It is the djolan, I declare! It […]...
13. THE TREASURE-DIGGER ALL my weary days I pass’d Sick at heart and poor in purse. Poverty’s the greatest curse, Riches are the highest good! And to end my woes at last, Treasure-seeking forth I sped. “Thou shalt have my soul instead!” Thus I wrote, and with my blood. Ring round ring I forthwith drew, Wondrous flames collected […]...
14. Mystery Now I am all One bowl of kisses, Such as the tall Slim votaresses Of Egypt filled For a God’s excesses. I lift to you My bowl of kisses, And through the temple’s Blue recesses Cry out to you In wild caresses. And to my lips’ Bright crimson rim The passion slips, And down my […]...
15. Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas. Half the catalogue of ships is mine: That flight of cranes, long stretched-out line, That once rose, out of Hellas. To an alien land, like a phalanx of cranes – Foam of the gods on the heads of kings – Where do you sail? What would the things Of Troy, be […]...
16. Death XXVII Then Almitra spoke, saying, “We would ask now of Death.” And he said: You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed […]...
17. Big Night On The Town drunk on the dark streets of some city, It’s night, you’re lost, where’s your Room? You enter a bar to find yourself, Order scotch and water. Damned bar’s sloppy wet, it soaks Part of one of your shirt Sleeves. It’s a clip joint-the scotch is weak. You order a bottle of beer. Madame Death walks […]...
18. Hymn 151 Prophecy and inspiration. ‘Twas by an order from the Lord The ancient prophets spoke his word; His Spirit did their tongues inspire, And warmed their hearts with heav’nly fire. The works and wonders which they wrought Confirmed the messages they brought; The prophet’s pen succeeds his breath, To save the holy words from death. Great […]...
19. The Buried Life Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless sadness o’er me roll. Yes, yes, we know that we can jest, We know, we know that we can smile! But there’s a something in this breast, To which thy light words bring no rest, […]...
20. Keats The melancholy gift Aurora gained From Jove, that her sad lover should not see The face of death, no goddess asked for thee, My Keats! But when the crimson blood-drop stained Thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained, Brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy! And then, a shadow fell on Italy: Thy […]...
21. An Ending Early March. The cold beach deserted. My kids Home in a bare house, bundled up And listening to rock music Pirated from England. My wife Waiting for me in a bar, alone For an hour over her sherry, and none Of us knows why I have to pace Back and forth on this flat And […]...
22. Especially For You This poem is a special gift especially For you, All I ask is that you read it often And every time you do I want you to see the person who Gave you this special gift… And I want their image to fill you With love and give your heart a lift. Then I want […]...
23. Sonnet 01: Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs,-No Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,-no, Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair Than small white single poppies,-I can bear Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though From left to right, not knowing where to go, I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear So […]...
24. The Gold Key The speaker in this case Is a middle-aged witch, me- Tangled on my two great arms, My face in a book And my mouth wide, Ready to tell you a story or two. I have come to remind you, All of you: Alice, Samuel, Kurt, Eleanor, Jane, Brian, Maryel, All of you draw near. Alice, […]...
25. Boon Soul Behold! I’m old; my hair is white; My eighty years are in the offing, And sitting by the fire to-night I sip a grog to ease my coughing. It’s true I’m raucous as a rook, But feeling bibulously “bardy,” These lines I’m scribbling in a book: The verse complete of Thomas Hardy. Although to-day he’s […]...
26. The Score Because I’ve come to eighty odd, I must prepare to meet you, God. What should I do? I cannot pray, I have no pious words to say; And though the Bible I might read, Scriptures don’t meet my need. Please tell me God what can I do To be acceptable to you? I’ve put in […]...
27. Partnership Yes, you have it; I can see. Beautiful?… Dear, look at me! Look and let my shame confess Triumph after weariness. Beautiful? Ah, yes. Lift it where the beams are bright; Hold it where the western light, Shining in above my bed, Throws a glory on your head. Now it is all said. All there […]...
28. The Missal Makers To visit the Escurial We took a motor bus, And there a guide mercurial Took charge of us. He showed us through room after room, And talked hour after hour, Of place, crypt and royal tomb, Of pomp and power. But in bewilderment of grace What pleased me most of all Were ancient missals proud […]...
29. The Revelation An idle poet, here and there, Looks around him; but, for all the rest, The world, unfathomably fair, Is duller than a witling’s jest. Love wakes men, once a lifetime each; They lift their heavy lids, and look; And, lo, what one sweet page can teach, They read with joy, then shut the book. And […]...
30. If You Forget Me I want you to know One thing. You know how this is: If I look At the crystal moon, at the red branch Of the slow autumn at my window, If I touch Near the fire The impalpable ash Or the wrinkled body of the log, Everything carries me to you, As if everything that […]...
31. Wine Bibber I would rather drink than eat, And though I superbly sup, Food, I feel, can never beat Delectation of the cup. Wine it is that crowns the feast; Fish and fowl and fancy meat Are of my delight the least: I would rather drink than eat. Though no Puritan I be, And have doubts of […]...
32. After All The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town; My spirit revives in the morning breeze, Though it died when the sun went down; The river is high and the stream is strong, And the grass is green and tall, And I fain would think that this world of ours is […]...
33. A MISSAL LIKE A BONE Link by link I can disown No link.(R. Duncan) I search the passage Someone sends & find a missal Like a bone. My hands are white with sweat. I lay my burden down The ground below me Shrinking. The more my fingers ply These keys the more Words daunt me. I am what a haunt […]...
34. Song of the Flower XXIII I am a kind word uttered and repeated By the voice of Nature; I am a star fallen from the Blue tent upon the green carpet. I am the daughter of the elements With whom Winter conceived; To whom Spring gave birth; I was Reared in the lap of Summer and I Slept in the […]...
35. To My Little Niece Sally Livingston To my little niece Sally Livingston, on the death of a little serenading wren she admired. Hasty pilgrim stop thy pace Turn a moment to this place Read what pity hath erected To a songster she respected. Little minstrel all is o’er Never will thy chirpings more Soothe the heavy heart of care Or dispel […]...
36. Death sets a Thing significant Death sets a Thing significant The Eye had hurried by Except a perished Creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little Workmanships In Crayon, or in Wool, With “This was last Her fingers did” Industrious until The Thimble weighed too heavy The stitches stopped by themselves And then ’twas put among the Dust Upon the Closet […]...
37. The Mole Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaze; When War was rampant in the land, And poor folk cowered in the night, While ruin gaped on every hand – Of ravishing and wrath I’ll write.” Ten years […]...
38. Threshold I was not aware of the moment When I first crossed the threshold of this life. What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery Like a bud in the forest at midnight! When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no […]...
39. On Looking for Models The trees in time Have something else to do Besides their treeing. What is it. I’m a starving to death Man myself, and thirsty, thirsty By their fountains but I cannot drink Their mud and sunlight to be whole. I do not understand these presences That drink for months In the dirt, eat light, And […]...
40. Delayed till she had ceased to know Delayed till she had ceased to know Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay An hour behind the fleeting breath Later by just an hour than Death Oh lagging Yesterday! Could she have guessed that it would be Could but a crier of the joy Have climbed the distant hill Had […]...