Growing Apart

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1. Share of obligation If the debate rages in the pages of the news today Then I’m confused, I’ve searched and found no evidence. Perhaps the anger of some residents about a Catholic school That’s due to close because its roll has fallen lower Than the threshold for support is not the sort of news that sells. That only […]...
2. 417. Song-Blythe hae I been on yon hill BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free, As the breeze flew o’er me; Now nae langer sport and play, Mirth or sang can please me; LESLEY is sae fair and coy, Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring; Trembling, […]...
3. On Growing Old Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying; My dog and I are old, too old for roving. Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying, Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving. I take the book and gather to the fire, Turning old yellow leaves; minute by minute The clock […]...
4. Epitaph For Our Children Blame us for these who were cradled and rocked in our chaos; Watching our sidelong watching, fearing our fear; Playing their blind-man’s-bluff in our gutted mansions, Their follow-my-leader on a stair that ended in air....
5. Hoping With Care We are honored and humble and earnest to share In events which would happen Although we weren’t there, a trifling thing As it were we are sure but amazing The changes it has wrought in us where We’re inspired by dreams which ennui despairs. We are awed by these joys but not possessed, The paternally […]...
6. It Is Not Growing Like A Tree It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make Man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night – It was the plant and […]...
7. Growing Old Somehow the skies don’t seem so blue As they used to be; Blossoms have a fainter hue, Grass less green I see. There’s no twinkle in a star, Dawns don’t seem so gold. . . Yet, of course, I know they are: Guess I’m growing old. Somehow sunshine seems less bright, Birds less gladly sing; […]...
8. Growing Old In some summers there is so much fruit, The peasants decide not to reap any more. Not having reaped you, oh my days, My nights, have I let the slow flames Of your lovely produce fall into ashes? My nights, my days, you have borne so much! All your branches have retained the gesture Of […]...
9. Growing Old What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? Yes, but not for this alone. Is it to feel our strength – Not our bloom only, but our strength-decay? Is it to feel each limb Grow […]...
10. My Nose Is Growing Old Yup. A long lazy September look In the mirror Say it’s true. I’m 31 And my nose is growing Old. It starts about 1/2 An inch Below the bridge And strolls geriatrically Down For another inch or so: Stopping. Fortunately, the rest Of the nose is comparatively Young. I wonder if girls Will want me […]...
11. Mine Enemy is growing old Mine Enemy is growing old I have at last Revenge The Palate of the Hate departs If any would avenge Let him be quick the Viand flits It is a faded Meat Anger as soon as fed is dead ‘Tis starving makes it fat...
12. Every Time I laugh Aloud (An Ode to Short People) Every time I laugh aloud, who springs to mind but Johnnie Howard? Cathartic laughter eases stress which Johnnie causes in excess, So when I hum acerbic lines of Randy Newman’s quirky song ‘don’t want no short people ’round here’, I am reminded there are valid grounds for jeering men With little minds. Newman claim’s ‘they’re […]...
13. We dream it is good we are dreaming We dream it is good we are dreaming It would hurt us were we awake But since it is playing kill us, And we are playing shriek What harm? Men die externally It is a truth of Blood But we are dying in Drama And Drama is never dead Cautious We jar each other And […]...
14. Saturday At The Canal I was hoping to be happy by seventeen. School was a sharp check mark in the roll book, An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team Was going to win at night. The teachers were Too close to dying to understand. The hallways Stank of poor grades and unwashed hair. Thus, A friend and […]...
15. Roger Heston Oh many times did Ernest Hyde and I Argue about the freedom of the will. My favorite metaphor was Prickett’s cow Roped out to grass, and free you know as far As the length of the rope. One day while arguing so, watching the cow Pull at the rope to get beyond the circle Which […]...
16. The Sad Mother Sleep, sleep, my beloved, Without worry, without fear, Although my soul does not sleep, Although I do not rest. Sleep, sleep, and in the night May your whispers be softer Than a leaf of grass, Or the silken fleece of lambs. May my flesh slumber in you, My worry, my trembling. In you, may my […]...
17. Adventures Of Isabel Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn’t care; The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous, The bear’s big mouth was cruel and cavernous. The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you, How do, Isabel, now I’ll eat you! Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry. Isabel didn’t scream or scurry. She washed her hands and she […]...
18. Unholy Trinity Though Virtue hurt you Vice is nice; Aye, Parson says it’s wrong, Yet for my pleasing I’ll suffice With Women, Wine and Song. But though it be with jocund glee My tavern voice is ringing, Had I to chuck on of the three, By gad! I’d give up singing. Bu not the vine. What draught […]...
19. A Radio With Guts it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street I used to get drunk And throw the radio through the window While it was playing, and, of course, It would break the glass in the window And the radio would sit there on the roof Still playing And I’d tell my woman, “Ah, what a […]...
20. Lullaby Softly lie down And close your eyes so blue Worry no more For tonight I’ll watch over you Gently rest your head Against my soothing chest For here in my arms You’ve found a safe place to rest Sleep sweet child In peaceful undisturbed dreams And don’t awake Until the morning beams...
21. The Choirmaster's Burial He often would ask us That, when he died, After playing so many To their last rest, If out of us any Should here abide, And it would not task us, We would with our lutes Play over him By his grave-brim The psalm he liked best- The one whose sense suits “Mount Ephraim”- And […]...
22. Night (This night, agitated by the growing storm) This night, agitated by the growing storm, How it has suddenly expanded its dimensions, That ordinarily would have gone unnoticed, Like a cloth folded, and hidden in the folds of time. Where the stars give resistance it does not stop there, Neither does it begin within the forest’s depths, Nor show upon the surface of […]...
23. Middle-Age Enthusiasms To M. H. WE passed where flag and flower Signalled a jocund throng; We said: “Go to, the hour Is apt!” and joined the song; And, kindling, laughed at life and care, Although we knew no laugh lay there. We walked where shy birds stood Watching us, wonder-dumb; Their friendship met our mood; We cried: […]...
24. 8 Count from my bed I watch 3 birds On a telephone Wire. One flies Off. Then Another. One is left, Then It too Is gone. My typewriter is Tombstone Still. And I am Reduced to bird Watching. Just thought I’d Let you Know, Fucker....
25. Oh! That We Two Were Maying 1 Oh! that we two were Maying 2 Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; 3 Like children with violets playing 4 In the shade of the whispering trees. 5 Oh! that we two sat dreaming 6 On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down, 7 Watching the white mist steaming 8 Over river and […]...
26. The Unseen Playmate When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him, and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he’s sure to be present, abroad […]...
27. Should Lanterns Shine Should lanterns shine, the holy face, Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light, Would wither up, an any boy of love Look twice before he fell from grace. The features in their private dark Are formed of flesh, but let the false day come And from her lips the faded pigments fall, The mummy cloths […]...
28. Ballad of Dead Friends As we the withered ferns By the roadway lying, Time, the jester, spurns All our prayers and prying All our tears and sighing, Sorrow, change, and woe All our where-and-whying For friends that come and go. Life awakes and burns, Age and death defying, Till at last it learns All but Love is dying; Love’s […]...
29. Ye Mariners of England 1 Ye Mariners of England 2 That guard our native seas, 3 Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 4 The battle and the breeze 5 Your glorious standard launch again 6 To match another foe! 7 And sweep through the deep, 8 While the stormy winds do blow, 9 While the battle rages loud […]...
30. At play Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner here, Just as we used to, long ago. Playing so, we lovers two Are just as happy as we can be, And I’ll say “I love you” to you, And you say “I love you” […]...
31. To Lucasta on Going to the War – For the Fourth Time It doesn’t matter what’s the cause, What wrong they say we’re righting, A curse for treaties, bonds and laws, When we’re to do the fighting! And since we lads are proud and true, What else remains to do? Lucasta, when to France your man Returns his fourth time, hating war, Yet laughs as calmly as […]...
32. Modern Love XIII: I Play for Seasons, Not Eternities ‘I play for Seasons; not Eternities!’ Says Nature, laughing on her way. ‘So must All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!’ And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies She is full sure! Upon her dying rose, She drops a look of fondness, and goes by, Scarce any retrospection in her eye; For […]...
33. Blow, Bugle, Blow THE splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O […]...
34. Baby waits alone Baby waits alone In sandy shallows lying, – wretchedly crying Dam marooned at sea Aware her calf is dying Precious time expiring Biped mammals strive Distressing trials appeasing Cold denial teasing Infant but alive Languishing in tear-spilled eyes Watching her demise Flukes and flippers raised Weakened, trembling, resigning Euthanasia praised The Humpback whale calf was […]...
35. More Light! More Light! For Heinrich Blucher and Hannah Arendt Composed in the Tower before his execution These moving verses, and being brought at that time Painfully to the stake, submitted, declaring thus: “I implore my God to witness that I have made no crime.” Nor was he forsaken of courage, but the death was horrible, The sack of […]...
36. The Heart Healed and Changed by Mercy Sin enslaved me many years, And led me bound and blind; Till at length a thousand fears Came swarming o’er my mind. “Where,” said I, in deep distress, “Will these sinful pleasures end? How shall I secure my peace And make the Lord my friend?” Friends and ministers said much The gospel to enforce; But […]...
37. Sweet Briars of the Stairways We are happy all the time Even when we fight: Sweet briars of the stairways, Gay fairies of the grime; We, who are playing to-night. “Our feet are in the gutters, Our eyes are sore with dust, But still our eyes are bright. The wide street roars and mutters – We know it works because […]...
38. A Welsh Testament All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter? I spoke a tongue that was passed on To me in the place I happened to be, A place huddled between grey walls Of cloud for at least half the year. My word for heaven was not yours. The word for hell had a sharp edge Put […]...
39. Christmas treasures I count my treasures o’er with care. The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time, My little one my all to me Sat robed in white upon my knee And heard the merry Christmas chime. “Tell me, my little […]...
40. Pedestrian ambitions My thoughts are like the boots randomly arrayed In the rack outside the window, some in pairs neatly Stacked, comfortably worn with a relaxed air of Confidence, some scattered in patterns of bizarre Relationships, one in Benson’s den under guard from Thought predators he fears plagiarized and stole Its partner’s soul. While I find it […]...