From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor's yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
On the other side of a mirror there's an inverse world,
where the insane go sane; where bones climb out of the
earth and recede to the first slime of love.
And in the evening the sun is just rising.
Lovers cry because they are a day younger, and soon
childhood robs them of their pleasure.
In such a world there is much sadness which, of course,
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
When I go on my morning walk,
Because I'm mild,
If I be in the mood to talk
I choose a child.
I'd rather prattle with a lass
Of tender age
Than converse in the high-brow class
With college sage.
I love the touch of silken hand
You'll probably never see this
Never read this
You probably don't even know
That I'm a writer
You were proud of me
For as long as it was convenient
You supported me
For as long as it supported your good dad persona
Pitter patter on the wall
A mouse skitters down the hall
Thump thump the footsteps thud
Trekking across the floor with mud
Squelching in a crimson red
The roaring beast is happily fed
Stifled cries from the foyer
Feeding eyes of a frenzied voyeur
Black and blue fragmented reflections
Hot days at the beach
sunshine on lavender skies
Frolics of childhood
Moments captured in golden
with colors, laughter and song
Soon thoughts come calling
with sand castle memories
in a dance with time
Peachy sun on gleaming sand
I am singing
in the fan...
in the fan...
When life seemed so easy...
With my small attention span...
An easy way
Not much pressure
My favourite colour is his brown skin the blue sky
Before me, my childhood stands,
A colonial entwined with anarchic vines-
What is love? An itch to set your house on fire?
What colour are the walls?
Not brown. Not blue.