there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
......
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,
And maids who love the moon.
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing
Set the tides and goblets flowing.
Oh! stay, -- Oh! stay, --
......
The portrait there above my bed
They tell me is a work of art;
My Wife,--since twenty years she's dead:
Her going nearly broke my heart.
Alas! No little ones we had
To light our hearth with joy and glee;
Yet as I linger lone and sad
I know she's waiting me.
The picture? Sargent painted it,
......
Those who dare give nothing
Are left with less than nothing;
Dear heart, you give me everything,
Which leaves you more than everything-
Though those who dare give nothing
Might judge it left you less than nothing.
Giving you everything,
I too, who once had nothing,
Am left with more than everything
......
"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will you cut a stone for him--
A stone for him?" she said.
Three days before, a splintered rock
Had struck her lover dead--
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where, careless of a warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired--
......
briefly
Morning’s borrowed light
slides in unasked,
a soft spill across the floorboards,
easy as breath on a cool pane.
......
Kept talking past twelve at night, it was late November, when you said, “Listen, I think this is not right.”
Knowing this talk is not right,
Keeping the boundaries tight.
Killing the urge to connect,
Knowing that you are correct.
Kindly you pointed it out,
Killing the shadow of doubt.
Keeping the things we admit,
Knowing we just have to quit.
......
I word the blood that freed our land
breathing opens minds which are
partly insane
popping midnight blue on cue
splattering palms moist
......
My mom told me:
the heart is not a fragile glass,
it is an ocean,
and every wave remembers.
She said:
when you walk through sorrow,
do not fear the shadows—
they are only the night’s way
of teaching you the stars.
......
After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.
The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.
......