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
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
Cruising these residential Sunday
streets in dry August sunlight:
what offends us is
the houses in pedantic rows, the planted
sanitary trees, assert
levelness of surface like a rebuke
to the dent in our car door.
No shouting here, or
shatter of glass; nothing more abrupt
About the size of an old-style dollar bill,
American or Canadian,
mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays
-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)
has never earned any money in its life.
Useless and free., it has spent seventy years
as a minor family relic handed along collaterally to owners
who looked at it sometimes, or didn't bother to.
It must be Nova Scotia; only there
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
I’ve been around for a long time
I have seen a lot of things
I have seen you
When you were a small child enchanted by how wonderful I made the night sky
When you went to the mountains and spent the whole night looking up at me
When you look out your window and think about how expansive I really am
People look up at me
They look towards me and envision their dreams
On dawn skies, peaches
drifting by sable shadows
at coastal sand dunes
Precious gold between my toes
Blue roses on the wild sea
Fading stars, jewels
Turquoise at the horizon
Citrine golden hour
of the fresh breath of the wind
Blue sea chased the shore
as colorful boats went by,
through diamond sparkles.
Coarse, gold sand feels great sometimes,
when teal sky is in the sea.
where are you? do i know you?
have we met? what's your name?
were you the one drinking soju?
were you and i being untame?
i think of you when i see the sky
a gentle reminder of your existence
i want to try, but i don't want to pry
what do i do? make this make sense
I was a professional kite flyer, and had won big contests and tournaments,
As the one who has glimpsed a dream, and hasn't ever looked back since.
I began flying kites as a girl, running in summery fields with my brother,
When kites held such a colorful attraction, and exhilaration like no other!
Since then, I had never found another vocation, I loved nearly as much,
Like a starlit moon in pure midnight, glimmers steadily on lakes and such.
I had a collection of treasured kites, that were my pride and me gave joy,