He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
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
Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man ! My man !
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan ! Io Pan .
Io Pan ! Io Pan ! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady !
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and styrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
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
I was a happy fruit farmer, growing delicious, healthy fruits for consumption.
Since we'd bought the farm ten years prior, all the family lent to its function.
It was a large, productive farm, and we ran it with our extended, fine family,
As pretty bluebirds of vivid sunset, are homeward bound to their family tree.
We all had our cozy, separate houses, but came together every working day,
As hilltop blooms gather each sunrise, sensing the luster coming their way!
Our farm produced several fruit varieties, but not my favorite, strawberries,
delight of jade spring
pink perfumed mass profusion
sunbathing bronzed blooms
cardinal sings loud
from his perch next to blue sky
drawing the world's attention
a mulberry tree
under dark blue/purple skies
birdsong on the wind
red orb descending
midst the hello and goodbye
the wandering hours
evening breeze caress
sun lurks in shadows of night
singing under cobalt skies ~
unseen midst green leaves
See how the apricot vines of strawberries crawl along the mahogany hued in vandyke-brown,
See how the emerald foliage scintillate like radiant jaspers in the daybreak.
See how the euphoric sun eavesdrops from the cadmium clouds beyond our Illusions,
See those carnations with colourations of embers from amethysts lost in antiquity.
T'is the heaven endowed upon the timeless notion of my reflections,
Which unlatched this cage of my heart, set alight by the flames of indignation.
This world has dramatically changed; I can feel it in the wind and the crystal rain.
But nothing has changed about this pinnacle of paragon, as it chants a million symphonies of quintessence.