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Quatrain #78 - What are we trying to say.......

What are we trying to say with all of this babble?
Is it something truly meaningful or just a dabble?
Does it have an effect on the heart and mind of man?
Or does it have anything to say as only wisdom can?

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What Are You Trying To Prove

Your muscular body had no threat
Yet you try so hard to be strong
How you fool yourself with lies
I will tell you your very wrong
What Is It Your Trying To Prove
Perhaps you haven't done the math
You don't threaten me one bit
Yours is a little small stem
And mine has the bigger slit
What Are You Trying To Prove
A woman will never tires out at all
She is strong and very wise
So you are so fooled by her moans
When she brings you into her thighs
What Are You Trying To Prove
We are all equal and nothing more
So why not stop being such a clown
Women laugh at boys like you
Obviously you haven't been around
What Are You Trying To Prove

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Sonnet: Variety in Life

If sweetened foods be taken on most days,
Until aversion takes the upper hand:
The buds of taste seek foods in hotter ways,
And sweetened stuff must be put to remand.

One cannot have the same things o’er again,
Man wants a change and variety in life;
We want the sun and in-between the rain;
We want our joys be followed by some strife.

When things are done in dull monotony,
Discontent fills the heart and mind of man;
No man can live with mere acrimony;
We shut the windows, sometimes switch on fan.

Variety is the spice of life all say,
And that is why God gave us night and day!


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Just a Knucklehead

What do 'I' want?
Love and devotion from someone true and loyal.
Someone free of foolishness.
And we fulfill each other's needs,
Without rejection that solicits angryness.
Someone who mutually comprehends...
Where we are going.
And from where we've been.
I want someone with happiness to share.
And that happiness together gets us somewhere.

What about me? '


You and I argue too much.
And when we disagree,
We leave each other out of touch.
And when we solve our indifferences...
Only to return,
To ask forgiveness with apologies to give.
We begin to reminisce the importantness,
That we are here to live.

We communicate with understanding.
And sit to listen...patiently.
There is no challenge in that at all.
No secrets deceived to be misunderstood!
Don't you want someone to manipulate...
If you could?

'What about me?
You know I want tolerate that instability! '

I know.
We 'are' too close and that shows.

'You're just a knucklehead.
That's exactly what you are.'

You see!
That proves to me...
Why you and I can not have a relationship meant to be.
You think you can say anything you know will upset me.

'I know your head is as thick as a brick.
And you can not see the forest...
Because you're building a wall around the trees.
Believing you hide emotions I can not see.
You're just a knucklehead! '

And what is that suppose to mean?

'If right now I should expose my toes...
You will look over your shoulder.
To let others know,
They belong to you and have been sold.'

So what are you trying to say?
My nose is not the only nose,
That has been exposed to your toes?
You want to see someone else besides me?

'Are you kidding?
After all we've been through?
Pretending we don't love each other,
As much as we clearly do.'

And what is that suppose to mean?
You've got it worse than I do.
I don't have to be here.

'I know.
Me neither.'

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ray's Favorite Writings


The Master spoke…

Brethren, I speak to thee of Light:

The dark/cold void is dead,
The Light warm and life-giving

Verily I say unto thee,
Light be the very Essence of God,
Indeed, an Instrument of Creation

Every color is contained in a rainbow,
In a single droplet of gleaming dew

Observe how all life seeks the Face of God,
Ever reaching upward, toward Luminosity

Ye have but to look within thy soul or into,
The eyes of another for a flash of God Himself

Burn bright Sons and Daughters of My Sun,
Even death cannot extinguish Him from thy soul

God’s Light Everlasting…


**************************** **************************

There’s an entire ocean,
In a single raindrop!

A Universe in your blood!

On this small planet,
Why selfish pleasures?

Why endless reaching?

Are you hoping this will,
Make you feel more alive?

Go within…

Swim in your aliveness
Feel the vastness...
Know your True Self

(Inspired by Rumi)

***************************************** ****************


Thou wast a strange autumn rose that,
by withering brought Winter’s wind

Having heard the song that called thee home;
Thou escaped confining cage and flew…
Gone to a secret world, through transformation

What use was thy crown of petals?
What use was thy beauty?

When it was thine to become the Sun!


**************************** *************************

Beauty, you enter the soul like a man
walks into a blossomed orchard in spring

Beauty, come to me that way again
Like inspiration in an artist’s mind
Making art before it comes into being

Beauty, you guard your silence perfectly
like a wineskin that does not leak

Beauty, you live where God lives...
As your soul was strong enough to take you there


**************************** ****************************


Great Masters existed before Earth was created;

Before all was brought into existence
They stood chin high in wisdom

Before materiality, they knew what it was
like to be trapped inside matter

Before the body, they’d lived many lifetimes

Before seeds, they ate bread from harvest grain

Before oceans, they strung pearls

Where can you find such a Great Master?

Look within


**************************** ****************************


The way of love is not subtle
Love’s door may open to devastation

Birds make great circles in the sky, declaring freedom
How do they know that?
They fall and in falling they’re given wings

Love is true freedom

(Inspired by Master Rumi)

******************************** ************************


Beloved, you are a Cosmic Child of God
Created more of light, than simple matter
If conscious of your power you’d be awed
Twas you that helped build Jacob’s ladder


**************************** ****************************

Look at me;
A Cosmic speck, that
Can barely be seen
Look at my eyes
They are so small
Yet they see
Enormous things

******************************** ********************

There are those with open eyes
Whose hearts are closed
What do they see?

A Material world

But someone whose love is aware
Even with eyes that sleep
He or she shall wake up thousands of others

If you are not one of those light-filled lovers
Restrain your body’s intense desires
Limit how much you eat
Sleep not from laziness

If awake in your casket
Sleep long and soundly
Your spirit is out roaming and working
To the highest levels
Your eyes may rest but love needs no rest

You have a Higher Self inside
That listens for what delights the Soul

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

***************************************** ***************


If you were to say I don’t exist
This grape would not argue

Longing to be wine
Makes me disreputable
Lowers self respect

A grape begins to become wine when it says
“Pressure is necessary to burst open”

Sweet wine flows from surrender

******************************** **************************

I saw grief drinking a cup of sorrow;

I called out,
It tastes sweet, does it not? ”

Grief answered;

“Oh, you’ve caught me and ruined my business,
How can I sell sorrow, when you know it’s a blessing? ”

(Inspired by Rumi)

******************************** *********************



I am a Divine Act of God;
Here, now and forever
I am self contained
Healed in every cell of my body

God’s Light fills me
Light I give freely to all

I am compassion, peace, love
I am happiness, joy
I am grateful

I am


**************************** ***************************

Be aware;

The Lord God is here!

In the rumble of thunder
In lightning
In clouds…His exhalation

You guess, before you speak
He knows, before you speak

You hate your brother
He loves you both

God Lives in all His Creation

Everything Mirrors God
Be of good cheer Beloved
Have courage
Look into a mirror…

“Behold the Face of God”


(Inspired by Master Rumi)

***************************************** ***********

Love comes in;

Only in this one tender moment,
Can I deliver you from yourself

Now my love;
Be still...

My mouth is burning with sweetness


(Dedicated to the Brilliance of Rumi)

***************************************** *****************


Love is the way;
Messengers from the
Mysteries tell us this

Love is The Mother
We are her children
She shines within us

She is visible when we trust
Invisible when we lose trust

Feel Her…
Shine brightly beloved

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

***************************************** ************

We’ve had full abundance
Now is the time for modesty

Love is pulling us back to school
Love wants us free of resentment
Love wants us to release impulses
Misguiding, confusing our souls

We’re asleep
Saints keep sprinkling water on our faces

Love reveals what we need to know soon enough

Then we shall awaken…


(Inspired by Rumi)

***************************************** ****************

The moment I heard my first love story
I started looking for you
Not knowing how blind that could be

After much suffering I realized;
Lovers do not meet somewhere by chance
Lovers cannot be match made by others

Lovers are in each other all along
Sanctified by God, witnessed by Angels

Others dropped away, there you were…

(To Master Rumi)

***************************************** *****************

Humans look outside themselves
Wasting time with wails ‘n groans
Ignore Higher-Self, they've shelved
Living in their bag of blood ‘n bones

(Inspired by Rumi’s brilliance)


**************************** *************************

One day a swarm of mosquitoes complained to God

“Lord God we must protest! ”

What is it My Children? ”

We want You to still the Wind”

“Why? ”

“Because the Wind scatters our swarm”

“Ah I See”…God summoned the Wind

Within moments Wind arrived

God Spoke, “Wind, the mosquitoes have brought suit”

Wind replied “Where are my accusers? ”

'Gone…lost within thee Wind'

So it is when Seekers dispute God’s Creation


(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

***************************************** ****************

A day of understanding is upon us
When all wonders are revealed
When mankind claims full aliveness
When occult is no more concealed

Brought to light are 10 dimensions
Below and above the present third
Known the truth of God’s Intention
Brought to light His “Living Word”

We've but to open heart and soul
Reap rewards promised long ago
Broken hearts shall be made whole
Nurtured souls again shall grow

Rejoice dear Brethren and give thanks
For ye shall soon join Heaven’s ranks


**************************** ******************************

My knowing soul;
You are a Master
A Buddha, a Jesus…

Why do I remain blind in your presence?

You are Joseph at the bottom of his well
Constantly working, but you don’t get paid
Because what you do seems trivial, like play

My knowing soul;
Crush my ego
Demolish my pride
Drown my selfishness

Help me;
Understand your value
Accept your wisdom
Be at peace
Feel compassion
Know love

(Dedicated to the brilliance of Rumi)

******************************** *********************

(To Poets)

Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”

Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime

When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel

Write on poets!

There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!


**************************** ***********************************

Gaze upon star lighted sky
In awe of a universe so vast
God’s Love it doth exemplify
Sublime beauty unsurpassed


**************************** *************************

A delegation of birds petitioned God

“Why is it you never chastise the nightingale? ”

God bid nightingale to speak;

“My way, she explained is different
March to June I sing
The other nine months, while others
Continue chirping, I am silent”

Sing your sweet songs beloved
While your Brethren clatter about
But know when to be silent...
That God may speak to you

(Inspired by Rumi)


**************************** ****************************

At night in dreams she comes to me
In full length gown with veil of lace
With nobility, grace, grand authority
Gives sweet kiss ‘n warm embrace

Sits face-to-face with me then speaks
Of her many travels to distant places
Like Istanbul, Beijing, Mozambique
Of other lands she sometime graces

Reveals beauty of God’s Creation
The value of a loving heart, soul
The power of prayer, meditation
About man’s longing to be whole

My Guardian Angel then takes flight
As night gives way to morning light


**************************** **************************

I wander 'cross these lands
Mountains to deep blue seas
Forests, valleys, desert sands
Yet, my roots are inside of me

(Inspired by Julie Delpy)

******************************** ***********************

Phant om stalks a worried mind
Incites a single thought to spin
All sense of reason struck blind
Restored thru mental discipline


**************************** ***************************

(To the Islands of Hawaii)

Strand of pearls broken
Strewn ‘cross vast waters
Minute volcanic tokens
Gaia's Sons ‘n Daughters


**************************** *************************

Songbirds bring relief to my longing

I am just as ecstatic as they are, but
have nothing to sing

Please, goddess of song,
practice a song through me

I am thy open vessel…


**************************** ****************************

Walk any crowded city street
See vacant stares on a sea of faces
How stiff they walk on frozen feet
Of long forgotten social graces

Is passion within human hearts gone
As far as knowing eyes can see?
Love and joy no longer paragon
'Lord', why won’t they look at me?

Your passion Vincent helps them find wings
As paint on canvas did so long ago
Lovely are the words your paintings sing
As if by magic, vivid flowers seem to grow

Soon, God’s Hands shall touch hearts again
Of long forgotten buried and the walking dead
Made afresh what was once arcane
The Will of God shall once more embed

Countless souls shall launch an upward flight
None shall rest, until reached, Eternal Light


**************************** *****************************

Love comes with a sharp knife
Not some shy and dull excuse
Love does not fear for its reputation

Love is a madman working wild schemes
Tearing off his clothes
Drinking poison
Recklessly choosing annihilation

Love is a tiny spider trying to
wrap an enormous wasp

Imagine the spider web woven across
the tomb where Jesus slept

Beloved, you have been walking the ocean’s edge
holding up your skirts to keep them dry

Beloved, you must dive deeper
A thousand times deeper

(Inspired by Rumi)

******************************** ************************

A Persian woman cries a mother’s tears
She ‘n son seek shelter in a tattered tent
A dead husband cannot sooth their fear
He fell victim to a cluster-bomb fragment


**************************** ***************************

Pluck mine strings gently dear
My soul’s song offers to delight
Even angels dare not interfere
With our merriment tonight


**************************** *******************************

Khayyam, Gibran and Rumi
Word Masters of love and truth
Great souls that speak to me
Since I was a wide-eyed-youth


**************************** *********************************

Written words are very powerful
Able to influence and elicit change

More powerful yet are spoken words
Birthed in the mind, delivered through
Tongue, diaphragm and lungs
Working in concert to deliver voice
Intelligent vibrations creating reality

Somewhere an angry someone screams
“I hate you”
Words moving through space unhindered
Past countless stars in countless galaxies
Wreaking endless havoc on God’s Creation


With your heart before speaking
Glorify the positive power of words
Destruction will cease and balance restored


**************************** ********************************

I'd forsake a million roses
to simply see her pretty face
Trade a thousand words of love
for one tender embrace

Gift all my possessions
and never feel amiss
If she'd but share with me
one romantic kiss

To entwine as one,
would truly be divine
indeed this sacred act of love
would surely make her mine


**************************** *********************************

Raindrops fall in the gray of morn
Care not what they wet and sate
'Law of gravity' they dare scorn
As dark sea below determines fate

Droplets unite to swell great oceans
With playful merriment and mirth
Pleased to play out impulsive notions
That they may flow again on Mother Earth

Emerald waters eager to ascend once more
Taunt ‘n tease the summer sun to calefaction
Vaporous clouds form, as many times before
Heaven’s call doth grant the water satisfaction

God Be Great and God Be Wise
When He Commands,
“Great Waters Rise! ”


*************************** ********************************

(To Dad)

How tall he sat upon
his black leather saddle

He wore a Stetson hat
boots ‘n chaps

Calloused hands
body strong ‘n agile

Sharp spurs ‘n western shirts
with pearl snaps

A “roll-your-own” rest-easy
’tween chapped lips

“Bull Durham” tag
dangled from shirt pocket

Cigars he’d smoke
when “In the chips'

While astride his favorite hoss
“Black Rocket”

His spurs did jingle,
on line-shack boards

At night we’d braid rawhide
ropes ‘n quirts

We Sipped spring water
from hollow gourds

By crackling fire
we’d darn socks ‘n mend
torn ‘n tattered shirts

My 13th year was spent
on a ranch dad worked
Did change my life

The art of “ridin, huntin,
ropin, camp cookin” I did learn

first chew of tobacco,
A new ‘n shiny
stockmen’s knife

Acrid smoke,
Bleating calves,
Branded hides ‘n
memories still burn

The last of a dying breed
of men my dad was

Once a year
with pockets full of silver,
He’d ride into town
to drink ‘n dance
with whores ‘n peers

Although I suffered when
he wandered off I'd forgive


He truly walked amongst
a hearty group of pioneers

Thank you dad
for all you gave to me

The laughter, campfires,
deer hunts ‘n fun

With new-eyes
the great wonders
of nature I now see

I love ‘n miss you Dad,
You tough, ornery,


**************************** *****************************

Pr ay the prayer that is the essence
of every ritual;


“I have no hope, I am torn to shreds.
You are my first, last and only refuge.”

Don’t pray daily prayers like a bird,
pecking its head up and down.

Indeed, prayer is an egg.
Hatch out all helplessness inside.

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

******************************** **************************


A Babe…
Born perfect, innocent, ready
Cast into a corrupt world

Parents eagerly present
A family heirloom
A patchwork rucksack
Part-filled with stones
To a wide-eyed child

Begins the journey…

Child given stones of many shapes, sizes
Stones of pity, sorrow, fear, trauma
Stones filled with words like “No”
Stones filled with ugly phrases
Stones filled with abuse, punishment, pain

Rucksack seams burgeon

A growing Soul shouts


Emptying begins…

Through lessons, experiences, prayer
One by one
Removed the stones
Rucksack lightens
By the Grace of God,
Finally emptied

Another Babe born
Rucksack beckons

“Not this time”

Rucksack flung
Into Wisdom’s Fire


Ends a vicious cycle…


********************** ***************************************


He came at twilight
Whispering wise words
I failed to heed them
This rueful acolyte

(A time when I did not believe)

******************************** ***************************


”Shake the dreams from your hair”
See the surreality you create around you

Do you know the power of your actions?
Do you see the rampant chaos, destruction?

Why do you blame God for your mischief?
Why do you blame others for your misdeeds?
Whilst goaded/aided by Satan posing as God!

Poor choices and judgments belong to man alone;

Take responsibility
Forgive yourself
Forgive others
Atone through service
Redeem through love

Comes a day filled with blinding brilliance,
Behold the Face of God…

(The title of this poem was inspired by Jim Morrison of the Doors)


**************************** *******************************
Spiritus Practicum

Forsooth beloveds;

'Tis I……Pan
Mystic, poet and Faun
Indeed a loose arrow
In flight, though aimless

Rest easy my children
Destination matters not
Until your junket ends
Andthe grim one” lay claim

Dance rather than sit
Sing don't complain
Make-Merry, then Mary make
Drink Huxley’s soma
Eat from nature’s Cornucopia

Above all…laugh, cry and feel
Ye shall truly know what’s real


**************************** ********************************

I was content enough to stay still
Inside the pearl
Inside my shell

But a hurricane of experience
lashed me out of hiding and
pushed me toward shore

The sea told me her secrets

I slept like fog against a cliff…

In stillness

(Inspired by Rumi)


**************************** *********************************

Are you bewildered?
Why do you walk on stones and thorns with bare feet?

Beloved, don’t you know lovers do not walk on feet?
They walk on love.

A lover’s journey is neither short nor long,
A lover’s journey is timeless…endless

A precious journey guided by a fervent heart

(Inspired by Master Rumi)

***************************************** ******************

Jesus is back.
If you do not feel in yourself
the freshness of Jesus,
be Joseph.

Weep and then smile.
Do not pretend to know something
you have not experienced.

There is a necessary dying.
Then Jesus breathes again.

Very little grows on jagged rock.
Be the ground.
Be crumbled.
So wildflowers will come up
where you are.

You have been stony for too many years.
Try something different…


(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

******************************** **************************

Mayans knew Earth’s spin one day would still
When time and space would find a proper end
After evil ate its greedy fill
When iron-will of man would finally bend

Message Mayans left was carved in stone
So those that followed could plainly see
A day when 'The Beast' would be dethroned
Restored to Earth peace and harmony

Nears a day, a Host of Angels are deployed
To every dark corner of this troubled Earth
Evil empires' that rule shall be destroyed
As Earth’s pregnant belly readies for rebirth

A birth of greater consciousness for all
Countless souls shall begin to crowd and fill
Heavens Wondrous Kingdom-Hall
Where souls once more accept God's Will


**************************** *******************************

Today like every day, you may
Wake up empty and frightened.

Do not open the door to your study and begin reading,
Rather take down a musical instrument and play.

Beloved, let the beauty of love be what you do.

There are hundreds of ways to be grateful.

(Inspired by Rumi)

******************************** ***************************

(To horse lovers)

He was born of noble blood
A great Chestnut Stallion
No man would ever mount him
Mum came by Spanish Galleon

In spring the mare did foal
A gangly, unsure colt
Possessed he a great soul
Betwixt eyes a thunderbolt

Before long grew strong ‘n fast
Quite something this chestnut hoss
He lived with herd on prairie vast
‘Twas clear one day he’d be boss

Challenge came one summer day
Chestnut called out “Old Roan”
A mighty fight they'd display
The old chief finally dethroned

Adrenalin ran thru Stallion’s blood
Eyes flashed red at nervous herd
His coat matted with gore ‘n mud
Banished Roan, ran off East-ward

Chestnut ringed herd into tight band
They set off for distant winter range
Away from winter kill, to canyon land
Instinctive migration, timeless change

Back to prairie homeland come spring
New foals’ pranced in tall green grass
Hawks circled above, Larks did sing
Frozen time, while seasons’ passed

Stood guard their “Chestnut Stallion”
Who’s mum came by Spanish galleon


**************************** *********************************

In his dream an old man appeared.
“Good king, I have news”

“Tomorrow a stranger will come.
I sent for him. He’s a prophet you can trust.
Listen to him.”

As dawn rose, the king was sitting in the
watchtower on the roof.

He saw someone coming.
He ran to meet this guest.
Their souls knit together,
without stitch or seam.

The king opened his arms and
held the prophet close to him.
He led him to the head table.
They dined.

“At last I have found what only
patience can bring. This one whose
face answers any question and who
simply by looking can loosen the
knot of intellectual discussion.”

The king touched the prophet’s arm,
and said “Speak to me of Jerusalem”

The prophet smiled…

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)


**************************** ********************************

With my soul she nearly did abscond
A Siren/Temptress born of turbid sea
‘Twas good, I was chained ‘n bound
At mast, or she'd stole the best of me


**************************** *******************************

With heart...
A warrior gathers weapons from this world
Objects of power along life's path
Ever seeking the favor of Earth Spirits’

A warrior does not prepare to die
A warrior only prepares to battle

Every battle is a warrior’s last
Outcome matters little to him

At death a warrior’s Impeccable-Will flows
To the Light that gave him life


************************ ************************************

A tiny gland betwixt your eyes, smaller than a pea
Ready to serve through good intent ‘n meditation
A second sight within, that helps you know ‘n see
Helps express the higher self, upon full activation


****************** ******************************************

I’m grateful when connected to you dear friend (my taste of sweetness)

You, that makes an oak tree strong and a rose a rose

You give me friendship, that for some is the oldest thirst there is
I do not measure friendship in a cup of tea

I’m a fish, you’re the moon
You cannot touch me...
But you’re light fills the ocean I swim in

(Inspired by Rumi)

***************************************** ******************

Thought and light can travel anywhere
Through space and time at will, do tear
Both unencumbered by gravity or mass
Transcend complications and morass


**************************** *********************************

First monkey covered his eyes and spoke,
“See no evil”...
By refusing to see and confronting evil
Victims are born of doubt, guilt and fear
Clear sight sheds light and illumines evil

Second monkey covered his ears and spoke,
“Hear no evil”...
By refusing to hear the voice of evil one cannot know truth
Truth is discerned by the heart and mind
Voicing truth creates a vibration that dis-integrates evil

Third monkey covered his mouth and thought,
“Speak no evil”...
Evil cannot manifest if one thinks before speaking

Fourth monkey opened his mouth and spoke,
“Do no evil”...
This was the wisest monkey of all


************************* ***********************************

Do you prefer;
As ravens do
Winter’s chill
Empty limbs


Springs lushness
New leaves forming
Roses opening
Night birds singing?

Let LOVE dissolve you into
the moment of the Season
or you will light torch
after torch trying to find
what's already in front of you

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

******************************** *****************************

“I remember everything that happened before 2012 AD,
as I watched fundamentalist, fanaticism grip the world.
This vile trigger lay deep in the human soul. They were
sexually excited about the end of the world. They lusted
over this, because they would not have to solve any of their
own problems. Lurking deep in their soul was the desire
to die rather than to take responsibility for Mother Earth.

They were choking in the garbage of their own making.
Great souls that walked the Earth kept absorbing the waste,
but still man’s inner and outer garbage burgeoned.
Men built bigger and deadlier weapons.
Great nations made war against and plundered smaller nations.
They built bigger cities, and covered themselves with layers of possessions.
They consumed anything to avoid realizing their own inner emptiness.
They waited…
2012 AD came and nothing happened.”

(Dedicated to Barbara for inspiring this poem)


**************************** *********************************

Learn the alchemy true Mystics know;

The instant you accept hardship given you
Doors open

Welcome adversity, as friend

Make light of what torment offers

Sorrows are but old clothes, indeed rags
Covered by a tattered threadbare coat

Undress thy naked body underneath
Behold the sweetness that comes after grief

(Inspired by Master Rumi)

***************************************** *******************

Japanese redo their eyes
Iranians redo their nose
Hollywood breasts resize
All lust designer clothes

Obese want to be slim
Slim desire bigger boobs
Buy memberships at gyms
While kids go the down tubes

Lawyer’s want to be politicians
Politicians consult and lobby
Not toil, just blind ambition
Indeed, life to them is just a hobby

They know not we’re all the same
Below the skin and in our hearts
Just have self esteem to claim
Place horse back in front of cart

On Earth, God creates all equal
At Least until He plays our sequel


**************************** ******************************

Coat and mane as white as snow
Between its eyes a spiraled horn
Piercing blue eyes, a true albino
This creature known as Unicorn

Neither of male or female gender
Unicorns are imagined into being
Strong, courageous soul-menders
Given to human beings for seeing

No mans ever tamed this shy beast
Save a virgin girl unafraid to weep
Lured by her soulful song released
Head upon her lap it goes to sleep

Unicorns dream wishes into reality
By transcending human sensuality


**************************** *******************************

The universe is Divine Law
Indeed, a Reasonable Father

When you feel ungrateful
The shape of the world
seems mean and ugly

Make peace with Father
Then every experience
fills with immediacy

Love this, be not bored
Beauty constantly wells up like
the noise of a brook in Spring

Tree limbs rise and fall
their ecstatic arms

Leaves talk poetry together
making fresh metaphors

The opinion of this poem is
of great optimism for the future

But Father Reason says;

No need to announce the future
This now is it!
Your deepest need and desire
is satisfied by the energy of this
moment held in your hand

(Inspired by the brilliance of Rumi)

******************************** ****************************

A donkey turning a millstone is not trying
to press oil from seeds. He is running away
from the blow that was just struck and is hoping
to avoid the next.

For the same reason, an ox takes a load of
baggage wherever you want him to.

We look to ease our pain, this keeps civilization
moving along, with fear as the motivator.

Allow fear to be your master teacher, not a task master

******************************** ****************************

Brother, you choose to walk a warriors path
I choose to walk a path to lasting peace
World has both, so please curtail thy wrath
There’s room for both, to ply our expertise


**************************** ********************************

Human beings are bound to earth
By gravity, atmosphere and water
Basic elements, a few pennies worth
Indeed, terrestrial Sons ‘n Daughters

What happens when our bodies shed?
When spirit takes its upward flight
When gone are guilt, fear and dread
When souls are called back to the light

Perhaps free spirits visit other places
Strange planets inhabited before
Filled with beings with familiar faces
You return again as friend ‘n savior?

Look within, inquire where you’ve been
B’cuz there’s more than what’s under skin


**************************** *******************************

I ask which one is worth more?
To be amongst a crowd or my solitude?
Power over others or personal freedom?

A little while alone in my room is of more
value than anything given to me

What’s my worth?
My worth is not a million dollars
My worth is a million moments

************************* **********************************

In a dream, God spoke to me;

“You are my Son and I love you”

I replied,
I feel your generosity Lord, but must ask
what is it in me that causes your love?

God explained;

“You have seen a small child with its mother
It does not know anyone else exists

The mother scolds, praises, or perhaps
a little slap, but the child still reaches
wanting to be held by her

Disappointment, elation matter not
There is only one direction that the child turns

That is how you are with Me”

(Inspired by Rumi)

******************************** *****************************

You ask;

“Why is it Ray you always dress in black?
Do you mourn the dying and the dead?
Is it because soldiers come home in sacks,
Or on TV see jihad Muslims behead? ”

“Do you mourn Mother Earth they trash?
For laying waste to once lush forest lands?
A greedy few who sell their souls for cash,
Who on Liberty’s apron wipe their bloody hands? ”

I answer;

Today and more tomorrows, I’ll wear black
Till peace upon a troubled Earth prevails
When evil ones let go and give power back
When balance returns to “Justice Scales”


**************************** ********************************

Look deep into eyes of another
Into the windows of their soul
You’ll find they’re sister or brother
This truth shall make you whole


**************************** *********************************

A World without music
Is a World stricken mute
Dead all things acoustic
Humankind left destitute


**************************** *********************************


You speak of love whilst spewing hate
I cannot shake a hand holding a sword
I pray my plea for peace be not too late
'Fore destroyed the Earth we once adored

Come sit with me my zealous friends
Let us share a meal and sweet wine
Let's discuss what future may portend
I trust ye hear me and won’t decline

There stands a chance for lasting peace
When past disputes are forever set aside
When war and conflict finally cease
When good will, brotherhood abide

God Himself will surely smile
After eons of humankind denial


**************************** ********************************

Sometimes I’m up
Sometimes down
Sometimes Smile
Sometimes frown

Sometimes happy
Sometimes sad
Sometimes sappy
Sometimes mad

Sometimes pull
Sometimes push
Sometimes fall
Flat on my tush

It’s all about being human you see
This up ‘n down, up ‘n down yoyo me


**************************** *********************************

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What Are We Gonna Do

Whispers passed in silence
Two lovers passing in the night
A love that's left and hopeless
That can never survive

[1] - What are we gonna do
What are they gonna to say
Where are we gonna to go
When they find out

What are we gonna do
What are they gonna say
Where are we gonna go
When they find out

Sing your song

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I'm posing on the sidewalk. Here's where I'm
working at night. They're also working at
night. They know I've known it all along.
They want me of the street. They're getting out
of the car. They try to corner me in.
LAPD, why are they always after me.
There's blue on every corner. How am I
supposed to make a living? They never leave
me alone. They are as cold as stone.
They really don't give a damn about
the person I am. I run as fast as I can.
All these accusations, what are you trying to
say. I've been working my ass of all
goddamn summer. If I had the choice to live a
perfect life, I wouldn't hesitate.
I'd be anywhere but here tonight.
Turn around now cause
I will never turn myself in.
I know better places to spend the night.

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None Of It Is Camouflaged

No one as of yet,
Declared a war against ignorance.
And that is where the real terror lies.
It is blatant all over the place.
And none of it is camouflaged.
Nor is it hiding or in disguise.

'How dangerous is it? '

If by now you have not recognized it...
You have already been victimized.
Consider yourself in total acceptance.
One who is led to quickly believe.
Easily deceived.
And offended by thought, common sense...
Or time spent comprehending the meaning of things.

'What are you trying to say,
I'm stupid? '

Just blind.
And it is difficult to determine,
If that is your choice.
That's why I 'suggest'...
We protest our rights,
To fight the wrong wars.
And subject ourselves not to see,
What is not to our convenience or quick to access...
If not to our benefit or interest.

'Are you referring to those sweat shops? '

But I am amazed you brought that up.

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You'll Never be Alone

You'll never be alone. I'll be there for you.
'Cause when the space between us
seems like it's grown.
All you have to do is call me and say
'I need you. I miss you.'
and I'll be on my way.

The days you are alone
are sad for me too
because that space between us
is so far away that
all I have of you are memories I keep.
They haunt me. They taunt me
on every single day.

You know how your crying
makes me feel I'm dying.
What are we doing to ourselves
with all this goodbye-ing?
Hold your head up high
and dry all your tears.
For I've loved you forever
all through the years.
And it's never gonna change, not for me.
Put out the welcome mat and you will see
that I'm coming home, I'm coming home
and I'll never leave you.
You'll never be alone.

This poem was written as a song. I have now written 33 songs and it sometimes takes me away from my poetry. It is a new avenue for me to explore. E. Reizer

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Hansel and Gretel Syndrome Part2(In Reponse To Comment.)

Communism is not the solution.
But neither is capitalism
They are equally flawed.
A good leader of man, is one who is also equal of them.
One willing to get right in the trenches with them.
Many in this country have their own private jets out of both greed and fear.
Not many have ever really worked in their life.
At least not the way I have or do.
Barely making it time after time eats at you.
I know that is judgmental, and I shouldn't say such things.
But capitalism is the rise of the business, not the workers.
All are not equal in trade, when it comes to money that can be made.
Some are so desperately needed and still so underpaid.
The minimum wage slave.
While others which are not necessarily needed for society to function and are robbing us blind.
And we call that a level playing field?
Tell me now who has drunk all the wine?
With crossed eyes the rules have been written and defined.
It is the corruption of the heart and mind.

Again I say we are as Hansel and Gretel, children lost in a very big forest knowing not what evils might lurk.

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Help me out

“Hello, you come here and help me out”
I felt it as rude shock and simply thought about
Is it arrogance in us or no curtsey at all?
I take it as strange and untimely call

Some one called me one eyes man and shouted
All civil norms were pushed out and flouted
The defeated soldiers feel humiliation when routed
I failed to understand why all such things to be stated

So many times I have been consoled on such matters
Even though it does not affect subject or alter
But it hurts from inside why all such unnecessary words?
When there is no need for it and look backward?

Someone advised no to say “die” even if some is in last stage
He may be facing death due to sickness or old age
Still some good words are expected when you visit his bed side
Even though it varies from person to person conceptually very wide

In friend circle we are used to address in ill mannered way
The words may not carry any meaning even if you use or say
So long you are face to face it is taken very lightly
But takes ugly turn f addressed in other’s presence even if rightly

Something hurts most if we are treated with ill manner
Whatever be the reason, it will have repercussion sooner
It is taken ill in remote corner of the heart and mind
It may find suitable reprisal if time permits to be unkind

We are all human beings and react the same way
Some times forced situation may force us to stay
You may be compelled unceremoniously to be taken away
This all happen when we fail to realize what to do and not to say

It has remained open fact that even animals need some affection
Even if they may not react angrily for our stupid action
You beat them mercilessly and they will bear it silently
But when time is in their favor, they will give push very gently

In normal circumstances we all try for strict maintenance of personal honor
We sometimes enter into altercation even if it is in nature of very minor
We are not used to any type of scathing attack or criticism
We should take enough care not to insult the humanism

We are prone to pick only praises
Any short use of language forces eye brows to raise
This is the only weak point that may completely put us down
We may never admit lapses even if they were our own

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Patrick White

The Issue

I see the sadness in the world, the malevolent madness
of the dogs of pain snarling at the moon in the tree of life,
the way people cut and claw and desecrate each other
and walk away as if there were a victory in the slaughter, a hero in the butchery
that hacks and packs the corpses in the shrieking streets,
the raped daughter, the man on his knees who bleats for mercy
from indifferent gods whose thunderbolts have changed to cattle-prods.
Little, petty people everywhere, runts of the heart and mind,
wee weak ones with the poison syrup of your smiles
distilled from killer bees, you who like to grind your heel into the human face
and celebrate your hydrophobic power as a state of grace,
I ask you here on planet earth, this dirty tear among the stars,
in this horrible hour between birth and death, are you a race
of vicious midget, spiritual pygmy, or emotional dwarf,
when you were given breath and blood and light,
were you an atrocity of genetic reciprocity, did you wince at the sight
of yourself in the mirror, repulsively queer and full of fear,
did your mother abandon you on a stone to rot,
give you to a circus, an abortion clinic, a church step, a garbage bag;
are you angry for all the things you know you’re not; do you gag
on the beauty of others, their gifts, their truth
and plot a coup to overthrow anyone who isn’t you, your puny proportions
the prototype of all your replicate distortions
until the earth is filled with ugliness and grief,
and even the strongest are consoled by the fact that life is brief?
What hideous art scars the bitter apple of your heart like a worm
and thorns and norms the form of every thought with malice?
Are you a fly in the chalice, a maggot, a convulsion of dirt;
are you washed clean of yourself by the tears of those you hurt?
Everyday a hundred species disappear, oil and faeces
smeared across the living face that’s mirrored on the waters,
and the moon repelled by the odium of what its light must shine upon.
Lucky the stars that burn so far and furiously away
from this disgrace of molecules and ghouls that only the fools
in schools for the deaf and blind look for reason in the treason,
error in the terror that you wreak. You see birds,
you learn to fly. A century later whole cities die in a flash of light
at the end of your quest for flight. You’re born with a tongue,
you learn to speak, and you say the rich must have what they seek
and the poor will bleed until their hearts are withered by need.
You’re given eyes and clear night skies and a mind behind it all
in a world of revelations, and you learn to see and name,
and by the time you’ve festered into maturity
the vision is grimed by the smog of your vain obscurity,
nacreous cataracts the skies that fog your eyes,
and you’re laying the blame on the picture frame
that holds nothing but the death mask of you, eyes closed,
and yours the signature of the artist for whom you posed,
but nothing of insight, nothing of character disclosed.
Brutal monkey, murderous ape gland, prenatal purge,
is this the world you planned as a gesture of spite,
this jest and riddle of misery on the verge
of serial catastrophe to gratify your calamitous urge
to indict existence for your devolving plight? Here among mystics, lovers, poets, painters, sinners, saints, singers, astronomers and clowns,
mesmerized by night, or useful as day,
what embodiment of pain justifies the febrile tides of hate
that animate your imagination for decay,
the treachery of the cannibal heart that leeches its own clay?
There must be a hell for you if nothing more
than to meet yourself as you are
behind every opening door, in every house of pain,
in every abattoir, scrying the gore on the bestial floor,
to discover your own features
in the severed eye and lifeless hand of a hundred million creatures.
You’re insane. Every thought, a blister of the brain, a scar too far.
These were your teachers, and every time you applied your iron rule,
and raving in your dementia, or rationally composed, killed one,
you liberated another buddha from a fool, another sky, another jewel
from the treasury of your own lie,
the one that beats on your heart like a drum
and never lets you forget
that for all the noise you make in the empty silo of creation,
you’re not the harvest, you’re the crumb.

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Howard Nemerov

The Painter Dreaming in the Scholar’s House

in memory of the painters Paul Klee
and Paul Terence Feeley


The painter’s eye follows relation out.
His work is not to paint the visible,
He says, it is to render visible.

Being a man, and not a god, he stands
Already in a world of sense, from which
He borrows, to begin with, mental things
Chiefly, the abstract elements of language:
The point, the line, the plane, the colors and
The geometric shapes. Of these he spins
Relation out, he weaves its fabric up
So that it speaks darkly, as music does
Singing the secret history of the mind.
And when in this the visible world appears,
As it does do, mountain, flower, cloud, and tree,
All haunted here and there with the human face,
It happens as by accident, although
The accident is of design. It is because
Language first rises from the speechless world
That the painterly intelligence
Can say correctly that he makes his world,
Not imitates the one before his eyes.
Hence the delightsome gardens, the dark shores,
The terrifying forests where nightfall
Enfolds a lost and tired traveler.

And hence the careless crowd deludes itself
By likening his hieroglyphic signs
And secret alphabets to the drawing of a child.
That likeness is significant the other side
Of what they see, for his simplicities
Are not the first ones, but the furthest ones,
Final refinements of his thought made visible.
He is the painter of the human mind
Finding and faithfully reflecting the mindfulness
That is in things, and not the things themselves.

For such a man, art is an act of faith:
Prayer the study of it, as Blake says,
And praise the practice; nor does he divide
Making from teaching, or from theory.
The three are one, and in his hours of art
There shines a happiness through darkest themes,
As though spirit and sense were not at odds.


The painter as an allegory of the mind
At genesis. He takes a burlap bag,
Tears it open and tacks it on a stretcher.
He paints it black because, as he has said,
Everything looks different on black.

Suppose the burlap bag to be the universe,
And black because its volume is the void
Before the stars were. At the painter’s hand
Volume becomes one-sidedly a surface,
And all his depths are on the face of it.

Against this flat abyss, this groundless ground
Of zero thickness stretched against the cold
Dark silence of the Absolutely Not,
Material worlds arise, the colored earths
And oil of plants that imitate the light.

They imitate the light that is in thought,
For the mind relates to thinking as the eye
Relates to light. Only because the world
Already is a language can the painter speak
According to his grammar of the ground.

It is archaic speech, that has not yet
Divided out its cadences in words;
It is a language for the oldest spells
About how some thoughts rose into the mind
While others, stranger still, sleep in the world.

So grows the garden green, the sun vermilion.
He sees the rose flame up and fade and fall
And be the same rose still, the radiant in red.
He paints his language, and his language is
The theory of what the painter thinks.


The painter’s eye attends to death and birth
Together, seeing a single energy
Momently manifest in every form,
As in the tree the growing of the tree
Exploding from the seed not more nor less
Than from the void condensing down and in,
Summoning sun and rain. He views the tree,
The great tree standing in the garden, say,
As thrusting downward its vast spread and weight,
Growing its green height from the dark watered earth,
And as suspended weightless in the sky,
Haled forth and held up by the hair of its head.
He follows through the flowing of the forms
From the divisions of the trunk out to
The veinings of the leaf, and the leaf’s fall.
His pencil meditates the many in the one
After the method in the confluence of rivers,
The running of ravines on mountainsides,
And in the deltas of the nerves; he sees
How things must be continuous with themselves
As with whole worlds that they themselves are not,
In order that they may be so transformed.
He stands where the eternity of thought
Opens upon perspective time and space;
He watches mind become incarnate; then
He paints the tree.


These thoughts have chiefly been about the painter Klee,
About how he in our hard time might stand to us
Especially whose lives concern themselves with learning
As patron of the practical intelligence of art,
And thence as model, modest and humorous in sufferings,
For all research that follows spirit where it goes.

That there should be much goodness in the world,
Much kindness and intelligence, candor and charm,
And that it all goes down in the dust after a while,
This is a subject for the steadiest meditations
Of the heart and mind, as for the tears
That clarify the eye toward charity.

So may it be to all of us, that at some times
In this bad time when faith in study seems to fail,
And when impatience in the street and still despair at home
Divide the mind to rule it, there shall be some comfort come
From the remembrance of so deep and clear a life as his
Whom I have thought of, for the wholeness of his mind,
As the painter dreaming in the scholar’s house,
His dream an emblem to us of the life of thought,
The same dream that then flared before intelligence
When light first went forth looking for the eye.

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Patrick White

I Am A Dragon

I am a dragon,
but I’ve got cloudy teeth.
You are a vase among jars,
a feather among scales.
Obviously you are the sea
and I am the seabed.
In the darkness you are the shining.
I come to you
like lead to an alchemist,
base metal to gold.
Already I am transformed
by your mirrors of fire.
There is a light, a glow,
invisible but more illuminating,
not of the moon, or sun, or a star,
but of the heart and mind,
the light of life itself
when it’s the only candle in the room
dancing behind its veil of shadows,
and in the least filament
of the down upon your thighs,
there are suffusions of fireflies and galaxies,
mystic lanterns
ripening like apricots
over the open doors of worlds within,
over eyes that bloom like wild asters
rooted in the earthly fields of the heart.
I have been a ghost
trying to say itself into existence;
and my bread and my blood
have been the whisper and breath of you.
Not the mountains, not
the mothering floors of the wheat seas,
not the forests or the hills or the rivers,
not the ladders or roads or miles between us,
nor the seasons of the threshing clock,
have kept us one eyelash apart;
we have been wings to each other;
we have been the secret tides of the rose
in a bay of blood to one another;
we have been the substance of a dream
that lingers like the impression in cool grass
of where the deer slept the night before.
In the flights of winter birds,
on moist winter days,
I have rehearsed endless summers to come,
when the sky whispered your eyes
in bells of sidereal fragrance
into the abyss of my longing for you
and love seemed a petal of light on the wind,
and you were that petal,
and I was that wind.
And though I have stood for eras
on this bridge of night alone
waiting for you like a letter, an afterlife,
a voice of fire in a well urgent with stars
I want to live with you,
we have always embraced, not two,
arrow and bow,
pilgrim and shrine,
release and enlightenment
reflected in these visions
the insistent palettes of the heart
paint on the impassioned waters
of the deepening lifestream.
I have been a storm of blood and stars;
I have drowned in the crypts of my own tears
and learned to breathe through a new medium,
set the crown of my fin on a rose of gills,
and bloom in a mythically enhanced
immensity of sorrows,
and the shadows under my eyes
have mourned for me
like black bells in a tower of thorns,
two horses of night chained to a heart
that dragged itself around like a hearse
looking for a lost grave.
I buried myself in women
who were torn like the satin lining
out of a coffin just
when they were about to give birth.
Their pain always tasted of an afterlife
that danced like lightning on the tip of my tongue
until my blood caught fire
like a rose with a voice of wine.
Black, apostate, madonnas
of body, heart, and mystery,
even the moon a bead of devotion
on a thread of their blood,
a dream vow under the eyelid of an eclipse.
I never knew what to say
that wasn’t a life shy
of an inadequate skeleton
trying to reflesh itself with the ashes
of its last sidereal cremation.
I was born again and again
like a sword drawn out of a stone
to hurl my humanity
like a sparrow
against the windows and eyes of the gods.
They knew I was right
to live the prophecy
written in the book of my wings by the wind,
but their tears fell like glass rice
on the stairwells of the bridal mirrors
that wept like silver serpents
at the heels of the moon
and whatever road I walked,
whatever direction I wandered in
like a drunken river
I passed through my own ribs
like an opening gate
to a sealess exile on the moon,
a lighthouse to the sail of a ghost in a desert.
Events of the spirit,
and the imported executioners
of tormented ecstasies
that made our bodies shudder with oblivion
until even our shadows glowed
like feathers of light
that glutted the abyss we pillowed like stone
to lay our heads down upon and dream,
every emotion,
keyed like a highwire
over the infinite emptiness
of a guitar in the corner of a tomb
eating the dust of a blackboard
that schooled the scrawl of the angels
into the writing on the wall.
How many lovers have perished in me
like the rings and eras of a tree,
and what enormities of childhood it takes
to sweeten a single ruby of fruit,
what tides of blood and light
collapsing like eyelids on the mystic circus
that pulled off miracles
under the sheets and skies and skin
of our lascivious tents:
now I am a dunce in a wizard’s hat,
a cone of light,
the pillar of a fallen shadow,
freeing the wings of wounded birds
from the nets and mesh of the stars.
I am a dragon
with the soul of a bridge to here and now,
a weed on the stairs of an unknown temple
to a god that sweeps me away like ashes
with the broom of my shadow,
and my face is the footprint of the wind
as flowers are the footprints of the light,
and my heart is a pebble
I keep dropping down a well
to listen for an echo from the depths,
for a whisper of fire on the water,
to deliver me like a burning dove
with a leaf of the moon in its beak,
a letter from you,
to say there is a south of the heart
that can thaw this arctic desolation
that overtakes me like an ageless night
as my thoughts fall away
like the flames of descending matches,
like angels and demons
tilted from heaven,
from the plane of their orbital hearts,
toppled like towers and lighthouses
by an urge to kiss their own reflections.
I am a dragon
chained to the nightrain
that inks the roots of the locust tree
with thorns and stars and flowers,
and my blood is a dusky mess of dawns and ancient sunsets.
My heart was scaled like the moon
by the phases of an empty cup,
my eyes were birdless skies
and nothing flew higher
than the feathered shadows of the trees
that roosted in the grass like water,
and there were no tears left
in the wineskin of the heart
withered like a lily that bloomed for a day,
the soft clarion of a bruised trumpet.
Now I think of you
so many nights and miles away,
and I walk like a bridge toward you,
and my wings are spread out
like the pages of ample skies
that have yet to be written on by the stars,
and I must blow on my longing to be with you
like a spoonful of hot diamonds
just to keep the deserts of my thought
from etherealizing the tropics of my blood,
my eyes evaporating like crucial oases
in the heat of these visions
that burn the air
with fountains of fire
in this tavern of mystic passions
where I drink alone to you,
the furnace of my blood
silked like a black poppy
when I reach out,
a tree in winter,
the afterlife of lightning,
to touch your face like the moon.
I have been a lonely crusade of one
fighting for the gravestone of a dead god
enthroned in the leaf-fire of his falling,
lost in his dream like salt in the sea of the world,
stars in the seed of the apple,
a shadow devoted to the cause of the wind.
I am an era of scars
inspired by the talons of the moon
seizing my heart like a rag of meat
in these elevated bone-bowls of birth and death.
I have been a poet among humans,
an indignant warrior of the heart
with an army of seasoned candles
reconnoitering distant fires in the night
that bloomed like the breath
of insurmountable divinities
gathering like birds
in the border hills of the darkness
that always took the form of a luminous woman
bathing naked in a sea of eyeless windows.
Crowned like an apple star
for the brilliance of my defeats,
I fall like a key of crazy sugar,
a mysterious elixir of midnight orchids,
a squall of renegade stars
into the transformative valleys and bays
of your forbidden paradise,
happier than a fireproof heretic in the flames,
singing into the abyss of an unknown god
that has robed my heart like a wounded boat,
a solitary on his island,
in these auroral tides
that play my blood like the pulse
of this keyboard of light
where I drown like a stone messiah
true to the excruciations of his faith
in these delinquent oceans of you.
All my poems, chalk-dust,
all my mystic nightbirds iron weathervanes
bent by the lightning toward earth
like the forlorn hope of a battered metal,
all my paintings a bleeding and bruising of snow,
and the sincerity of the ways I got lost
in this labyrinth of mirrors
unspooling like a thread of blood
from an immortally wounded star,
an agony of human fire
rooted in the voice of the wind like a bird
the abyss of a night without bounds
squanders on the supremacy
of the oldest silence
time ever distilled from the eyes of the dead,
the perjury of a perishing light,
if I did not love your ashes and orchards more,
the way you tear your constellations
on the thorns of the moon
and bleed like black silk
for an innocence that never found its way home.
I can taste the dark prophecies
and oracles of infernal delight
written in scars on the dangerous mushroom
of your nuclear body,
and flow like the silt of stars,
white mountain gold and night honey,
through the hives and deltas
that enshrine the ore of the rose.
I can prolong the dawn like the wishbone of a note
broken like a harp
in the throats of the singing masters of the flesh.
I can blood the night with a fever of poppies
and scoop weeping diamonds
from the black fountain
in the furnace-heart of an electric glacier.
I can wield ecstasy
like a blade of the moon bewitched by its wound.
I can untie the knots and nooses
in the spinal cord of the butterfly
pinned like a calendar of eclipses,
a quarantined blossom,
to a dead branch under a bell of glass
and wire Eden back
to the infernal nerve of the lightning
that severed the afterbirth of the moon
from the dark mother in the garden
like an angel with a slash of fire at the gate.
I know how to make love
like an embassy of shadows
to the most distant longings of a woman in exile.
I can pour the oil of winged serpents
into the lamp
and entice a ghost of snow
to dance naked in the fire.
I can lead the lost cloud
out of the mountains of the key
to the doorway of candles and stars
enshrined in the skulls of seeing.
And even when I turn my back
on the darkest flowers of fire in my roots
to rise up like rain
into the immeasurable wingspan
of these desert clarities
that bead me like a caravan
of nomadic moons,
no more than a breath of light
in a gust of stars,
I’m still only a ladder of thresholds away
from stealing you away
from the refugees and shadows
that crowd your room
like the night sky
through the astounded vowel of an open window.

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Lenexa Baptist Church Poet Tom Zart, s = BELL RINGERS of THE SOUL!


Poets as a rule are high on adventure
Like wondering bards or prophets today.
Embracing hearts and minds with wisdom
Casting through verse their visions at play.

Poets have their dreams and their nightmares
Of love, life, death, faith and war.
They feel the pain and tragedy of others
Even those they’ve never met before.

They fan the flames of human compassion
With their stories of the failings of man.
Professing to follow a higher power
As they recruit whomever they can.

Poets are the bell ringers of the soul
As they depict the past, the present and beyond.
They sound their alarm of what lies ahead
As the missteps of man live on.


Poetry blossomed long before Shakespeare, Milton or Poe.
It thrived prior to Solomon and the languages of old.
Poetry today offers itself more often in the form of music
Then in sonnets and poems as the legends of life unfold.

Man has his fear of loneliness, death and the hereafter
As authors compose his doom, desperation and glory.
All hear the words of both good and evil
With too many that fall for the wrong story.

The falsehoods of life find it hard to hide
From the word of God’s poets and poems.
Sharing their joy, frustration and sorrow
By voice, Internet, radio, or books, in our homes.

Poets and poems help man become more human
As the storms of life proliferate their toll.
Poets and poems were put here for a reason
To help tame the savage that dwells in our soul.

Tom Zart


I’m God’s most humble poet
Whose poems have meter and rhyme.
Stories of love, faith, hate, honor and duty,
Obedience, war, heroes, history and crime.

I’ve performed my gift on T.V. and radio
Before millions I’ve never met.
Preached my praise of God and country
With 410 poems on the net.

Satan’s soldiers, shepherds and bards
Spew forth their foulness and grief.
They attack the joy and goodness of man
Dishonoring life, family, country and belief.

Prospering through work, love and conviction
Enables us to remain whole and how we should be.
Fortifying our soul with fulfillment of faith
Lets our worst tribulations be shouldered by Thee.

Moses, Samson, David, Solomon and Jonah
All failed God in their own human way.
He chose to forgive them and bless their powers
So they might dwell in hearts of man today.

Without God’s grace, wisdom and glorious domain
There’s no doubt all would soon cease to survive.
Through purpose, morals and Christian conviction
We are able to transform and keep hope alive.


One of America’s most famous writers
Was born in Boston, January of 1809.
Both his parents were failing actors
And his father was drunk most the time.

In 1810 Edgar’s dad disappeared
His mother died soon after.
A childless couple took him in
Raising him with love and laughter.

Edgar had a Negro nurse
Who brought him to her quarters.
There he listened to ghost stories
Far beyond earthly borders.

The strange tales he later wrote
May have come from her inspiration.
The words she used to describe death
Gave Poe his taste for sensation.

The Allans moved to England
Where Poe attended boarding schools.
There’s no doubt his time spent there
Sharpened his skills as tools.

Returning to Richmond and back in school
He began to compose new verse.
Heavy debts forced him to leave college
As his life took a turn for the worse.

Poe caught a ride on a coal barge to Boston
Where he was unable to find employment.
A young printer agreed to publish his poems
Giving him hope and enjoyment.

Penniless, Poe enlisted in the army
And was accepted to West Point in 29.
Poe couldn’t stand not being a writer
Self-imposing his dismissal from The Line.

Afterward he became an editor and critic
And married his cousin who was thirteen.
Six years latter he discovered she was dying
Suffering once more the unforeseen.

He went through periods of insanity
Caused by grieving and functional fall.
He smoked opium and drank too much
Till at his doorstep death would call.

Edgar Allan Poe the master of verse
Still lives in our hearts today
Famous for The Raven and other great works
May his soul rest in peace we pray.


The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it’s God who makes them so smart.

Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.

Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.

One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.

God sent his poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.


A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.

A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.

A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can’t help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.

A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.


God has always had his poets
Who He watches with love from space.
But Satan has his poets too
Who try to lead us from our grace.

King Solomon was a poet
Who spoke of love, life, death and war.
That lips were like threads of scarlet
And that breasts were roses and more.

The wild birds sing and flowers bloom
As clouds form figures in the sky.
But only humans will write poems
That shall last long after they die.

The eldest sister of all arts
Which some have called the devils wine.
Poetry is but pure passion
To stimulate the heart and mind.


My reciting seemed to delight her
Though for me it was love at first sight.
When she found out I was a poet
She asked, what kind do you write?

Love poems, mostly, I told her
While we walked alone in the park
Love's fever became even warmer
As two shadows embraced in the dark

I'll always remember when first we met
I whispered a poem in her ear.
Ever since then how happy I've been
And other women I've no need to be near.

They say that poets are divine
Though my wife would argue, that’s not true!
For, whenever I lose my direction
It’s she who tells me what to do.

Where the city ends and the suburbs begin
We've built our home beneath the sky.
We’ll raise our babies with truth and love
Till one or both of us die.

A verse a day, I always say
Helps keep lawyers from my door
For when I'm paid for what I write
My wife loves me a little more.


Most poets have a bit of Solomon
Shakespeare and Poe within.
Constantly eager to share their visions
Of love, life, joy and sin.

Some guzzle whiskey
Some sip wine
Some prefer cola
And feel just fine.

Some smoke pot
Or suck cigarettes
Some abuse drugs
With lifetime regrets.

Some attend church
And sing of God
While others make fun
And call them odd.

All have a purpose
Which drives them to compose.
All serve a master
Who by free will, they chose.


I never write a poem
That doesn’t write itself.
I catch a buzz and come alive
Like a puppet off it’s shelf.

Hearing many voices
Whose words are never mine.
My pen becomes a painter’s brush
Forming visions on a line.

I seem to be a better person
When it’s time to sit down and write.
A higher power guides my hand
Sharing wisdom by day and night.

People born to create
Have no choice but to perform.
It’s the rush of sharing their gift
That elevates them from the norm.

What would our world become
Without intervention from above?
Angry beings in a revolving cage
With no sense of passion or love.


Poetry is the lighthouse of life
Guiding the lost from a stormy sea.
Without it’s presence darkness prevails
Keeping us from all we can be.

Poems are used to convey passion
By poets of both good and evil mood.
Some are hateful others loving
Sharing thoughts to be consumed as food.

Verse can lead us to glory or doom
As we partake with others within.
Depicting our past, present and future
With words of man’s grace or sin.

People write poetry because they have no choice
Answering to the call of their gift.
Where some tend to pull their readers down
Others compose to give them a lift.

Always remember the power of poetry
Is used by both heaven and hell.
It’s up to us to choose our pleasure
As poetry remains alive and well.


Poetry consumed is where wisdom begins
As we heed to the whispers of the heart.
It’s easy to blame others for our dismay
When from ignorance we refuse to part.

Verse is a beacon of hope in the darkness
To help us navigate the pitfalls of life.
Far more tend to write it, than read it
That’s why there’s endless conflict and strife.

I write poems to help fuel the light
By sharing what God has given me.
With stories of love, life, war and more
Where heroes pray on bended knee.


Poetry is one of man’s oldest arts
Practiced long before words of print.
Every race had its masters of verse
In caves, huts, cabins or tent.

Stories in verse were handed down
From one generation to another.
The first told of love, war and more
And how to survive each other.

As man became more civilized
He could not help but wonder within.
Verse then took on a deeper meaning
With stories of faith, superstition and sin.

The act of reciting became in demand
As verse began to advance
Every tribe, city, town and village
Had someone who gave words romance.

Today’s poets are on the World Wide Web
Though many seem spiritually ill.
Thank Heaven for all who still have God’s gift
To compose, teach, comfort and fulfill.


My favorite poet is “God”
Who gives Earth its rhythm and rhyme.
Not pied pipers of misguided souls
Who promote distrust, hatred and crime.

Poetry is nature serenading in song
The peaceful roar of the oceans waves.
The wind through the trees and over the hills
And the flowers in the fields by the graves.

The sound of rain as it waters the thirsty
The songs of children at play in the park.
The far off rumble of trains or thunder
As they pass through the night in the dark.

The joy of our babies first words and steps
The passion of life with its heroes and clowns.
The on going struggle to survive our sins
As we proliferate in hamlets and towns.

My favorite poet is our Father of above
Who was first to know us before birth.
His poetry prolongs every thing we love
As His deliverance gives life its worth.


Words are the most powerful tools used by man
As hearts and souls reach for one another.
Sharing feelings of fear, wisdom and joy
Or our love for a significant other.

Where would we be without words
Which inspire, unite and motivate.
Songs, poems, stories, blogs, books
Wars, religion, love, lust and hate.

Jesus preached words to the multitudes
And nourish their hunger within.
The stories we tell portray our spirit
As examples of weakness, triumph or sin.

When we fail to control the rage of our thoughts
What is easy to say becomes hard to forgive.
Words are visions which portray our intent
The better we communicate, the better we live.


It’s not a priest that gives us our freedom of religion
And it’s not a reporter that gives us our freedom of voice.
It’s not any judge, lawyer, politician, or teacher
But the blood of a soldier that has sacrificed by choice.

Our soldiers line up to be remembered
As the best of the best at their job.
They wish to be needed and depended on
To save all we love from the mob.

They risk their life and limb for liberty
Standing firm against evil unwilling to break.
To be part of something greater than themselves
They are willing to sacrifice whatever it will take.

Tom Zart’s Poems Are Free To Post To Teach Or Show Love And Support!

By Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web

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Trial by Jury



SCENE - A Court of Justice, Barristers, Attorney, and Jurymen


Hark, the hour of ten is sounding:
Hearts with anxious fears are bounding,
Hall of Justice, crowds surrounding,
Breathing hope and fear--
For to-day in this arena,
Summoned by a stern subpoena,
Edwin, sued by Angelina,
Shortly will appear.

Enter Usher


Now, Jurymen, hear my advice--
All kinds of vulgar prejudice
I pray you set aside:
With stern, judicial frame of mind
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried.


From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried.

[During Chorus, Usher sings fortissimo, "Silence in Court!"]

USHER Oh, listen to the plaintiff's case:
Observe the features of her face--
The broken-hearted bride.
Condole with her distress of mind:
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried!

CHORUS From bias free, etc.

USHER And when, amid the plaintiff's shrieks,
The ruffianly defendant speaks--
Upon the other side;
What he may say you needn't mind---
From bias free of every kind,
This trial must be tried!

CHORUS From bias free, etc.

Enter Defendant


Is this the court of the Exchequer?
ALL. It is!
DEFENDANT (aside) Be firm, be firm, my pecker,
Your evil star's in the ascendant!
ALL. Who are you?
DEFENDANT. I'm the Defendant.

CHORUS OF JURYMEN (shaking their fists)

Monster, dread our damages.
We're the jury!
Dread our fury!

DEFENDANT Hear me, hear me, if you please,
These are very strange proceedings--
For permit me to remark
On the merits of my pleadings,
You're at present in the dark.

[Defendant beckons to Jurymen--they leave the box and gather around
him as they sing the following:

That's a very true remark--
On the merits of his pleadings
We're at present in the dark!
Ha! ha!--ha! ha!


When first my old, old love I knew,
My bosom welled with joy;
My riches at her feet I threw--
I was a love-sick boy!
No terms seemed too extravagant
Upon her to employ--
I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,
Just like a love-sick boy!
Tink-a-tank! Tink-a-tank!

But joy incessant palls the sense;
And love, unchanged, will cloy,
And she became a bore intense
Unto her love-sick boy!
With fitful glimmer burnt my flame,
And I grew cold and coy,
At last, one morning, I became
Another's love-sick boy.
Tink-a-tank! Tink-a-tank!

CHORUS OF JURYMEN (advancing stealthily)

Oh, I was like that when a lad!
A shocking young scamp of a rover,
I behaved like a regular cad;
But that sort of thing is all over.
I'm now a respectable chap
And shine with a virtue resplendent
And, therefore, I haven't a scrap
Of sympathy with the defendant!
He shall treat us with awe,
If there isn't a flaw,
Singing so merrily--Trial-la-law!
Trial-la-law! Trial-la-law!
Singing so merrily--Trial-la-law!

[They enter the Jury-box.]

RECIT--USHER (on Bench)

Silence in Court, and all attention lend.
Behold your Judge! In due submission bend!

Enter Judge on Bench


All hail, great Judge!
To your bright rays
We never grudge
Ecstatic praise.
All hail!

May each decree
As statute rank
And never be
Reversed in banc.
All hail!


For these kind words, accept my thanks, I pray.
A Breach of Promise we've to try to-day.
But firstly, if the time you'll not begrudge,
I'll tell you how I came to be a Judge.

ALL. He'll tell us how he came to be a Judge!
JUDGE. I'll tell you how...
ALL. He'll tell us how...
JUDGE. I'll tell you how...
ALL. He'll tell us how...
JUDGE Let me speak...!
ALL. Let him speak!
JUDGE. Let me speak!
ALL. (in a whisper). Let him speak!
He'll tell us how he came to be a Judge!
USHER. Silence in Court! Silence in Court!


When I, good friends, was called to the bar,
I'd an appetite fresh and hearty.
But I was, as many young barristers are,
An impecunious party.

I'd a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue--
And a brief which I bought of a booby--
A couple of shirts, and a collar or two,
And a ring that looked like a ruby!

CHORUS. A couple of shirts, etc.

JUDGE. At Westminster Hall I danced a dance,
Like a semi-despondent fury;
For I thought I never should hit on a chance
Of addressing a British Jury--
But I soon got tired of third-class journeys,
And dinners of bread and water;
So I fell in love with a rich attorney's
Elderly, ugly daughter.

CHORUS. So he fell in love, etc.

JUDGE. The rich attorney, he jumped with joy,
And replied to my fond professions:
"You shall reap the reward of your pluck, my boy,
At the Bailey and Middlesex sessions.
You'll soon get used to her looks," said he,
"And a very nice girl you will find her!
She may very well pass for forty-three
In the dusk, with a light behind her!"

CHORUS. She may very well, etc.

JUDGE. The rich attorney was good as his word;
The briefs came trooping gaily,
And every day my voice was heard
At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.
All thieves who could my fees afford
Relied on my orations.
And many a burglar I've restored
To his friends and his relations.

CHORUS. And many a burglar, etc.

JUDGE. At length I became as rich as the Gurneys--
An incubus then I thought her,
So I threw over that rich attorney's
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney my character high
Tried vainly to disparage---
And now, if you please, I'm ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage!

CHORUS. And now if you please, etc.

JUDGE. For now I'm a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. For now I'm a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE. Though all my law be fudge,
Yet I'll never, never budge,
But I'll live and die a Judge!
ALL. And a good Judge, too!
JUDGE (pianissimo). It was managed by a job--
ALL. And a good job, too!
JUDGE. It was managed by a job!
ALL. And a good job too!
JUDGE. It is patent to the mob,
That my being made a nob
Was effected by a job.
ALL. And a good job too!

[Enter Counsel for Plaintiff. He takes his place in front row of
Counsel's seats


Swear thou the jury!

USHER. Kneel, Jurymen, oh, kneel!

[All the Jury kneel in the Jury-box, and so are hidden from

USHER. Oh, will you swear by yonder skies,
Whatever question may arise,
'Twixt rich and poor, 'twixt low and high,
That you will well and truly try?

JURY (raising their hands, which alone are visible)

To all of this we make reply
By the dull slate of yonder sky:
That we will well and truly try.
We'll try.

(All rise with the last note)


Where is the Plaintiff?
Let her now be brought.


Oh, Angelina! Come thou into Court!
Angelina! Angelina!

Enter the Bridesmaids


Comes the broken flower--
Comes the cheated maid--
Though the tempest lower,
Rain and cloud will fade
Take, oh maid, these posies:
Though thy beauty rare
Shame the blushing roses,
They are passing fair!
Wear the flowers 'til they fade;
Happy be thy life, oh maid!

[The Judge, having taken a great fancy to First Bridesmaid, sends
her a note by Usher, which she reads, kisses rapturously,
and places in her bosom.

Enter Plaintiff


O'er the season vernal,
Time may cast a shade;
Sunshine, if eternal,
Makes the roses fade!
Time may do his duty;
Let the thief alone--
Winter hath a beauty.
That is all his own.
Fairest days are sun and shade:
I am no unhappy maid!

[The Judge having by this time transferred his admiration to
Plaintiff, directs the Usher to take the note from First
Bridesmaid and hand it to Plaintiff, who reads it,
kisses it rapturously, and places it in her bosom.


Comes the broken flower, etc.

JUDGE. Oh, never, never, never,
Since I joined the human race,
Saw I so excellently fair a face.
THE JURY (shaking their forefingers at him). Ah, sly dog!
Ah, sly dog!
JUDGE (to Jury). How say you?
Is she not designed for capture?
FOREMAN (after consulting with the Jury). We've but one word,
m'lud, and that is--Rapture!
PLAINTIFF (curtseying). Your kindness, gentlemen, quite

JURY. We love you fondly, and would make you ours!

BRIDESMAIDS (shaking their forefingers at Jury).
Ah, sly dogs! Ah, sly dogs!


May it please you, m'lud!
Gentlemen of the jury!


With a sense of deep emotion,
I approach this painful case;
For I never had a notion
That a man could be so base,
Or deceive a girl confiding,
Vows, etcetera deriding.

ALL. He deceived a girl confiding,
Vows, etcetera, deriding.

[Plaintiff falls sobbing on Counsel's breast and remains there.

COUNSEL. See my interesting client,
Victim of a heartless wile!
See the traitor all defiant
Wear a supercilious smile!
Sweetly smiled my client on him,
Coyly woo'd and gently won him.

ALL. Sweetly smiled, etc.

COUNSEL. Swiftly fled each honeyed hour
Spent with this unmanly male!
Camberwell became a bow'r,
Peckham an Arcadian Vale,
Breathing concentrated otto!--
An existence … la Watteau.

ALL. Bless, us, concentrated otto! etc.

COUNSEL. Picture, then, my client naming,
And insisting on the day:
Picture him excuses framing--
Going from her far away;
Doubly criminal to do so,
For the maid had bought her trousseau!

ALL. Doubly criminal, etc.

COUNSEL (to Plaintiff, who weeps)

Cheer up, my pretty--oh, cheer up!

JURY. Cheer up, cheer up, we love you!

[Counsel leads Plaintiff fondly into Witness-box; he takes a tender
leave of her, and resumes his place in Court.

(Plaintiff reels as if about to faint)

JUDGE. That she is reeling
Is plain to see!

FOREMAN. If faint you're feeling
Recline on me!

[She falls sobbing on to the Foreman's breast.

PLAINTIFF (feebly). I shall recover
If left alone.

ALL. (shaking their fists at Defendant)
Oh, perjured lover,
Atone! atone!

FOREMAN. Just like a father [Kissing her
I wish to be.

JUDGE. (approaching her)
Or, if you'd rather,
Recline on me!

[She jumps on to Bench, sits down by the Judge, and falls sobbing
on his breast.

COUNSEL. Oh! fetch some water
From far Cologne!

ALL. For this sad slaughter
Atone! atone!

JURY. (shaking fists at Defendant)
Monster, monster, dread our fury--
There's the Judge, and we're the Jury!
Come! Substantial damages,

USHER. Silence in Court!


Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray,
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
Of nature the laws I obey,
For nature is constantly changing.
The moon in her phases is found,
The time, and the wind, and the weather.
The months in succession come round,
And you don't find two Mondays together.
Consider the moral, I pray,
Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow,
Who loves this young lady to-day,
And loves that young lady to-morrow.

BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward, and kneeling to Jury).

Consider the moral, etc.

One cannot eat breakfast all day,
Nor is it the act of a sinner,
When breakfast is taken away,
To turn his attention to dinner.
And it's not in the range of belief,
To look upon him as a glutton,
Who, when he is tired of beef,
Determines to tackle the mutton.
But this I am willing to say,
If it will appease her sorrow,
I'll marry this lady to-day,
And I'll marry the other to-morrow.

BRIDESMAIDS (rushing forward as before)

But this he is willing say, etc.


That seems a reasonable proposition,
To which, I think, your client may agree.

But I submit, m'lud, with all submission,
To marry two at once is Burglaree!
[Referring to law book.
In the reign of James the Second,
It was generally reckoned
As a rather serious crime
To marry two wives at a time.
[Hands book up to Judge, who reads it.

ALL. Oh, man of learning!


JUDGE. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit:

COUNSEL. And at this stage, it don't appear
That we can settle it.

DEFENDANT (in Witness-box).
If I to wed the girl am loth
A breach 'twill surely be--

PLAINTIFF. And if he goes and marries both,
It counts as Burglaree!

ALL. A nice dilemma we have here,
That calls for all our wit.


PLAINTIFF (embracing him rapturously)

I love him--I love him--with fervour unceasing
I worship and madly adore;
My blind adoration is ever increasing,
My loss I shall ever deplore.
Oh, see what a blessing, what love and caressing
I've lost, and remember it, pray,
When you I'm addressing, are busy assessing
The damages Edwin must pay---
Yes, he must pay!

DEFENDANT (repelling her furiously)

I smoke like a furnace--I'm always in liquor,
A ruffian--a bully--a sot;
I'm sure I should thrash her, perhaps I should kick her,
I am such a very bad lot!
I'm not prepossessing, as you may be guessing,
She couldn't endure me a day!
Recall my professing, when you are assessing
The damages Edwin must pay!

PLAINTIFF. Yes, he must pay!

[She clings to him passionately; after a struggle, he throws her
off into arms of Counsel.

JURY. We would be fairly acting,
But this is most distracting!
If, when in liquor he would kick her,
That is an abatement.


The question, gentlemen--is one of liquor.
You ask for guidance--this is my reply:
He says, when tipsy, he would thrash and kick her.
Let's make him tipsy, gentlemen, and try!

COUNSEL. With all respect,
I do object!

PLAINTIFF. I do object!

DEFENDANT. I don't object!

ALL. With all respect
We do object!

JUDGE (tossing his books and paper about)

All the legal furies seize you!
No proposal seems to please you,
I can't sit up here all day,
I must shortly get away.
Barristers, and you, attorneys,
Set out on your homeward journeys;
Gentle, simple-minded Usher,
Get you, if you like, to Russher;
Put your briefs upon the shelf,
I will marry her myself!

[He comes down from Bench to floor of Court. He embraces


PLAINTIFF. Oh, joy unbounded,
With wealth surrounded,
The knell is sounded
Of grief and woe.

COUNSEL. With love devoted
On you he's doated,
To castle moated
Away they go.

DEFENDANT. I wonder whether
They'll live together,
In marriage tether
In manner true?

USHER. It seems to me, sir,
Of such as she, sir,
A Judge is he, sir,
And a good Judge, too!

JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!

ALL. And a good Judge, too!

JUDGE. Yes, I am a Judge!

ALL. And a good Judge, too!

JUDGE. Though homeward as you trudge,
You declare my law is fudge.
Yet of beauty I'm a judge.

ALL. And a good Judge too!

JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,

ALL. And a great snob, too!

JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,

ALL. And a great snob, too!

JUDGE. Though defendant is a snob,
I'll reward him from his fob.
So we've settled with the job,

ALL. And a good job, too!


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Amours de Voyage, Canto I

Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits,
Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,
Come, let us go,--to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered,
Where every breath even now changes to ether divine.
Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, 'The world that we live in,
Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib;
'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel;
Let who would 'scape and be free go to his chamber and think;
'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser;
'Tis but to go and have been.'--Come, little bark! let us go.

I. Claude to Eustace.

Dear Eustatio, I write that you may write me an answer,
Or at the least to put us again en rapport with each other.
Rome disappoints me much,--St Peter's, perhaps, in especial;
Only the Arch of Titus and view from the Lateran please me:
This, however, perhaps is the weather, which truly is horrid.
Greece must be better, surely; and yet I am feeling so spiteful,
That I could travel to Athens, to Delphi, and Troy, and Mount Sinai,
Though but to see with my eyes that these are vanity also.
Rome disappoints me much; I hardly as yet understand it, but
Rubbishy seems the word that most exactly would suit it.
All the foolish destructions, and all the sillier savings,
All the incongruous things of past incompatible ages,
Seem to be treasured up here to make fools of present and future.
Would to Heaven the old Goths had made a cleaner sweep of it!
Would to Heaven some new ones would come and destroy these churches!
However, one can live in Rome as also in London.*
It is a blessing, no doubt, to be rid, at least for a time, of
All one's friends and relations,--yourself (forgive me!) included,--
All the assujettissement of having been what one has been,
What one thinks one is, or thinks that others suppose one;
Yet, in despite of all, we turn like fools to the English.
Vernon has been my fate; who is here the same that you knew him,--
Making the tour, it seems, with friends of the name of Trevellyn.
* The 1968 Oxford Edition, edited by A.L.P. Norrington,
includes a line immediately following this:
Rome is better than London, because it is other than London.

II. Claude to Eustace.

Rome disappoints me still; but I shrink and adapt myself to it.
Somehow a tyrannous sense of a superincumbent oppression
Still, wherever I go, accompanies ever, and makes me
Feel like a tree (shall I say?) buried under a ruin of brickwork.
Rome, believe me, my friend, is like its own Monte Testaceo,
Merely a marvellous mass of broken and castaway wine-pots.
Ye gods! what do I want with this rubbish of ages departed,
Things that Nature abhors, the experiments that she has failed in?
What do I find in the Forum? An archway and two or three pillars.
Well, but St. Peter's? Alas, Bernini has filled it with sculpture!
No one can cavil, I grant, at the size of the great Coliseum.
Doubtless the notion of grand and capacious and massive amusement,
This the old Romans had; but tell me, is this an idea?
Yet of solidity much, but of splendour little is extant:
'Brickwork I found thee, and marble I left thee!' their Emperor vaunted;
'Marble I thought thee, and brickwork I find thee!' the Tourist may answer.

III. Georgina Trevellyn to Louisa ----.

At last, dearest Louisa, I take up my pen to address you.
Here we are, you see, with the seven-and-seventy boxes,
Courier, Papa and Mamma, the children, and Mary and Susan:
Here we all are at Rome, and delighted of course with St. Peter's,
And very pleasantly lodged in the famous Piazza di Spagna.
Rome is a wonderful place, but Mary shall tell you about it;
Not very gay, however; the English are mostly at Naples;
There are the A.'s, we hear, and most of the W. party.
George, however, is come; did I tell you about his mustachios?
Dear, I must really stop, for the carriage, they tell me, is waiting;
Mary will finish; and Susan is writing, they say, to Sophia.
Adieu, dearest Louise,--evermore your faithful Georgina.
Who can a Mr. Claude be whom George has taken to be with?
Very stupid, I think, but George says so very clever.

IV. Claude to Eustace.

No, the Christian faith, as at any rate I understood it,
With its humiliations and exaltations combining,
Exaltations sublime, and yet diviner abasements,
Aspirations from something most shameful here upon earth and
In our poor selves to something most perfect above in the heavens,--
No, the Christian faith, as I, at least, understood it,
Is not here, O Rome, in any of these thy churches;
Is not here, but in Freiburg, or Rheims, or Westminster Abbey.
What in thy Dome I find, in all thy recenter efforts,
Is a something, I think, more rational far, more earthly,
Actual, less ideal, devout not in scorn and refusal,
But in a positive, calm, Stoic-Epicurean acceptance.
This I begin to detect in St. Peter's and some of the churches,
Mostly in all that I see of the sixteenth-century masters;
Overlaid of course with infinite gauds and gewgaws,
Innocent, playful follies, the toys and trinkets of childhood,
Forced on maturer years, as the serious one thing needful,
By the barbarian will of the rigid and ignorant Spaniard.
Curious work, meantime, re-entering society: how we
Walk a livelong day, great Heaven, and watch our shadows!
What our shadows seem, forsooth, we will ourselves be.
Do I look like that? you think me that: then I am that.

V. Claude to Eustace.

Luther, they say, was unwise; like a half-taught German, he could not
See that old follies were passing most tranquilly out of remembrance;
Leo the Tenth was employing all efforts to clear out abuses;
Jupiter, Juno, and Venus, Fine Arts, and Fine Letters, the Poets,
Scholars, and Sculptors, and Painters, were quietly clearing away the
Martyrs, and Virgins, and Saints, or at any rate Thomas Aquinas:
He must forsooth make a fuss and distend his huge Wittenberg lungs, and
Bring back Theology once yet again in a flood upon Europe:
Lo you, for forty days from the windows of heaven it fell; the
Waters prevail on the earth yet more for a hundred and fifty;
Are they abating at last? the doves that are sent to explore are
Wearily fain to return, at the best with a leaflet of promise,--
Fain to return, as they went, to the wandering wave-tost vessel,--
Fain to re-enter the roof which covers the clean and the unclean,--
Luther, they say, was unwise; he didn't see how things were going;
Luther was foolish,--but, O great God! what call you Ignatius?
O my tolerant soul, be still! but you talk of barbarians,
Alaric, Attila, Genseric;--why, they came, they killed, they
Ravaged, and went on their way; but these vile, tyrannous Spaniards,
These are here still,--how long, O ye heavens, in the country of Dante?
These, that fanaticized Europe, which now can forget them, release not
This, their choicest of prey, this Italy; here you see them,--
Here, with emasculate pupils and gimcrack churches of Gesu,
Pseudo-learning and lies, confessional-boxes and postures,--
Here, with metallic beliefs and regimental devotions,--
Here, overcrusting with slime, perverting, defacing, debasing,
Michael Angelo's Dome, that had hung the Pantheon in heaven,
Raphael's Joys and Graces, and thy clear stars, Galileo!

VI. Claude to Eustace.

Which of three Misses Trevellyn it is that Vernon shall marry
Is not a thing to be known; for our friend is one of those natures
Which have their perfect delight in the general tender-domestic,
So that he trifles with Mary's shawl, ties Susan's bonnet,
Dances with all, but at home is most, they say, with Georgina,
Who is, however, too silly in my apprehension for Vernon.
I, as before when I wrote, continue to see them a little;
Not that I like them much or care a bajocco for Vernon,
But I am slow at Italian, have not many English acquaintance,
And I am asked, in short, and am not good at excuses.
Middle-class people these, bankers very likely, not wholly
Pure of the taint of the shop; will at table d'hôte and restaurant
Have their shilling's worth, their penny's pennyworth even:
Neither man's aristocracy this, nor God's, God knoweth!
Yet they are fairly descended, they give you to know, well connected;
Doubtless somewhere in some neighbourhood have, and are careful to keep, some
Threadbare-genteel relations, who in their turn are enchanted
Grandly among county people to introduce at assemblies
To the unpennied cadets our cousins with excellent fortunes.
Neither man's aristocracy this, nor God's, God knoweth!

VII. Claude to Eustace.

Ah, what a shame, indeed, to abuse these most worthy people!
Ah, what a sin to have sneered at their innocent rustic pretensions!
Is it not laudable really, this reverent worship of station?
Is it not fitting that wealth should tender this homage to culture?
Is it not touching to witness these efforts, if little availing,
Painfully made, to perform the old ritual service of manners?
Shall not devotion atone for the absence of knowledge? and fervour
Palliate, cover, the fault of a superstitious observance?
Dear, dear, what do I say? but, alas! just now, like Iago,
I can be nothing at all, if it is not critical wholly;
So in fantastic height, in coxcomb exaltation,
Here in the garden I walk, can freely concede to the Maker
That the works of His hand are all very good: His creatures,
Beast of the field and fowl, He brings them before me; I name them;
That which I name them, they are,--the bird, the beast, and the cattle.
But for Adam,--alas, poor critical coxcomb Adam!
But for Adam there is not found an help-meet for him.

VIII. Claude to Eustace.

No, great Dome of Agrippa, thou art not Christian! canst not,
Strip and replaster and daub and do what they will with thee, be so!
Here underneath the great porch of colossal Corinthian columns,
Here as I walk, do I dream of the Christian belfries above them?
Or, on a bench as I sit and abide for long hours, till thy whole vast
Round grows dim as in dreams to my eyes, I repeople thy niches,
Not with the Martyrs, and Saints, and Confessors, and Virgins, and children,
But with the mightier forms of an older, austerer worship;
And I recite to myself, how
Eager for battle here
Stood Vulcan, here matronal Juno,
And with the bow to his shoulder faithful
He who with pure dew laveth of Castaly
His flowing locks, who holdeth of Lycia
The oak forest and the wood that bore him,
Delos' and Patara's own Apollo.*

* Hic avidus stetit
Vulcanus, hic matrona Juno, et
Nunquam humeris positurus arcum;
Qui rore puro Castaliae lavit
Crines solutos, qui Lyciae tenet
Dumeta natalemque silvam,
Delius et Patareus Apollo.

IX. Claude to Eustace.

Yet it is pleasant, I own it, to be in their company; pleasant,
Whatever else it may be, to abide in the feminine presence.
Pleasant, but wrong, will you say? But this happy, serene coexistence
Is to some poor soft souls, I fear, a necessity simple,
Meat and drink and life, and music, filling with sweetness,
Thrilling with melody sweet, with harmonies strange overwhelming,
All the long-silent strings of an awkward, meaningless fabric.
Yet as for that, I could live, I believe, with children; to have those
Pure and delicate forms encompassing, moving about you,
This were enough, I could think; and truly with glad resignation
Could from the dream of Romance, from the fever of flushed adolescence,
Look to escape and subside into peaceful avuncular functions.
Nephews and nieces! alas, for as yet I have none! and, moreover,
Mothers are jealous, I fear me, too often, too rightfully; fathers
Think they have title exclusive to spoiling their own little darlings;
And by the law of the land, in despite of Malthusian doctrine,
No sort of proper provision is made for that most patriotic,
Most meritorious subject, the childless and bachelor uncle.

X. Claude to Eustace.

Ye, too, marvellous Twain, that erect on the Monte Cavallo
Stand by your rearing steeds in the grace of your motionless movement,
Stand with your upstretched arms and tranquil regardant faces,
Stand as instinct with life in the might of immutable manhood,--
O ye mighty and strange, ye ancient divine ones of Hellas.
Are ye Christian too? to convert and redeem and renew you,
Will the brief form have sufficed, that a Pope has set up on the apex
Of the Egyptian stone that o'ertops you, the Christian symbol?
And ye, silent, supreme in serene and victorious marble,
Ye that encircle the walls of the stately Vatican chambers,
Juno and Ceres, Minerva, Apollo, the Muses and Bacchus,
Ye unto whom far and near come posting the Christian pilgrims,
Ye that are ranged in the halls of the mystic Christian Pontiff,
Are ye also baptized? are ye of the kingdom of Heaven?
Utter, O some one, the word that shall reconcile Ancient and Modern!
Am I to turn me from this unto thee, great Chapel of Sixtus?

XI. Claude to Eustace.

These are the facts. The uncle, the elder brother, the squire (a
Little embarrassed, I fancy), resides in the family place in
Cornwall, of course; 'Papa is in business,' Mary informs me;
He's a good sensible man, whatever his trade is. The mother
Is--shall I call it fine?--herself she would tell you refined, and
Greatly, I fear me, looks down on my bookish and maladroit manners;
Somewhat affecteth the blue; would talk to me often of poets;
Quotes, which I hate, Childe Harold; but also appreciates Wordsworth;
Sometimes adventures on Schiller; and then to religion diverges;
Questions me much about Oxford; and yet, in her loftiest flights still
Grates the fastidious ear with the slightly mercantile accent.

Is it contemptible, Eustace--I'm perfectly ready to think so,--
Is it,--the horrible pleasure of pleasing inferior people?
I am ashamed of my own self; and yet true it is, if disgraceful,
That for the first time in life I am living and moving with freedom.
I, who never could talk to the people I meet with my uncle,--
I, who have always failed,--I, trust me, can suit the Trevellyns;
I, believe me,--great conquest, am liked by the country bankers.
And I am glad to be liked, and like in return very kindly.
So it proceeds; Laissez faire, laissez aller,--such is the watchword.
Well, I know there are thousands as pretty and hundreds as pleasant,
Girls by the dozen as good, and girls in abundance with polish
Higher and manners more perfect than Susan or Mary Trevellyn.
Well, I know, after all, it is only juxtaposition,--
Juxtaposition, in short; and what is juxtaposition?

XII. Claude to Eustace.

But I am in for it now,--laissez faire, of a truth, laissez aller.
Yes, I am going,--I feel it, I feel and cannot recall it,--
Fusing with this thing and that, entering into all sorts of relations,
Tying I know not what ties, which, whatever they are, I know one thing,
Will, and must, woe is me, be one day painfully broken,--
Broken with painful remorses, with shrinkings of soul, and relentings,
Foolish delays, more foolish evasions, most foolish renewals.
But I have made the step, have quitted the ship of Ulysses;
Quitted the sea and the shore, passed into the magical island;
Yet on my lips is the moly, medicinal, offered of Hermes.
I have come into the precinct, the labyrinth closes around me,
Path into path rounding slyly; I pace slowly on, and the fancy,
Struggling awhile to sustain the long sequences, weary, bewildered,
Fain must collapse in despair; I yield, I am lost, and know nothing;
Yet in my bosom unbroken remaineth the clue; I shall use it.
Lo, with the rope on my loins I descend through the fissure; I sink, yet
Inly secure in the strength of invisible arms up above me;
Still, wheresoever I swing, wherever to shore, or to shelf, or
Floor of cavern untrodden, shell sprinkled, enchanting, I know I
Yet shall one time feel the strong cord tighten about me,--
Feel it, relentless, upbear me from spots I would rest in; and though the
Rope sway wildly, I faint, crags wound me, from crag unto crag re-
Bounding, or, wide in the void, I die ten deaths, ere the end I
Yet shall plant firm foot on the broad lofty spaces I quit, shall
Feel underneath me again the great massy strengths of abstraction,
Look yet abroad from the height o'er the sea whose salt wave I have tasted.

XIII. Georgina Trevellyn to Louisa ----.

Dearest Louisa,--Inquire, if you please, about Mr. Claude ----.
He has been once at R., and remembers meeting the H.'s.
Harriet L., perhaps, may be able to tell you about him.
It is an awkward youth, but still with very good manners;
Not without prospects, we hear; and, George says, highly connected.
Georgy declares it absurd, but Mamma is alarmed, and insists he has
Taken up strange opinions, and may be turning a Papist.
Certainly once he spoke of a daily service he went to.
'Where?' we asked, and he laughed and answered, 'At the Pantheon.'
This was a temple, you know, and now is a Catholic church; and
Though it is said that Mazzini has sold it for Protestant service,
Yet I suppose this change can hardly as yet be effected.
Adieu again,--evermore, my dearest, your loving Georgina.

P.S. by Mary Trevellyn.

I am to tell you, you say, what I think of our last new acquaintance.
Well, then, I think that George has a very fair right to be jealous.
I do not like him much, though I do not dislike being with him.
He is what people call, I suppose, a superior man, and
Certainly seems so to me; but I think he is terribly selfish.

------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------

Alba, thou findest me still, and, Alba, thou findest me ever,
Now from the Capitol steps, now over Titus's Arch,
Here from the large grassy spaces that spread from the Lateran portal,
Towering o'er aqueduct lines lost in perspective between,
Or from a Vatican window, or bridge, or the high Coliseum,
Clear by the garlanded line cut of the Flavian ring.
Beautiful can I not call thee, and yet thou hast power to o'ermaster,
Power of mere beauty; in dreams, Alba, thou hauntest me still.
Is it religion? I ask me; or is it a vain superstition?
Slavery abject and gross? service, too feeble, of truth?
Is it an idol I bow to, or is it a god that I worship?
Do I sink back on the old, or do I soar from the mean?
So through the city I wander and question, unsatisfied ever,
Reverent so I accept, doubtful because I revere.

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You 'Were' Looking For Your Shoes

I can not find my socks.
Who misplaced them?
And why are they not in my sight?

'Grandpa? '


'I've spotted your socks.'

Then where are they?

They are on your feet.'

Who put them there?

'You did grandpa.
Just before you said,
You 'were' looking for your shoes.'

What are you trying to say?
You know where they are too?

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Last night before you fell asleep
You whispered something to me
Was it just a dream
I'm gonna listen to you close
Coz your goodnight kiss
Felt like a ghost

What are you trying to say to me?
What are you trying to say?

Everybody's searching for intimacy
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Everybody's hurting for intimacy
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Hey yeah

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My Other Self

I am your slave, desire,
I am your slave, pride,
I am your slave, vice,
I am your slave, success.

Get rid of desire, desire said,
Get rid of pride, pride said,
Get rid of vices, honor said,
Get rid of competition, success said.

I will still be the slave of sin,
The slave of matter,
The slave of love,
The slave of myself.

Get rid of sin and lust,
Of matter and love,
And you will get rid of yourself,
Said my other self.

Are you proposing suicide, sadly said myself?
No, I would never do that, said my other self.
Then, what are you trying to say?
Just be yourself.

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I'm Only Human

When we make mistakes and exclaim, 'I'm only human',
what are we trying to say?
What are we apologising for?
As humans, are we only just above the lowest form of animal,
on this planet.
Where's our intelligence, our pride, our self respect.
Why can't we see ourselves as perfect structures,
created by an inspired architect.
We should stand tall, be proud of what we are,
acknowledge our worth.
Why is it that when we falter, lose confidence,
become unsure,
we can't help saying, 'I'm only human'.
It's a sad realisation to arrive at,
don't you think?
But then again, 'we are only human'!

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