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Exorcism

I know who's scratching at the door.
Clock, there's no use yawning.
More than boards are loose in the floor—
I wasn't born this morning.

Beneath your gurgle, Water Tap,
I hear the water slither.
I know you well, Barometer,
and all your inner weather.

Soap, you're not all lather,
and Cane, you're more than stick.
I know who hangs on you, Clothes Hanger.
I know you, wicked Wick.

I hear your silence, Telephone.
I know your meaning, Saw.
O wily, absent-minded Fly,
I've heard your voice before.

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poem by Robert Friend
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The Weeping Earth

I am the upside down man,
when in a hole I dig deeper
thinking it is up;

I use my satin blindfold
if I need to see.

All my memories
are fragmented media remnants
and I call it living for the moment.

I am the inside out man

I plot to never admit or take the blame,
I kiss evil on the mouth
enjoy turmoil,
and chaos
because they make my inside out,

and that makes me feel whole.

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Bath Bliss

Having a bath is so relaxing,
When a day at the office has been so taxing,
We need to ease away our tensions,
Otherwise we may never collect our pensions,
To keep forever on the go,
Rushing to and rushing fro,
Is really just not good for us,
We really must learn to adjust.
Instead of working oneself into a lather,
What are the things that you would rather
Do, that is, if you had the choice,
Be able to get out of that office, and just rejoice?
Look at all the things to do at your leasure,
Lots of things to give you pleasure,
And a hot bath is number one on the list,
One that I don't think you can resist,
It will soothe your worries, soothe your dismay,
Soothe all your aches and pains away,
For the water will do just what it should,
And you know you'll be feeling really good,

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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Home After Three Months Away

Gone now the baby's nurse,
a lioness who ruled the roost
and made the Mother cry.
She used to tie
gobbets of porkrind in bowknots of gauze--
three months they hung like soggy toast
on our eight foot magnolia tree,
and helped the English sparrows
weather a Boston winter.

Three months, three months!
Is Richard now himself again?
Dimpled with exaltation,
my daughter holds her levee in the tub.
Our noses rub,
each of us pats a stringy lock of hair--
they tell me nothing's gone.
Though I am forty-one,
not forty now, the time I put away
was child's play. After thirteen weeks

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poem by Robert Lowell
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A Penitential Hymne

Hearken O God unto a Wretches cryes
Who low dejected at thy footstool lies.
Let not the clamour of my heinous sin
Drown my requests, which strive to enter in
At those bright gates, which alwaies open stand
To such as beg remission at thy hand.
Too well I know, if thou in rigour deal
I can nor pardon ask, nor yet appeal:
To my hoarse voice, heaven will no audience grant,
But deaf as brass, and hard as adamant
Beat back my words; therefore I bring to thee
A gracious Advocate to plead for me.
What though my leprous soul no Jordan can
Recure, nor flouds of the lav'd Ocean
Make clean? yet from my Saviours bleeding side
Two large and medicinable rivers glide.
Lord, wash me where those streams of life abound,
And new Bethesdaes flow from ev'ry wound.
If I this precious Lather may obtain,
I shall not then despair for any stain;

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poem by Henry King
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Pleas of a Claymore II

Have you ever seen a saber?
Took so much beating
In a plethora of derision
As the hands pounded his convictions
Against the feral adversary
Of his stale conqueror,
Lackadaisical and crestfallen
But still fawning in a lash back
To find the elusive direst
Of his tethering fate,
And his silver blood spilled
And scintillated in stellar
Like the mistral tears of a maiden.

And some people esteemed it
Musing in avarice for the clout
That this claymore possessed
Despite of the scarred visage
Or perhaps, because of the incisions
And they would lather the lacquer

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poem by Norman Santos
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Cap'n Storm-Along

They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,

-Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!-

Sea-lark
singing to
Golden Feather
,
And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'.
There's
Thunderstone
butting ahead as they wallow,
With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;
There's
Night-hawk
swooping by wild
Sea-swallow,

And old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.

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poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Pearl of them All

Gaily in front of the stockwhip
The horses come galloping home,
Leaping and bucking and playing
With sides all a lather of foam;
But painfully, slowly behind them,
With head to the crack of the fall,
And trying so gamely to follow
Comes limping the pearl of them all.

He is stumbling and stiff in the shoulder,
And splints from the hoof to the knee,
But never a horse on the station
Has half such a spirit as he;
Give these all the boast of their breeding
These pets of the paddock and stall,
But ten years ago not their proudest
Could live with the pearl of them all.

No journey has ever yet beat him,
No day was too heavy or hard,

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poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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You Will Always Be My Father

I dearly loved my Father,
Till I was about twelve years old,
Then he started to go astray,
An affair is what I was told.

I fought with my Mother and Brothers,
They said he was just a rat
He was my reason for living,
My Dad could not do that.

At first he disappeared for days,
I didn't know where or when,
He could have been alive or dead,
But then he'd appear again.

There was never an explanation,
He should have given me that at least,
Then he'd show from out of the blue,
With his gifts from the mystic east.

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poem by Bri Mar
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The Post That Fitted

Though tangled and twisted the course of true love
This ditty explains,
No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve
If the Lover has brains.

Ere the seamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged to marry
An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called "my little Carrie."
Sleary's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other way.
Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight poor rupees a day?

Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly furnished quarters --
Then proposed to Minnie Boffkin, eldest of Judge Boffkin's daughters.
Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch,
But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make another match.

So they recognised the business and, to feed and clothe the bride,
Got him made a Something Something somewhere on the Bombay side.
Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to marry --
As the artless Sleary put it: -- "Just the thing for me and Carrie."

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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