Custom Search

Sunday, January 31, 2010




I have never figured myself a jealous man.
Maybe when I was much younger,
During my teen years, I had a bit of a streak,
And, later, toward the end of the drinking life,
Elements of my character became magnified,
True, especially for the worst parts.

Liquor always brought me to morbidity.

I became lost, crazy, think was upside down.
My bending of the elbow grew to obsession,
That was the mode, coloring my every move.

But you know the story, Honey. Hallelujah!

I was saved. For me, like Saint Paul’s,
A miraculous conversion, blinded by the light,
I had been born free, citizen, Roman, holding rank,
Armed upon steed, death squad commander,
Who served at pleasure of god, Caesar,
To whom I pitched incense, and swore
Allegiance, knowing to act otherwise
Would mean pain of exile,
To be banished from Rome forever.

What a story! Knocked from horse, and
When the saint rose up, up from that ground,
From the road outside Damascus,
He had not only raised himself,
But us up, too, making for us all seats together,
Heavenly places, in the church of Christ, Jesus.

Forgive me. I digress, and what I call miracle
May in my case be exaggeration for a more pedestrian,
Every day experience, I fell to panic attack, seizure,
Or was it alcoholic psychosis? Simply put, I went nuts.

Liebchen, Ich bin ganz verrueckt geworden!

However the therapies label, it certainly stopped
My practice of daily imbibing,
And took from me the terrible habit
And set me on steps toward character improvement.

Allow me here more common fare,
And borrow ready, simple conceit,
To come to full circle, to describe
How, today, my affection takes the all too zealous turn,
Thinking about you and the things that adorn you,
Once more, the green-eyed monster despoils me.

It eats me alive!

When your stockings lay in bedroom bureau,
When you lived with me here in our home,
I would open the drawer and look upon them,
The pang I would feel lay in what I could not…
For unlike them, I could not caress your entire leg!

Then I grew jealous of your buttons and zippers.

You might say, using strongest intonation, “Stanley!
“How can you be jealous of innocent items?
“How can you be jealous of objects,
“Please, things like my own buttons and zippers?”

But I must retort, not so innocent at all!
For they hold you in so many intimate places,
And stay with you the whole day long, even now,
Now, when you are gone, utterly absent from my side!

The devil possesses me for my ardor so extreme,
I have become jealous of your shoes, because,
And you must have guessed the reason,
They hold your feet and take you away from me.

CORPORAL, All-Night Love Encounter, edited II


All-Night Love Encounter, edited II

The corporal, he saw time,
He saw thirty seconds, he saw temporal instance,
He saw the spin, the vortex, the end point,
Whereat all disappeared, no fiction,
No imaginary construct, the vanishing, real,
It was the same as any other solid in existence.

He was turning the corner into the living room,
When he noticed the couch become clear light,
Transparent, a configuration of lines,
Blue lines on white background, and at the bottom,
Right hand corner a lined, rectangular box spelled out
Blanks to be composed at latter time,

Corporal seemed to slip into more familiar space,
He lay upon the bed on his back,
He sat up. He bent forwards and grasped his toes.
He was smarting.

He was hurting all over! He suffered!
It seemed every muscle, every joint ache.

My! What a plethora of subjects crossed his mind.

The corporal, he saw every crack and crevice of heaven.

He rolled up, brought knees to chest, and then white light,
He caught such gigantic power,
That night he broke the bubble and went beyond,
He went way beyond the stars, he walked a field,
The wheat had grown up to his waist,
He ran full speed, and he could see himself,
He could see himself stark, dark figure in the distance,
While he ran, he ran, break neck, towards horizon,
Horizon of black-and-yellow, checker-board-colored sky,


It was the moment he turned to ask her,

Their clothes were scattered throughout the parlor,
It was late night and a view of lower Manhattan lights,
The buildings, street lamps and bridges burned,
Out the window the illumination, awesome,
Out the window view from
The twenty-fifth floor of the high rise,

He asked how it had been for her,
Corporal wondered because they had never left
The front room couch and the sadness of reentry,
Earth’s gravity began to exert its heavy hold.

And she, adopting chapter and verse from
The good Doctor Leary’s work, replied, she replied,

“A thousand times better, it was!”

“A thousand times better,” corporal queried?


Their clothes were scattered throughout the parlor,

Corporal flashed in Technicolor,
A motion picture screen,
It occupied the theater before his eyes,
The hall was vast with long-drawn aisles and fretted vault,
Chandeliers illuminated architecture,
A long, flat-board stage, it had a trough for footlights,
And over its edge, an orchestra pit.
Ornate blocks, and floral, leafy rosettes in high relief
Accented the luxury, and as this scene unfolded
Corporal saw another time, another place,
A vision, long-ago, workman studios,

Industry beyond narrow focus of bottom line,

He lamented how terrible the cost of greed,
That new notions, corporate priority had replaced
The love and regard for hand-made things;
His mind ran as freight train from town to town,
And when it slowed to heed the road level crossings,
Corporal saddened over depopulated stores,
The thought occurred whether big-box merchants
Had subjugated America, and reduced its people’s
Force of labor down to the stacking of shelves?

Corporal refocused his vision and saw
In the theater upon the walls fluted columns,
They rose to the ceiling and between them,
There were paintings, pictures of deep woods,
These painted forest scenes opened upon coves
And secret, manicured gardens whose waters reflected
Amorous gods, gods at sport,
They made love with mythical creatures.

And, then, in the instance when
His eyes returned to the drama,
The show that ran upon on the screen,
At first he thought, Popeye,
But no, no Olive Oyl, was there,
Instead he saw a white-hot blonde,
With long, curly tresses, bouncing from her shoulders,
-- Remember these were full action figures --
Then he realized the carton characters, which played,
They were he and she,
They were locked within impossible embrace.

Corporal heard the music score, wham bam,
He checked, he reached around his torso,
Touched his back,
He had to feel with his fingers,
Otherwise how could he have know,
Did the joints of his spine still stay in place?

He wondered whether contortionists on view,
A dream, or was it third-person glimpse,
The camera’s true capture, the hours’ previous delight,
Now projected with vivid light, on the screen,
Oh, the animation and color before him!


He mulled it over, he was trying to discern,
What was real, what was not?
And then he fell to warm, all-over, pleasant body heat.
And heard what he knew was voice of the Lord.

“Eagle, Eagle arise… Why sleep now?”
“It is dawn, and eat and drink,
“And all the eagles wait to watch you.”

“Lord, Lord,” corporal whispered,
“All that You have put upon me,
“I know these things are good.
“Haven’t I been promised them since youth?

And she, her face no more than an inch away from his,
She sighed and responded, again, to his erstwhile query,

“It was a thousand times better!” She said.

Corporal ran, he ran, break neck, towards horizon.
It was late night and a view of lower Manhattan lights,
The buildings, street lamps and bridges burned,
Out the window the illumination, awesome,
Out the window view from
The twenty-fifth floor of the high rise.

Friday, January 29, 2010

BIRTHDAY CHANT, For Jocelyn on Her Thirty-Second Year

For Jocelyn on Her Thirty-Second Year

“Horse and hattock, horse and go,
And pellatis, Ho! Ho! Ho!”
There’s time for nothing, then we’re cold.
May Jocelyn never grow old!

Today she counts another year (as she must)
As if forced to note, none may escape the dust.
Why then repeat it, scream with lust,
Let it be known, we have cause that’s just!

“Horse and hattock, horse and go,
And pellatis, Ho! Ho! Ho!”
There’s time for nothing, so soon we’re cold,
Lairds and ladies say it bold,
May Jocelyn never grow old!

Friday, January 22, 2010


I imagine that I must have surprised you,
What with your waiting game, your sport,
Exhausting me with your angler’s skill,
You having had me hooked, long, on the line,
It was the lure, you,
I swallowed you whole.
I had not seen the great barb nestled in the fly,
I fell to your beauty, the dazzle, your shimmer,
And I ate your right to the lead sinker.

I was your catch.

I believed every thing you said.

Who might have divined it?
Given the great tensile strength your reel’s nylon wire
Hard to phantom I might break it;
But I took a deep dive toward bottom,
Then I broke surface with a five-foot leap above water.
A snap announced how taut had grown the tension,
Boat and bait had lost all connection.

Who would have envisioned it?
My swimming with that hook still puncturing my mouth,
Your fisherman’s string, its segment,
It’s running with me for at least a yard along side,

My injury, it hurts, and I’ll bear it for life,
But I have set myself at liberty,
Free to travel world’s grand and open ocean seas.

And may I ask, again,
Would anyone ever believe such a fish story?

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

TAVERN SONG, A New Amsterdam Melody

A New Amsterdam Melody

The Devil drank to Isobel Bairde
And she pledging him,
Shot back her head and drank again.
And he pledged her,
But knew not the Dutch, Krom Mesje,
He said to her instead, “Grammercie,”

Then with the smile, the smile,
That he alone could smile, he added,
“You, my dear, are very welcome.”

WITHOUT YOU, George St. Heartbreak


George St. Heartbreak

I am sick with rheum and aches,
And a congestion of the lungs.
I cough constantly.

Insomnia stains my eye sockets,
As though they are blackened with charcoal,
And, for the first time in my life
I look older than my real age.

Years ago, when a child,
I read auguries in the snarled pattern of clouds,
And practiced divination in how snow
Accumulated to subtle differences of height
On the post rails surrounding the corral.

I used to watch the frozen breathe of horses,
Looking for some hope of bliss,
But abstracted solely gloom and heartbreak.

Today, desperate and preoccupied, I try
To pick out the future from the way
Antennae wire twists against the white walls,
And falls up and down
Along the molding in my bedroom.

All omens promise bad luck.
My mind has fallen into moat
And bad mood has dungeoned me.

I keep to the apartment all day,
Flipping over playing cards,
Looking for my destiny every time,
A queen of hearts appears from the deck.

It's going okay tonight, not too bad.

"Stanley, don’t be wearin’ that stickpin
Opals are always considered unlucky!"

My luck isn't very good as it is.
I don't think me wearing an opal
Changes the outcome of life that much.

No eulogy for this affair of heart.
No photographs left here for me to remember us.

I see no people down the street to witness
Me drive off in the Ford alone.

Rain and cold, happy couples walk the avenues,
Huddling close, tight, one to another.

Your name has been deleted from the speed dial.
It has vanished from my computer screen.

I guess these musings are the closest
It may ever come to a biography of us.

I must wonder if this whole fantastic romance,
I once envisioned, amount to no more, now,
Is it footnote in this big book of my own?
No children will be named for us,
Not that you wanted it anyhow,
The children being named after either you or me.

No admission will ever be charged
For entrance to the home where we once lived,
Spoke ardently of love one for the other,
And I tempted verse to celebrate us for the ages.

And despite all the noise coming from the street,
All the appointments I have to keep this evening,
I can only lie on the floor and look to the ceiling.

The light is going out of my eyes.

Some people lust after money.
Others seek a hundred different lovers.
Lots of people crave more than fair share.

I, I just want you, your love, dear,
And while life goes on without you,
I feel increasingly impoverished.
I have fallen into awful ingratitude.

A grand poverty of spirit besets me.

I exaggerate my mood, and in a panic I imagine
An army attacks me and that I am driven as a refugee,
Lost to my wife and child, forced to flee home
And that I abandon my bed and kitchen utensils.

I know it wrong to venture,
Such outrageous comparison;
Yet when I sit here alone, I feel,
As if, God punishes me,
And I am bereft of His Succor in my life.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

NOW VOYAGER, A Poem in Four Parts
A Poem in Four Parts

Part I

Were I a gentleman true, gallant,
The kind of chap with plumage in his hat,
Whose cape readies for damsel's distress,
I would say let us end it now; you are
Too young or, even better put,

I am too old for love with a beauty your age.

But let us face it!
No two-bit convention possesses me.

Long ago,
It was in the woods of Western Massachusetts,
I saw time tunnel down the trail before me.
I saw the nature of things,
The whirl into which all we know disappears.

And tonight faces of the dead startle me awake.
Family and friends float before me.

Oh the calamity!
Death holds both young and old alike!

Darling, the air in my bedroom
It drops to the temperature of ice.

I envision my aunt, Helene, and see her
When she says to the child, who is me,
"Stanley! Go ahead! Touch her!"
My cousin, Barbara, lies in her coffin
Before the age of six, she was a year older than I.

My buddy, Burton, cut down well before prime;
Thought of him occupies my every day.

Revelry brings me to Joey who cried
"Whitney's dead!" And right there
On Fifth Avenue, opposite the Public Library,
He placed his gun on the glass of the showcase
Counter top. I was in the jewelry shop.
I dream a slip back to former ways, the drinking life;
I could taste the whiskey shots, the beverage
Dispensed that afternoon, it was Johnnie Walker Black.

The haunting goes on;
More of the dead, they parade before me.

Omar, tall, dark, forgive me here for I know
No better than the honest truth, handsome,
The child, Spencer, my son's best friend,
My high-school sweethearts, Arlene and Lynn,
All taken, all unwitting emblems, as if to prove,
Life bears no promise of continuance.

Nightmare arms with disembodied hands,
Wag imaginary fingers
As if to demand I pick up pen and write.

Part II

But before one dream ceases another appears.
I see the birds of the air keep still.
Those who were eating did not eat,
And those who were conveying material to make nest,
Did not convey it, and before me opens a scene
Of low surf beaches upon which are long ships,
Vessels whose hulls have center masts
With single, rectangular sails, blood red,
And from gar boards up are stakes, broad-axed
Hewed, each board a color its own,
And each board nailed one upon the other,
The sides of those ships appear,
Like the bands of rainbows, red, orange, yellow,
Green, blue, indigo and regal violet.
Color upon color runs the length of keels,
Which themselves are crowned gold
Each has its own fierce, dragon-head prow.

Rudders are mounted at right, and within each craft
Upon rows and rows of chests sit oarsmen.

The ships are set to sail,
Yet the entire assembled host
Seems as if stuck in stone,
Like sculpture done in high relief. Nothing moves.
The waves have stopped, they break not.

What a night! It is,
It really is, what a remarkable night!

Never before have I beheld,
Have I seen such Technicolor panorama.
The closed world of family and friends
It falls to vision from other time and place.
My bedroom warms. And a seemingly true,
But sixth sense intimates Spring,
I bear witness to a prelude,
The dream carries me and I sense the long days,
The glory of Scandinavian summer awakens before me.

Light, bright, bright day dawns, and it thrills me.
I ready for adventure. I am happy,
I am exhilarated beyond normal human confines.

And, then, a bearded visage looms before me.
It is strange, it wears a helmet,
The likes of which I had never before encountered,
A four part iron dome with a sharp spike atop,
A braided chain surrounds its eye sockets,
It gives a spectacle-like appearance to the visor.

Down the back of this visage’s neck,
Mounted from the edge of his helmet,
A chain-mail curtain falls
Directly to the shoulder of a thick, hide tunic.
A strap from ear guard to ear guard
Runs behind his beard, holds his helmet in place.

He says, "Action! Please!" At once, as though
My dream be some kind of cinematic construct,
I hear birds of the air singing, those who were eating,
Eat, and those who were conveying material
To nest, convey it.

The shipyard has come to life, the din now terrific.
On horizon's plane I hear low thunder.
I see the spray of waves sparkle in the daylight.

I wonder do I sleep or do I wake?

Part III

"Today", the specter says,
"Before I appeared in vision to you,
A fierce fit seized my brain, and I took my sword
And smashed it mightily against this stone
Which our men had trundled from the moraine,
A monument on whose face
Inscribed characters memorialized my life."

Wordlessly he hands me a leather roll to unfurl.
It is a runic manuscript and though
The writing, its script is olden Svenska,
In my dream I could read it!

"My Darling Brunet," the salutation goes,

"I am your countryman, a remote ancestor,
I tell you true, and whether you believe me or not,
Or how you choose to act,
The matter rests entirely with you.
Nonetheless I urge you. Harken!

"Death has deprived me of ability to speak,
The poet’s verse, the dream
It communicates to you, is channel,
The vehicle this ghost employs,
Without this medium no correspondence would exist.

"You have heard of the hurried activity that
Animates the point of embarkation,
Note anticipation of mere material success,
It dwarfs so much noble human endeavor.
The business these ships portend had once been mine.

"The business the ships portend had been mine.

"And now voyager, you, like we before you,
Pursue the world to bring it to your feet,
You seek new riches and hope
To bring them home to dazzle compatriots.

"Yet, whatever the greatness now awaits you,
Yours can not compare to ours, to our accomplishment.

"Forgive the invidious note. Still mull it over,
Allow me this moment. Imagine it!

"The joy! We sat well in order
And smote the sounding furrows,
And sailed into the sunrise
We headed toward the baths of the morning stars.

"And when we landed, we crossed a vast,
Unnamed landmass between Europe and Asia,
Harnessed captives to forge the rivers,
Fought numberless skirmishes,
We used native allies to establish posts for trade.

"And while we traveled we beseeched Odin,

"Oh Father! Oh Father of Fathers! Oh Allfather!
Soak us in the blood of enemies, and let its
Stench increase our fury. Help us to violence!
Oh Great God guide us to kill any who defy us.

"The greater bloody smell that filled our nostrils,
The more the madness drove us to fight and conquer.

"And when we lit the funeral pyres,
Made from the ships of our current travel,
And burned the bodies of our fallen comrades
Into the heaven that awaits the warrior,
Our hair became matted thick,
We were crowned with the ash of the departed.
In the smoke from those fires
We breathed in the spirits of heroic conquest.

"We were men of prayer and momentous belief,
Utterly we turned our will and
We turned our lives over to care of Father.

"And I ask, again, how yours may compare to ours,
How may yours compare to our conquest of the East.

"We founded Kiev, established the thrones
That became the Royal house of a great nation.

"All the way from the soil of Stora Alvaret,
We crossed the Bosporus,
And battled foes on the plains outside Byzantium,
Our work was in the employ of oriental Emperors.

"We had vanquished the expanse of land
We ruled from Baltic to Black Sea.

"And when we returned to homeland shores
We had ships filled with slaves and honey.
We brought woman companions North,
Awesome beauties of the East were ours.
We stole the horses of the Hungarians and the Czechs.

"Our hulls bore bags upon bags of gold and silver coin,
And were heaped with all variety of fruit,
Our ships returned laden with pelts, fur, which we
And our people used to win our great fight against Winter.

"We had returned home rich beyond measure.

"Now I am but a shade, truly ghost of former self.
No one need tell me how great the events
How the gravestone script commemorates
The immortality of your ancestors’ deeds and mine.

"Yet nothing matches the warmth, the memory,
My dear wife’s body lay in bed, her sleeping next to me.

"Once, and now so many years ago,
I happened upon my wife while she lifted
Our son to seat him on the front plank
Of an oxcart parked in the front of our home.

"I must convey that there is
More lasting memory and real worth for me,
In the way dappled sunlight
Had illuminated my son's head,
Than is upon all the runes in the homeland today.

"Our paths emerge but for a while
Then close forever within a dream.

"Time cuts us a length so short only the moment
May be savored, all else, vanity,
And once we recognize the transitory,
The fleetingness of all we savor,
We may seize the instance and know treasure.

"I am a shade. My victories mean nothing.

"Were I only able to spend
An hour more in bed with my beloved,
Could I once more bear living witness
To sun’s light across tree tops at height of day.

"If only it possible to play, to tumble,
To crawl along with my toddler son,
Were we to have opportunity for our knees
And our hands to be upon this earth once more.

"Goodbye! Sweet woman, Goodbye!

"Farewell! Farewell! Remember me!"

Part IV

He vanishes. The dreamscape turns green.

And the color now before me matches the color,
The verdant, the summer green of those
Preserves of forest that stretch
For mile upon mile along the River Deplanes
The green that equals the color, the wood,
The forest which circles the cemetery stone,
The burial ground of the Chippewa Chief
Whose bravery saved the pale skins at Fort Dearborn.

The green is the color of the burial plot,
The Indian Burial Ground where I played in my youth.

And out from this world of green voices,
Which I hear but do not see, they declare,

"Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.

"Time chases upon our heels,
Before long it quickens its pace to furious gallop.
All earthly stores succumb to this onslaught.
In a wisp, like the language of our monuments,
We cease, and we are remembered no more."

And now over and against this green
A spectral chorus appears,
And from amongst the ensemble,
A single ghost figure steps to the fore, and says,

"I am here to repeat ancient wisdom:

"What do we care what the joyless say?
They should get lost, all of them!

"Once our tiny, brief light is pinched out,
There be no night, like that everlasting night,
When earth, it replaces heaven.

"So let’s kiss, and let’s kiss again.
Let’s kiss a thousand times, and, then,
Let’s do it all over again, those kisses.

"How many? How many? How many?
How many, you say?

"Let’s not number our kisses.
There are people with evil eyes,
Workers of black magic,
Who would wish to bewitch us.

"They should not know how many."

Friday, January 8, 2010

PUBLIC AFFECTION, Love in a Busy Place. A Poem in Six Parts,

Love in a Busy Place.
A Poem in Six Parts,

Parts I & II

Seven years ago, we started, friends,
Acquaintances, commercially. Later,
You worked with me, sorting jewelry.
Jarek thought us well suited, maybe a steady couple,
Figured we might enjoy, complement each other.

He said he saw you eying me.
I feared disaster, but he said, “Blame me, Stanley!
You can always blame me for everything!”

Last Saturday at the Pizzeria,
Ten AM in a very busy place,
Despite our aversion to public affection,
We lost ourselves in caress.
It was prolonged and remarkably tender.
We were standing up,
Up from our table and chairs for all to see.

God! I love to kiss you!

Later, a counterman asked, were we dating?
I heard him think, “Not bad!”
His eyes declared your beauty!
I wanted to agree, but answered, “No.”


Passion strong, I want you.

Yet our love went awry.
You abandoned each, every solemn promise,
Pulled up stakes, and left me home alone, miserable.

Still wisdom counsels me to patience.

A psychiatrist reminded me breaking bonds, the ties
Between lovers, not inconsequential,
"It's not a change of shoes," she said.

I followed her order, made an inventory.
I listed the virtues, the good qualities about us.
I put them to paper twice.
I started with our business acumen, noted, first,
Our mutual attention to detail, (we never misplaced,
Or lost a thing) then our discipline, we operated
Like clockwork, yet we always had fun,
Scouring tables and racks for hidden treasure,
We loved to play games of show and tell.

We were a team, and business profited.

Next, continuing the doctor’s precept, I wrote, how
We had worked out personal protocols,
Settled on behaviors, and aimed daily
To create wellbeing and household harmony,
I marked our mutual hope, the promise, that
Carnal and spiritual fat, years of it, we felt
The dream of proverbial bounty, fantastic, was ours.

We were being brought unto a good land and a large,
Not unlike fulfillment of the Biblical foretelling,
When up from earth flowed milk and honey.

Parts III & IV

And now, darling, I ask, might you
Reconsider the plus and the minus, love’s ledger?
Your skill at cost accounting, good,
You must surmise how tiny the downside is,
And know the total burden amounts to no great sum.

Frugal, you never needlessly cast away a thing,
Yet waste time. Squander the crafted continuum,
The more than a year and a half, our life to date,
Discard, wantonly, though you profess love,

And write of your ardor for me still.

Deaf to your beating bosom,
Refusing when you already knew,
You knew right from the start!

Ach du Lieber Herr Gott!

You deny your soul, your very passion for a man,
Who would sacrifice his life for yours!

In early youth I learned love,
I caught its lyric while I listened to music on the radio.

When I lived in Germany, half a life ago,
American soldiers played it on the jukebox.
And I heard it from Sweden on the web today,
The youth channel, clear and loud,
Singer and song, similar or the same,
The moon, big and bright, in the Milky Way tonight,
Oh, Yes! Its lyric hollers. Time’s a wasting,
There are kisses not tasted, and the hook repeats
Whole lot of living, whole lot of loving to do,
The life, the love and kisses! No one
Would I rather do it with than you.

You, that moon of song and yore,
Your reflected image, I had it in my net.
But when I went to pull it up, it sank,
Not like a fish, but as a large, awesome, golden coin.

A fisherman, I set to sea and trawled above
Muck and seaweed, and the debris of sunken vessels,
I sought to snare splendid satellite consort.


You ruin it, me being alone!

Overcome by yearning,
Believing I can no longer go on,
Face my life without you, I turn to this ritual.
I try to make matters worse.

(Audience, might you imagine the procedure here.)

I play a mental trick upon my own mind’s eye,
Resorting to a maneuver, whereby I practice
The increase of my anguish, actually,
And order memory to refresh the scenes,
Picture the wonders of our life together so far.

I recall the times I waited for you,
When I sat on the bench under the gazebo
In early sun at the Amish fairground in Columbus,
My delight, carrying your purchases to our van,
Hurrying off to the next market stall,
There we chose fruit to last the week.

And then I hark back to the highway near Princeton,
The late sunlight dappled through trees,
And touched my arm at the window
In such a magic way, that, I told you the moment,

This present instance was the happiest in my life.

Oh, how good! How good! I, wide-awake,
Within eidetic dream, glimpsed the New Jerusalem,
Gott im Himmel. Alles geht gut mit der Welt!

When these among, some my fondest day dreams,
Have utterly knocked my spirits flat,
I practice the discipline, and return, again,
I recall one instance more, one more,
Still another rapture and replay it.

Oh the awful pain, how the agony increases
When once I force myself to review,

Say, I consider, one of our nights at Red Roof Inn,
Where we stretched out under the blankets, slept,
Although we set air conditioner full-blast, we awoke
Warm, ready for the day, and we brimmed with affection,
Apparent, our love, it showed from morning at breakfast
Throughout day to moment of evening repast.

When once I have success to travel the great space
Now separating the dizzy rise of my reveries and
The sad bottom of current circumstance, I recognize,
I have attained mental frame able to withstand anything.

Parts V & VI

I am not weeping, just weary with you in my mind.
I weep when angry, and then I weep.
Were I not completely drained, I would weep more.

I, I saw the situation was wrong right from the start,
Though I thought things might be different between us.
Over and over, again and again, every day’s a rerun,
Countless slights, indignities, lack of common courtesy,
Little or no gratitude, without faith in God’s abiding love.

I wrote you letters. I said your bad behavior hurt me.
At the breaking point and wanting out,
I was desperate, fearing I would lose you forever,
I believed your plea and vow.

“Take me back and I’ll change. I’ll be good, I swear!”

I made you put it in writing,
And for a short while things improved,
Though, ultimately, what you wrote meant nothing.

You lead me on.
Your rearing has not allowed veracity.
About our relationship, you told no one, not even you.

The more you revealed to me,
Once I learned your dark history,
Became privy to your secret habit,
The more, the more distant love grew
The truth, your personal truth sundered us.


Help me, be my friend and
Come back home and sleep with me again.

Take the key and open the door,
See the beckoning path,
It lies right there before you,
Learn what countless generations know,
Willingness to change brings us life that works.
A small step prepares the leap.

Remember the sweet, sweet caresses.
Wait not! So soon all opportunity vanishes!
Consider the moment, the public affection,
If not for you, please, for me.

The hurly-burly of time overwhelms us.
No significance remains, boundless and bare,
Darling, the lone and level sands stretch far away.

Custom Search