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Wednesday, March 31, 2010

BEWARE, Reckless Love, Revised


Reckless Love,

Should this book pleasure you, beware!
Know an idolater has made it,
Although he sought to subjoin words to holy theme,
The good news that earth and spirit be one,
He failed and remains unredeemed,
Then to his hands that writ he did betake,
Which he disclosing read, thus as the paper spoke

That it had been sworn,
Even every single line of verse,
And all else he calls his own,
Believe it or not, his life itself,
To graven image, he worships
Finite woman, a girl made of flesh and bone.

For her, it was all for her, for her alone,
He had conserved his health and appearance,
He tempted fame and fortune,
And since the days of youth,
When he marched in line, the bishop’s Confirmation,
No sacrament meant more to him than day with her.

And he waited;
He waited as no else could have waited,
No one in this world would have waited for her,
For anyone, as he waited for her, his patience,
Unparalleled, he had not despaired.
Believe me; believe, reader, though now
The axiom rings worn and shallow, he exampled
Within the human breast, hope springs eternal.

Oh dreamy picture of love,
That all force of history might conspire,
Act to exact his design, no, no, not reckless,
But true, he built for the future,
Knew it was right,
As surely as the clock measured the hours,
That she would return to his arms.

He waited for her, heart and mind,
And with every, single bit of his physical self,
His arms, his eyes, his lips, all the flesh of his being,
He waited for her as no one else might have waited!

Let me drop the pretense,
This whole business of third person,

As deer crave for running waters,
So I crave, so I crave, so I crave for you,
As a mother wish for an absent daughter,
So I wish, so I wish, so I wish for you,
As father long for return of prodigal son,
So I long, so I long, so I long for you,
As a pastor ache for member lost to church’s flock,
So I ache, so I ache, so I ache for you.

PLEDGING MY LOVE, Abide with Me, Easter, 2010

Abide with Me, Easter, 2010

Abide with me for fast closes day.
Darkness deepens with alacrity,
Nothing halts the night.

Stay with me while time permits.
Although other comforts flee,
Accept I mean the best,
Spare your soul from bottom and regret.

In every deed, and in my every word,
I want to be true, do right by you.

Though many things to tell,
One thing sums it right,
One thing huge, deep and great,
With ocean of delight,
My heart embraces you.

You, my love, are all my life today.

I wish to assure, let it be known,
Though you in mortal moment seem,
Great Light, Infinity, blesses you.

Happy outcome, what ever your secret dreams,
That they find an absolute alignment,
God’s will be done,

And you have the power to carry them out.

And to top it off!

I hold belief, whose strength
No public fire, no coliseum of wild, hungry beasts,
Nor awful rendition, chamber in far-off land,
Might ever shake, nothing my faith dissuade,

Yes! Certain, when I write,

For you awaits the greatest gift,
Upon the breaking of each and every, early day,
That you will have come to believe,
And learn to say, Thank You,
Thank You, Lord, for life,
And yet all You do for me.

LOVE SONG, Heart's Journey

Heart’s Journey,


Do you trust me?
Do you have a single doubt,
I love you? Do I forsake you,
Or fail to keep my word?

I feel within me,
Light has dispelled darkness.
My conscience’s clear.

For a thousand different reasons,
And just one, I love you most of all,
I love you, because you’re you.

I sing like Elvis, but I am here,
God lets me live, I sing the song.
I love you the way you are, dear.
I have no rhyme or reason.
No matter what they say about me,
Most of all I love you,
I love you, because you’re you.

But what else am I to do?
I fear that each and every others’ face
Remain now and forever in second place.

I recognize the awful truth.
After having been in love with you,
I am no good to anyone;
Not good for anyone,
Once I fell for you.

On our first date,
It rained the entire day.
We drove Jersey’s back roads and highways.
We talked business.
We praised the special light,
And thanked God for blessing,
For the Grace that befell us.

Though we are separated now,
You have my love. I adore you.

You might send a Private Eye
To track my days and nights,
You might send a troop,
Special Forces to search and seek
Any rugged terrain where I might hide,
Give them night vision goggles
So to visit every nook,
Every recess of my soul,
And all they will find, my love,
They will only find, only, my love for you.

POET, The Gift

The Gift

He was a boy who sang Ave Maria
With clarity and perfect pitch,
It was as if angels had arranged his vocal chords,
His lungs filled with a breathe, so resolute and full,
Many felt it must have come from Heaven,
His gift transported those who heard him,
His voice opened door to celestial level.

One night in early winter,
He walked home after church,
About him was hoarfrost,
And world enveloped, everything bent and drooping,
It was laden by the weight of ice from freezing rain.

Yet the cold, that cold Chicago weather
Could not withstand the heat,
Nothing was greater than the warmth of his singing.

And the dreams he dreamed upon the pathways,
When later he came to compose them,
Releasing their cadences, their images and similes,
They were bold, like the Ninety-Five Thesis.
They had weight and proclaimed new religion.
The old ecclesiastical order fell to great commotion,
The narrative compelled, hear it, and choose your side,
Either pro or con, neutral ground no longer possible!

And when he read from his verses
His voice was the same, the same
That marveled all as when he began, his singing,
Awestruck reverence fell upon those who heard it,
It reverberated, and rang like the bells of the steeples,
The crystalline delight, the tintinnabulation,
Euphony voluminously welled, a music, which
Lifted ordinary mind to outsized conception,
It increased devotion, and advanced praise to rapture,
Why it brought grown women to their knees!

And the dreams he dreamed upon the pathways,
When he later came to compose them,
Releasing their cadences, their images and similes,
They were bold, like the Ninety-Five Thesis.
They had weight and proclaimed new religion.
The old ecclesiastical order fell to great commotion,
The narrative compelled, hear it, and choose your side,
Either pro or con, neutral ground no longer possible!

LEDA, After Rainer Maria Rilke (c. 1910)
After Rainer Maria Rilke (c. 1910)

Zeus, always needy for sex,
Readying with whatever trick at hand,
Any ploy he thought might work,
He wanted that girl,
He wanted her real bad,

Yet when he became a swan,
The landscape of his attire, the white,
It blinded him, and for the moment,
The god stopped, he had to orient himself.

And she, she knew what was in store,
I want to tell you,
She was some gal! No question about it.
She desired the experience,
She always sought a role in history.

Her vanity, big time,
She lived in era before acknowledgment,
She had no idea, the seven deadly sins.

The swan suddenly returned to his purpose.

He lowered his neck and his head,
Right through her open arms,
No resistance there, and his bill,
After it kissed her breast,
It easily reached around her neck.

His wings encased both her arms to the shoulders.

Once he entered her,
When he released himself,
He recognized oh how delightful
The feathers, the feel of his feathers,
And verily he became swan in her loins.


Als ihn der Gott in seiner Not betrat,
erschrak er fast, den Schwan so schön zu finden;
er ließ sich ganz verwirrt in ihm verschwinden.
Schon aber trug ihn sein Betrug zur Tat,

bevor er noch des unerprobten Seins
Gefühle prüfte. Und die Aufgetane
erkannte schon den Kommenden im Schwane
und wußte schon: er bat um Eins,

das sie, verwirrt in ihrem Widerstand,
nicht mehr verbergen konnte. Er kam nieder
und halsend durch die immer schwächere Hand

ließ sich der Gott in die Geliebte los.
Dann erst empfand er glücklich sein Gefieder
und wurde wirklich Schwan in ihrem Schoß.

Friday, March 26, 2010

HOME, Happy Domicile, Version III

Happy Domicile,
Version III

Be not troubled.

Believe in me, in the dwelling, here, for you,
Not only in the physical space,
Upon whose floor our hearts' drama plays,
But in my soul where I have built a mansion,
Set a great kitchen wherein sits every appliance,

Super store of food on its cabinets’ shelves,
And within its pantry not only plenty daily sustenance,
But great ardor and emotional well being.

And from the ceiling of our halls and foyer
I have hung awesome crystal chandeliers,

Light, so that our feet not stumble
Should we awake before sunrise
To start our appointed chores.

And were it not so,
Were I to have had a change of heart,
I would not have pledged my word.

I have been utterly honest.

My verse attests to sincerity,
Showing my readiness to receive you;
Happy domicile awaits your presence.

I continue to outfit our home,
And the Lord abides, proclaims
For length of days, health and long life,
And peace shall fill the chests and the closets;
And our rooms shall appear to glow warmly,
Not from some decorator, designer expertise,
But because His grace, the abundance of Holy Spirit.

Where I am, I pray, there may you also be.
And wherever I go, I ask,
-- I know you will keep your promise --
You prove yourself true,

And follow me to that same place, too.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

BY LOVE BEGUILED, In Mood, Subjunctive, Edited Version

In Mood, Subjunctive, Edited Version

Don't get me wrong.

If I appear distracted,
Look knocked out by the light,
You make a very strong performance,
A singularity round whose axis my mind spins.

I remember once, years ago,
When I landed in New York,
After living a year and half in Europe,
How the neon of America,
It appeared so awesomely garish, and bright.
Yet, when I close my eyes and picture it,

All seems pale before the radiance of your face.

That two people might meet for morning breakfast,
Look out the café's window at the steady rain,
Walk here and there along avenues of
Inviting store fronts, and before the day is over
Fall into grand attachment one for the other,
As though there be something in the air,
Perhaps some electromagnetic charge.
So the occasional electricity might overwhelm us.

Or that cupid might steal behind fixtures of thoroughfares.
(I spied him crouched near a mailbox,
At start of our walk on Main Street in Point Pleasant!)

That the winged child might pull from his quiver, arrows
Whose heads, dipped in love potion, that once he aim
And shoot them, grievously they would tear mortal flesh
To make for a ruckus extraordinaire
And expectations suddenly become great.

This romance presses hard upon me.
Its an affection I am compelled to profess.

To gain your confidence,
To prove my mind sound, not at loss to reason,
I couch my verse in mood, subjunctive,
A grammar I use hoping to temper
My over-wrought affection and quiet,
Soften the immodest and elevated parlance.

Were I not to employ this principle of language,
One might believe my love for you be shameless.

The mood, also, provides proper relief
For the all, too-far-out attitude, the conceit,
Whose command animates my senses,
That I have come to possess a gift, as it were,
Higher power grant me prophetic mantle.

Understand. I solely express my own wish and desire.
That all I say remain contingent
Of mind still hypothetical and dependent.

I do not use the imperative, I make no demand.
I have no special outcome in mind.
I dwell in fortress called Zion,
And come from it in the Pilgrims' coat and hat.
I look in the mirror and see their collar and tie.
And, like those passengers on board the Mayflower,
I know the Lord to be my helper. I fear not.

Who among your former friends has ever said it better?

And were you to live a long and hearty life
As all actuaries predict, what future friend
Might ever phrase it near as well as I have put it?

And if you for a moment ask

That this lyric arrive, transcending everyday concerns,
That it join, Sentiment Supreme, Him, the real pilot,

That when we drove in the white, Ford van and crossed
Jersey's North shore highways, while the soft brown,

Oh that magic, dream-like, living, pale, ethereal,

And somewhat golden light accented the downpours,
Whose constant unleashed falling, more
Like rain the Lord had promised Noah,
Than any explicable, temporary weather.

Wie es eigentlich gewesen.

The carriage held but just us -- and immortality.

That when we traveled our first day together,
Though it is months ago, and now becomes the years,
All the time which has passed, I ask you,
Whether it would feel shorter than the day, that day
I first surmised the engine's mounts
Were tied to point, and that we, too, were belted,
Hurled straight ahead in solemn league.

Mercy, let it be known, Mercy freely bestowed,

Not for this, the one earthly moment,
But for our childrens children,
Drawn and signed, delivered,
A grant for us and them, settled in this verse,
Sure as Word once promised Abraham.

I hear the text my grandmother spoke.
I see her at work while she ironed and folded,
I watch her nod the affirmative nod,
Repeat to you what she said to me,

"And I will bless them that bless you,
And curse him that curses you:
And in you shall all families of the earth be blessed."

Tuesday, March 23, 2010



The man was tired from the hunt,
He ran furiously all day
Even his dogs now welcomed the rest.

He had not caught a thing,
And his family expected bounty upon his return.

He stopped at a grove for the shade circling the pond.
He was disappointed with himself, piqued,
Wondered how he failed, that he had no game,
And he sat half-asleep,
Plucking single blades of grass,
He whiled the time to restore his breath.

The splash, the Naiad, she startled him,
When he focused he saw her green helmet, and then
He spied two more, this one’s sister divinities.
They must have joined her to preside over the water,
He thought, and he heard their laughter.
And in the distance lips running over reeds,
A well-piped tune, the wonder began to overcome him.

And at once he witnessed radiance, bright,
Direct on the other side of the pond, and
When he looked he saw maidens at the bath, who,
With pail after pail of water showered a naked woman,
And they had released her hair,
And it went way down below her shoulders.

The air carried a soft scent of rose.

Not in long-chewed swallows, but in full gulps
His eyes devoured the meal.

In a fantasy run of his hands,
He tore at the meat of the meal.
He saw upon the table tankards tumble over
And all kinds of fruit and bowls packed with ice,
They were smashed to the ground.

His feet wildly taped to the airy music.

And in that nosegay of the splashing
That came from the pool, he nestled his smell.

He paid no heed to his hounds,
He did not notice that their slumber turned to ferocity.

Her anger amounted to a slight look askance;
It was a dark turn of her eyes.

He first learned what would be his experience,
After the dogs had bit; and his dying,
The agony of that moment when his flesh was torn,
And he had been transformed into beast with horns
To be eaten alive, all his cries, his harrowing screams
Fell into the harmonies of the goddess at her bath.

CORPORAL, All-Night Love Encounter, A Poem in Four Parts


All-Night Love Encounter,
A Poem in Four Parts

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 ached.

My! What a plethora of subjects crossed his mind.

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, breakneck, towards the 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 of 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 floated down from the top,
In front, the architecture sported
A long, flat-board stage, with a trough for footlights,
And giant, velvet curtains draped to each side,
Over its edge, an orchestra pit.

Everywhere 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 framed 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 blond,
With long, curly tresses, bouncing from her shoulders,
-- Remember these were full action figures --
Then he realized the cartoon characters, which played,
They were he and she,
They were locked within impossible embrace.

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

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

SOUR GRAPES, An Original Love Poem Styled after Catullus


An Original Love Poem Styled after Catullus

Understand, I always liked that guy, Herb,

Let’s just say, I was fond of him,
I respected him as a colleague.

Yet now, and it is decades later,
My once good feelings for him have nosedived.

I mean one thing, certain, I felt, you were his gal;
Propriety required I not make a move.
I was his friend, how would you expect me to behave?

Sure I might have been otherwise engaged.
And maybe engaged on too many fronts,
Too many fronts that did me no real good,
So far as being with you were concerned.

I know. I know, I missed the bus,
The train had left the station. I had my chance.
Passed on what very well might have been,
God, when I think about it, splendid opportunity,

Allowed them all to go by, life and happiness, years of it!

Let’s get it straight, the facts are the facts.
It had not been my fault, I swear!
It was that Herb, he stood in the way,
And I do not really care for the guy anymore,
I mean I do not even like repeating his name,
Yet now it amounts, how time flies,
It amounts to more than three decades later!

It had not been my fault, I swear!
It was that Herb, he stood in the way,
And I do not really care for the guy anymore,
I mean I do not even like repeating his name.

Friday, March 5, 2010


A Reverie

I know that by the time Isabel reaches her teens
She'll want to read all the love letters Dad sent to Mom,

And Mother,
Ever attentive to the moral order of the home,
Will have censored some details of the lovers’ delight,
Until the girl attains the appropriate age
And she possesses the missives on her own.

Our son will study the photographs,
Taken while his parents' passion was young;
He will marvel at his Mother's beauty.

From her character and image he learns standards,
That when time comes he might choose,
Among women, the one, suitable to marry,
Who, too, would be good mother.

And our children will cherish the memory of how,
Night after night and over the years,
We read from books to them until they fell asleep.

And their minds retain the cadence of nursery rhymes,
And the breathy note of excitement
In tales of heroic deed and glorious adventure,
And the memories of wonderful vision,
The stories of fantasy and magic create.

Their rooms teem with books;
These books form a collection, a magnificent library.
It remains today the envy of posterity.

And most of all our children recall the hugs and kisses,
The times they rode out on our shoulders
Their arms around our necks,
The softness of our voice when we spoke to them,
The affection lavished without stint,
Bringing to soul warmth and calm,
And that happiness evident
From childhood spent in a good home.

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