Lost we two, the chance

My love,

Open your heart

from the inside

and through that door

love will climb

And because of love

your heart will beat

a rhythm so steady

a sound so sweet

That should you think

something profound

it’s just that love

can turn you around

And there I’ll be

with lonely heart

that beats for you

though we are apart

Losin' g's

I’m losin’ g’s.

What can be done?

Someday I won’t be

able to type for fun.

What’s next?

h?

Now you might think

it’s not important

to lose your g

but I be_ to differ

See!  I told you, see!

Look away, look away

Grey man of clay

when I was two

was I as guilty as you?

Vengeance in that day

osmotic through time

percolates into this rhyme

When I was four

Did I greet servitude

at the door?

He knows not

Fire is atoms incandescent,

atoms fleeing the lock of matter

Simple

manifestation of a

natural demonstration

Again and again

of the causeless

plan

Given to man

by

he knows not.

Future seed

It's said that the

"business of the poet is ... to express feelings

which are not in actual emotions at all"

And this approach we’ll call

stock-market poetry

where emotions may interfere

with our returns

year to year

Finally at hand

“I see that the elementary laws never apologize ... “

Walt Whitman

In the shallow creek of the summertime

A trickle would flow like spotted wine

Then came the days of endless rain and storms

Trickle became deluge sea-ward borne

The fine obstacles of ego by modern man

Met with this deluge mostly unplanned

Where yard became lake and street became stream

And municipal fountains merged with municipal greens

Eulalee

Eulalee came down from the hills

to the square of the southern town

Eulalee was there to shop

to buy her wedding gown.

Eulalee are you still the sainted daughter

that some other holds in his heart

Eulalee can you live without the other

if he should soon depart?

Enough!

Sometimes I think

poetry like music,

Enough!

All the good stuff

has been written,

Enough!

Back to the Wasteland

The desire for stasis,

to stay the moment

yet in stasis desire

the consuming fire

The love of conversion,

consuming the natural

moment, points us

back to the wasteland

As he had once done

He was through!

on the other side

as the last of

the waste land

passed below.

And the reaction-drive ship

abandoned on the sands ahead

reminded one of the only way that

even the wealthy once

could know.

At one time the waste land

was thought to be

as extensive

and barren

as the face of the moon.

America among the ruins

“In New York the opportunities . . . for acquiring a culture that shall not come out of the ruins but belong to life, are probably greater than anywhere else in the world. “

Thomas Wolfe

Imagine living a life among the ruins

Culture & music & art of the long departed

Some good, some great, but much that is poor

And you’re, constant sorting of such

Imagine living a life among the dead,

Above the dead, in love with the dead

Given names, taken names, inherited names

And you’re, constantly trying to make such a name

All that for this?

Pericles thought

early Athens

Socrates & democracy

authority of aristocracy

Future brilliant

in a misty dawn

Pope thought

Middle Ages

time of Aquinas

authority of God

Future brilliant

in a glowing dawn

56

Travels through Oxford

I’m struck by this,

No one under 56

unless they’re dead.

From Anne to Yao

then to now

or rather

56 years hence.

I think there’s

something inexplicable

that the half-century

mark