Short Poems

Unless I've learned to face existence squarely,
Nor whine because it doesn't always pay;
To keep my head; to reach decisions fairly;
The unkind things I think of, not to say;
To hold my self-respect; calm Faith to treasure;
Not use the love of others as a crutch;
To know God's Plan is far too big to measure—
Why, then,…I haven't learned so very much.

Blessed Mary, moder virginal,
Integrate maiden, sterre of the see,
Have remembraunce at the day final
On thy poore servaunt now praying to thee.
Mirroure without spot, rede rose of Jerico,
Close garden of grace, hope in disparage,
When my soule the body parte fro,
Socoure it frome mine enmies' rage.

Believe me, Chloe, those perfumes that cost
Such sums to sweeten thee is treasure lost:
Not all Arabia would sufficient be;
Thou smell'st not of thy sweets, they stink of thee.

no poem to poverty
in this age of ours—
an eggplant flower

The twilight hours, like birds, flew by,
—As lightly and as free,
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,
—Ten thousand on the sea;
For every wave, with dimpled face,
—That leaped upon the air,
Had caught a star in its embrace,
—And held it trembling there.

When chars the heart to ashes in its pain,
Or withers in its vain desire,
Tears are the benediction of the rain
Falling to quench the fire.

mother and child
play cards, while a fox
cries at night

cherry blossoms, cherry
blossoms—at each and every stop
cherry blossoms

Give pensions to the Learned Pig
Or the Hare playing on a Tabor
Anglus can never see Perfection
But in the Journeymans Labour

“I KNEW a real man once,” says Agatha in the splendor of a shagbark hickory tree.

Did a man touch his lips to Agatha? Did a man hold her in his arms? Did a man only look at her and pass by?

Agatha, far past forty in a splendor of remembrance, says, “I knew a real man once.”