Short Poems

The first snow
the leaves of the daffodil
bending together

There is a lonely minor chord that sings
Faintly and far along the forest ways,
When the firs finger faintly on the strings
Of that rare violin the night wind plays,
Just as it whispered once to you and me
Beneath the English pines beyond the sea.

The firefly's flame
Is something for which science has no name
I can think of nothing eerier
Than flying around with an unidentified glow on a
person's posteerier.

I walked across the park to the fever monument.
It was in the center of a glass square surrounded
by red flowers and fountains. The monument
was in the shape of a sea horse and the plaque read
We got hot and died.

'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray;
The children in thy bosom laugh and play.

I wander searching for you, but
A fear lingers in my heart,

That, in my quest for you,
I may not with myself part.

You leave the dive, the din behind the doors
forever shut. You stagger in the light
and watch rats bear the moon and stars away
into an afterlife of steaming sewers.
Face baptized by the quiet, hell to pay:
there’s only you now, the familiar night.

I said to Heart, 'How goes it?' Heart replied:
'Right as a Ribstone Pippin!' But it lied.

Amid the growing shades of dusk stand sturdy pines,
Riotous clouds sweep past, swift and tranquil.
Nature has excelled herself in the Fairy Cave,
On perilous peaks dwells beauty in her infinite variety.

If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen.
If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features,
Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true gladness hast seen.