Poems I

Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

The last of day gathers
in the yellow parlor
and drifts like fine dust
across the face of
the gilt-framed mirror
I ofien prayed to.
An old man’s room
without him, a room I
came back to again
and again to steal
cigarettes and loose change,
to open cans of sardines,
to break open crackers
and share what he had.
Something is missing.
The cut glass ashtray
is here and overflowing,
the big bottle of homemade,
the pack of English Ovals,
the new red bicycle deck
wrapped in cellophane
and gold edged, the dishes
crusted with the last snack.
The music is gone. The lilt
of his worn voice broken
with the weight of all
those lost languages —
“If you knew Solly like
I knew Solly, oy oy
oy what a girl.” That music
made new each day and absent
forever from the corners
ofrooms like this one
darkening with dusk.
The music a boy would laugh
at until it went out
and days began an d ended
without the banging fist,
without the old truths
of blood and water, without
the loud cries of I won,
you lost, without song.

He is the creator, the eternal father
the one there at the beginning, before the beginning
the one there who stilled the chaos,
who conjured the world and all that are in it
who saved the people, over and over again
who made the rainbow and the covenant
who is there, the Godhead,
the king of all kings,
lord of all, for all time
loving, supporting, saving
all of us,
waiting, with grace
for us to approach His throne

October 17, 2007 12:52pm
part of the Apostle’s Creed

I Years had been from Home
And now before the Door
I dared not enter, lest a Face
I never saw before

Stare solid into mine
And ask my Business there –
“My Business but a Life I left
Was such remaining there?”

I leaned upon the Awe –
I lingered with Before –
The Second like an Ocean rolled
And broke against my ear –

I laughed a crumbling Laugh
That I could fear a Door
Who Consternation compassed
And never winced before.

I fitted to the Latch
My Hand, with trembling care
Lest back the awful Door should spring
And leave me in the Floor –

Then moved my Fingers off
As cautiously as Glass
And held my ears, and like a Thief
Fled gasping from the House –

I began with Sir William Hamilton’s lectures.
Then studied Dugald Stewart;
And then John Locke on the Understanding,
And then Descartes, Fichte and Schelling,
Kant and then Schopenhauer –
Books I borrowed from old Judge Somers.
All read with rapturous industry
Hoping it was reserved to me
To grasp the tail of the ultimate secret,
And drag it out of its hole.
My soul flew up ten thousand miles,
And only the moon looked a little bigger.
Then I fell back, how glad of the earth!
All through the soul of William Jones
Who showed me a letter of John Muir.

If night should come and find me at my toil,
When all Life’s day I had, tho’ faintly, wrought,
And shallow furrows, cleft in stony soil
Were all my labour: Shall I count it naught

If only one poor gleaner, weak of hand,
Shall pick a scanty sheaf where I have sown?
“Nay, for of thee the Master doth demand
Thy work: the harvest rests with Him alone.”

I know I have been happiest at your side;
But what is done, is done, and all’s to be.
And small the good, to linger dolefully-
Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died.
I will not make you songs of hearts denied,
And you, being man, would have no tears of me,
And should I offer you fidelity,
You’d be, I think, a little terrified.

Yet this the need of woman, this her curse:
To range her little gifts, and give, and give,
Because the throb of giving’s sweet to bear.
To you, who never begged me vows or verse,
My gift shall be my absence, while I live;
But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.

I have tried an altenstil
& dropped it.
My skin is blazing,
blazing too
the way I see your faces
in the glass.
With the circle of the sun
behind me
I exceed my limits.
My garments are
from the beginning
& my dwelling place
is in my self(J. Dee)
It makes me want
to fly the stars
below the paradise of poets
lost in space.
I am the father of a lie
unspoken.
I can make my mind
go blank
then paw at you
my fingers in
your mouth.
I think of God
when fucking.
Is it wrong to pray
without a hat
to reject the call
to grace? I long to flatter
presidents & kings.
I long for manna.
I will be the first
to sail for home
the last to flaunt
my longings.
I will undo my garments
& stand before you
naked. In winter
I will curse their god
& die.

Scribe, scrivener
writing down what already is

An agent of
chemical process,
fired synapses

What every the mystery is

Original thought
or transcription

thinking out loud
or seeing the words –
gestated
Ready for birth.

1/31/04 19:28-19:36

Nothing in life is alien to you:
I was a penniless girl from Summum
Who stepped from the morning train in Spoon River.
All the houses stood before me with closed doors
And drawn shades — I was barred out;
I had no place or part in any of them.
And I walked past the old McNeely mansion,
A castle of stone ‘mid walks and gardens,
With workmen about the place on guard,
And the County and State upholding it
For its lordly owner, full of pride.
I was so hungry I had a vision:
I saw a giant pair of scissors
Dip from the sky, like the beam of a dredge,
And cut the house in two like a curtain.
But at the “Commercial” I saw a man,
Who winked at me as I asked for work –
It was Wash McNeely’s son.
He proved the link in the chain of title
To half my ownership of the mansion,
Through a breach of promise suit — the scissors.
So, you see, the house, from the day I was born,
Was only waiting for me.