POEMS OF YOUTH 1955 -1960
Showing posts with label A BOOK From a Further Room. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A BOOK From a Further Room. Show all posts
Sunday, July 18, 2010
A Group of Noisy People
A GROUP OF NOISY PEOPLE
Paean to high school graduation 1959
what was done
what was said to curtail our character stands a loss,
after all i believe the test of time will prove our
true desire,
though we stand
today as a group of noisy people,
hard to boss,
we set forth upon your world
with a torch of unquenchable fire.
attitudes are spinning within us like children’s tops,
they will be soon forced forward for your witness.
open up your farmers’ eyes and see
this harvest of recently ripened crops.
so unleash it all with a bell of laughter,
open up your ears and hear it peal
from a group of noisy people.
Billy
Bill was the fastest hot rodder I ever knew.
He never dreamed a car was designed to go slow.
Cars were made for speed and speed was made for Bill.
If it hadn’t been for speed, we’d have Billy still.
He’d be walking down the street, instead of lying on the hill.
But instead there walks his ghost asking, “Who killed Bill?”
Bill had the finest hot rod I have ever saw.
Count up the cars, his was the fastest of all.
Yes, it was made for speed and speed was made for Bill.
If it hadn’t been for speed he’d be with us still.
He’d be walking down the street, instead of lying on the hill.
But instead there walks his ghost asking, “Who killed Bill?”
Bill was the fellow who has done poor Billy in.
He never dreamed a car driven fast could kill him.
A car was made for speed and speed was made for Bill.
But cars are made for transport and speed can kill.
He’d be walking down the street, instead of lying on the hill.
But instead there walks his ghost asking, “Who killed Bill?”
Leader's Sonnet
Took a car antenna cut down to height,
A stock of wood to hold the band to pipe.
I made a gun to zap the foe we fight.
I keep my gang the real together type.
And with six inch switch blade to run you through,
I crow aloud the cry that makes me king.
I took you in and made a gang of you
To rule my kingdom with hard fists that sting.
I make the rules to guide our fists in fight.
I will become a big made man some day
And own the city’s cafe rooms of night.
I’ll own the streets, and do it my own way.
I won’t show fear of law nor cops who come.
I won’t admit I’m stuck inside my slum.
Islander Girl
A small craft set to sea.
Three men are sailing by
When a beautifully
Brown-haired, tan mystery
Catches their eye.
Naked above the waist,
Below but a simple skirt.
Hips swish back and forth
With the ocean’s rhythmic roar.
This girl on sandy dirt,
With perfumed-flowered hair,
Shimmering shiny lips,
Gold blossoms about her neck,
Brings about a shipwreck.
Down to the sea in ships.
Illustration: source unknown
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Laughter and Loneliness
Full-footed, thunderous childhood laughter
Comes crashing recklessly through bedroom walls
In voices gay, happy; even terror-
Fied, and full of nothing but youthful awe.
Young blossoms reaching bloom has laughter softened,
As in every flower garden, rain
Showers’ soft wet kisses at times, often
Indiscriminately leave behind some pain.
With age, reality grows its weeds.
That sprout, choking naive laughter
And drooping the blossom and the leaves
And planting loneliness in the root thereafter.
Full-storm, thunderous childhood laughter
Comes crashing through the bedroom wall,
Sometimes gay, sometimes terrified,
Gales and squalls of youthful awe.
As every flower so often
Finds, the exhilarating rain,
With its moist, unrelenting kisses,
Can cause indiscriminate pain.
Gatherings
Storm clouds thicken,
Darkening fastly.
Nothing to do
Till they have passed me.
Hear that wind sighing?
Dinosaur shapes cluttering the skies,
Great black bruisers with lightening eyes.
Note the earth quake. Now the
Pieces fit. There are legends that
Hint about it. Hear the rain crying?
Moon light casting
A wispy shadow, a lot
Like my soul down here
Below. There is no sound.
My heart has turned deaf.
Yea, though I walk the valley
Of death! Hear that? I’m dying.
Forsake all hope you who follow on.
This is a storm from which God is gone.
Ballad of the War Moon
Armed, they followed the war moon
And the war moon was bright.
But the midnight sky was cloudy
And dark was the moonlight.
They were in the dark time,
Yet their daydreams dreamt on.
And as the rockets’ red glare rose
Dreams would be banners gone.
Their names mean little to us.
The deeds they did seem small.
Yet their war hope was our peace hope
And our call was their call.
Armored, they chased the peace moon,
Though the way was doubty.
Now their life will repose forgot
And the moon is cloudy.
Illustration: Nagasaki Atomic Bomb, MaximNews
Cycle
I ask you something strange.
Give it a moment’s thought.
Where do we go from hence
And where do we go naught?
Pull down from the sky
The man in the moon.
Place him in a hole
Dug to be his tomb.
Would the ocean flood,
Cover all the land?
Or would the tide go
Shrinking off the sand?
If you plunk a beam
Near the noonday sun
And Bind it to stones
Where creeks overrun
Would the color glow
Rainbow ripples through?
Would greenish water
Infuse bluish hue?
Take the tree of youth,
Turn leaf ‘neath the dirt,
Would roots grow upward?
Tender limbs be hurt?
Is nature to bruise
Or to be our guide?
Should man go his way
Or move with the tide?
Life’s a mountain road.
We climb to the top
To slip down mossy
Slides to sudden stop.
Can we reach that height
We fight to obtain?
Or solve the problem
Of our mountain lane?
Think this foggy thought,
Never to be clear:
We must get to there.
We cannot stay here.
Pestimist
Down, down root.
The darkness and mist of death forms about thy head.
The pity and mercy from thy heart has been bled.
You were wrong to trust your feelings to that of man.
They have stolen your soul from the burial van.
Down, down soul.
You see there is no light for one already damned.
The light you wait for has been left burning unmanned.
Forever the salt will scratch at your small pleasures.
Discover that death is the last earthly treasure.
Optimyth
Child, hide now. Young and dumb.
Smog dims star shine. Bitter skies to come.
Mighty oaks bend. The days grow warm.
Does the darkness of
Hell frighten?
Who answers?
Cannot cope?
Smoke.
Grope.
Grim.
End.
Why must we have such a word as “hope”?
Out Upon the Bay
Out upon the bay
Underneath the moon
Glaring on the water
With malevolent gloom,
Two of us alone
Underneath. The sky,
Eavesdropping on our talk,
Was silent in reply.
And we talked of life,
Underneath a cloud.
We spoke about this world
That was to us endowed
By the God hid there
Underneath our hearts.
Out upon the long pier
Standing where the bay starts.
Above there were stars,
Underneath the dark.
We pretended bird song,
Imagined dove and lark.
The water would splash
Underneath the spray;
Nearly overwhelm us
Way out upon the bay.
There was some music
Underneath the night
Way off across the bay.
A piping water sprite,
Who’s music was sad,
Underneath the sky.
It was lonely nature’s
Most tender final cry.
The whole world in rags,
The trappings of hate,
Had come here to find peace
At the bay water’s gate.
It grasped forgiveness.
Precarious as sand.
Have faith on the water;
Watch it baptize the land.
Out upon the bay,
Underneath your lips,
With humble quavering,
I push my fingertips.
Out upon the bay,
Underneath the nerve,
We listened to a song
That we had never heard.
To J. S. Once of Langhorne and Wildwood
Gusty strokes of wind
Bring thoughts to mind,
Things that might have been.
Whom do I mean?
Her name was Jean.
Sunshine through the storm
Takes me from one dream
To find I dream of
Another sea scene.
Thinking you loved me.
Your Roman face and
Dimpled eyes I see
On the beach we met.
Your name was Jeannette.
No ghost or shadow
Will make this less true;
Yes, she was the first
Back when I was new.
Whom do I mean?
Her name was Jean. Lost in Love
In eyes of brown, the tearful stare,
Rolling down blush-reddened hillsides.
Gathers the warmth of summer there?
In the black of the brown, a lair
Wherein the spark and flint abides.
In eyes of brown, the tearful stare.
A sigh escapes from lips to air
From lungs where pungent passion hides.
Gathers the warmth of summer there?
In gloom, wonders one if he dare
Answer the question he sees glides
In eyes of brown, the tearful stare.
What, if without caution and care,
He sips deeply and thus imbibes?
Gathers the warmth of summer there?
It’s a music too strong to bear.
To its beat, his very soul rides.
In eyes of brown, the tearful stare,
Gathers the warmth of summer there.
You and I
Tonight the stars sparkle in our sky.
We hold the stars in place - you and I.
We lay, pale statues, on grass of green,
Conceiving, you and I, summer’s dream.
Lonely Months
The autumn days come crisp and cool,
With early dusk and clear night sky.
Hoarfrost on the turning leaves.
September. Summertime must die.
Soon it will be cold gray winter,
But for now strange fall plays its game.
I sit outside at its approach
And I wonder who was to blame.
Trees have grown bare and silence drops.
There’s more change now than in the springs.
A shift of mood, a change of hue.
I sit here and remember things.
Perceived sighs penetrate the air.
With a grieving at summer’s end,
I search through a shadow unseen
That changes every day, and then
Autumn spirits blow breaths of ice.
The sky puts on its grayer shawl.
The wind designs a face unknown,
It whistles names I can’t recall.
It is October when the full fall comes
And time just past is in the present spent.
The pumpkins blossom full of hollowness.
Tell me. Where can the hollow heart be sent?
All the passing days are intensely short.
The startling stars form shining pointed shields
Reflecting memory of summertime.
I see odd forms dancing through glowing fields,
As Halloween howls and Halloween spooks
Fade away before the November snow.
All through this warning time I watch the sky
And feel the gusty northwest windward blow.
No sporting games can occupy my days.
Nothing comes to erase the ghost of…Who?
When that certain chilling captures the air,
I know those times last summer were too few.
Then Thanksgiving Day is a fortnight near,
I can feel the Christmas season calling,
And recall those things I meant to give her.
Wondering why all this summer stalling?
Yet still, the hope she will call.
She’ll restore joy. A touch of lust
Will defrost the air to warming;
This then will clean the chilling dust.
Each hour, I pause outside to wait
For that one dream worth dreaming of
In ebbing streams of consciousness
Broken on banks of broken love.
Now these lonely days roll along,
As all these lonely months go pass.
I hold in hand a hope I lost,
But I know the loss will not last.
I can sing a little at times,
Take a deep breath or laugh again.
Somehow I’m sure when I believe
That soon I’ll forget what has been.
The face is dim in New Year’s mist.
Those eyes are fading from my heart.
The cloudy hands have come to clasp,
And after the cold, spring will start.
Old Man's Lament
Not so long ago I fell in love.
She was a young and gay girlish thing,
But I am old and my face is wrinkled
And my eyes have ceased to sing.
Yet she even looked my way this once,
But then she turned aside her stare.
After all, what she saw was an old man,
With his swarthy skin and faded hair.
The other man who was in love with her,
Being many years younger and more sublime,
Could do tricks upon a pedestal
That I couldn’t begin to climb.
He used his youth as something
To offer that I could never give,
For though I have saved some money,
How many years have I to live?
Ah, what slim chance had such as I?
She saw behind me an open grave
Hungrily waiting to eat me up.
All I had to give, I had already gave.
Now I dream the shadows from my past
And sleep, a silent island in life’s stream.
But remember, young man, when you turn old,
That once you laughed at an old man’s dream.
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