More to Come...

EXPRESSION(or prayer)
How vulgar,
and often too appalling,
and so capricious,
are my often, humbled and inadequate,
efforts to communicate,
my fidelity of prayer!
If I am unable to see God,
as God does see me,
Where again, I am in my own seclusion,
Can a mere human, such as I am.
Understand (without understanding),
The instrumentality of expression?

NOW I RISE TO MEET YOU
Life, now I rise to meet you,
Where before, ah, before,
My sleep racked spirit,
But rested to your passing.
Now, I am forced, life, forced,
To greet you, sad event,
Youth passing, time growing.
Now stop, welcome me!
See, my hands are lifted to sek you.
If I had not rested on my freshness in youth.
How, yes, how wed we would be life -- and then,
Marvelous could have been.
Marvelous!

THE MUSIC
Thru the air, the music!
Hear the sound, the music?
It echoes in my ear, the music!
From the distance it comes,
Till it fills me round,
And I swim in its waves:
Like sunny shinny water.
Warm to my body,
Like to my soul!
So deep in my soul, the music!
So close, so far, the music!
So telling, telling, the music!
I move in its strength,
And see its many colors,
And feel, feel, feel the music!
It's drumming, humming, sounding,
Flowing, stunning, vibrating nature.
Oh music! Sing your message!
Give me music your uplift!
Show me music your beauty!
Bestow music your gift!
Make life living!

ECHO
See, but see not:
Echo that bounces,
Cries and sounds, sings,
Within this depth, this cave,
Deep, deep, where in this echo
The more spreads forth,
Yet inward,
Never fully outward,
Ever deeper!
Oh, this damp darkness,
Erie sounding board,
Of an Eternal Substance,
That is myself,
A person,
A soul,
An expression.
An echo of unfamtonable knowledge,
Of everlasting glory.
One, but One, part of Three,
Found in myself,
Wherein the echo bounces,
Cries and sounds, sings,
Cries and sounds, sings,
And gives meaning
To its own sounding board.

THOUGHTS TO THE SKY
Passing quickly over the printed word,
We look deep into what is said;
As if we could thereby fly like a bird,
After having been well fed,
From that which we have read.
It is important that we should all know,
There is more to a poem than the ink and the eye.
There is beauty and meaning to the throw,
OF thoughts to the sky!

THE FLOW OF TIME
Strong stone,
Standing silently,
In your cool water hime:
With your great green growing garment,
Flowing in the stream.
Rounded round,
Rolled roughless,
Less sharp,
Than in a younger sound,
You first plunged:
Settling, stamping,
Strong Stone,
Into the flow of time!

UNANSWERED
"What ails the world?" he sings and sighs;
No answer comes to his cry.
He asks the earth and asks the sky,
The echoes of his song pass by
unanswered!
And the poet dies!

DAY BEGUN
From darkness....
From Dimness...
To Brightness.
My eyes gain openness,
To the swift morning sun,
And day begun!

TO HAVE THE KNOW
(Nihil dictum quod non dictum prius)
There is but naught that could be said today,
That hasn't been said in some other way,
By men, greater than I, who now do lay
In peaceful slumber, and yet have their say.
Not only for what they said in their day,
But how it applies to us now, it may
Not have been very happy and very gay,
But they had rich red meat in what they say.
If only I could come to have the know,
Of how to take these thoughts and ably throw
Them to my people, so I could then show
These thoughts to them, and mow
Down the modern, yet old evils, that sow
Themselves in our minds and so ably grow!

BUSSTOP BILL
Down and out, a bum with slow feet,
Brown and dirty from street to street.
The very image of his kind.
Unnoticed by eyes seemingly blind.
For this is Busstop Bill, the man,
Who once had hard muscles, harder
than cement walks. Who held his ground
AT being different to all around.
Busstop Bill, you remember when,
You were a boy to older men.
A fantasy in that day and place,
Behind a lively boylike face.
Many were those that once would pay
To keep you happy every day,
You were a god in every way.
Busstop Bill, you remember when.....
Down and out, a bum with slow feet,
Brown and dirty from street to street.

I KILLED I DID
In fire, flame, scorching black;
In cold, snow, air stopped chill;
In oozing mud and dust dry air;
In the whining, cringing bullets cry;
In the thundering shells reply.
I'm a soldier.
A man who has killed.
A man, a soldier killed.
In hate I killed.
In hate he died.
In the war of men's desire!
Now where go I,
That he is dead?
For bullets continue to cry,
And the shells give their reply,
And others go to hear the chatter,
Amid histories clatter!
And I?
I killed a man.
I did, I did, I did,
Now where go I?

THE BEAT
Dancing floor boards, moved by
The Beat; and I think with it, and feel
The Beat; The sound fills the walls, and
The Beat fills my heat and drives
Out the sound of my own voice.
The Beat, feel it?
I shout.
Within it all, sweating players,
Their faces glistening in the bare bulb light,
Bounced from note to note.
Moving sensuously to each other,
In the deafening roar,
That made it's own silence,
And shade and shadow!
The Beat, what does it mean?
I question.
What did you say?
replies another,
The Beat, what? he asks.
What does it mean?
I shout back.
What? He asks. What?
But even the question was lost
In the sounding Beat!

TO DON ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER
Hurriedly, sadly arrives
The message of the evening.
Coldly, sadly descends
The summer evening.
Outside the green lawn
and swaying palms fade,
fade into darkening time
To silence - people move,
Boys play with hardly a shout,
As the city lights come out.
In the many eyes of windows
and dotted streets;
As if looking thru the gloom
Toward the chapel, where
The message does tell
You father your own has fell!
My heart goes with you friend,
In the damp summer evening,
And more than heart, Ah!
Words, even in poetry,
Cannot tell, cannot bring,
To mind the strength of feeling,
Contained herein!
But seek and look See:
See about you friend.
What has your father done?
Has he not you as a son?
A family, helpers and friends?
A home honored and blest,
As by fathers of former ages
of Biblical proportions
That make the race of men?
Did he not give of that dream,
That dream of his heart?
What else is there? What else?
Know then friend, know well.
The story of old for all,
And live as he would have you live.
For family, helpers and friends,
In a home therein strengthen.
And move on, move on!
On to your own summer's evening!
On with the race of men,
And futures inspiration!

CLASSROOM
Green walls,
Hooks, caps, and pictures.
Sitting on a stool,
Shifting and shifting, shifting.
A marked dsek.
Glaring white paper with carbon marks.
Daydreams fogging the air.
While, a streaming, soaring, faring voice,
Cuts and cutting, cutting the fog.
Deep set eyes watch the sun kick the dust,
Around scuffing feet.
Green walls, hooks, caps and pictures.