Latest poems, page 10
zz 223 A speech before the Spartan assembly
Pursuit of happiness throws out of true
a form as lithe as pairing body/mind.
My “happiness” is for the syssitia few.
The other is as unbalanced as unkind.
Happiness? It causes ranks to waver.
Happiness makes hand crawl towards the theft.
Greed and desire, are they not the saviors
of happiness? They speak to the depraved.
And happiness based on romantic love
brings down the populace worse than a murrain.
Insidious passions make the purest grief
alive, dry up the womb and leave it barren.
Unless love is lovemaking and they wed
Lakonia, and let her grasses bed.
zz 219 A man is just a man
A man is just a man, simply, compact,
one thing, and husband, brother, father, son
are roles or chores or duties needing done,
put on but never move him off that fact.
A woman, on the other hand, is not
one thing but two at least, and maybe three
from larva, pupa, through adult if she
completes the thing assigned her when begot.
It’s all so damned confusing to a lover.
A husband finds his mother in his bed.
Love makes a father go out of his head,
and hatred’s pity makes a brother hover.
If man must only of one thing consist,
let him be woman’s entomologist.
zz 118 Open marriage
Open marriage, how soon it comes apart,
regardless of what anybody says.
They claim free lovers can preserve one heart.
But who could counterfeit love’s offices
with fakes when true in such abundance spreads?
They say these forms refresh a tenderness.
I doubt that that decision took two heads.
No, one of them will stay monogamous.
They miss the best of marriage: conversation
frank, flowing full of what importantly
befalls each day, endearing in relation,
but which in open house immodestly
descends to sound, as who cares to hear of
his tenderness’s latest push and shove?
zz 113 Fate is the backwash
Fate is the backwash or the headtide slop,
the rip of someone else’s harsh restriction.
Fate can no more bend than the will stop.
Fate unwelcome and unwilled is fiction.
Impossible as that the world is wrong,
or that creation circles in a doubt.
Our lovers, if they seem to be so strong
as to defy the elements without,
rather combine their wills to make new fate.
For instance, we’re aground and yet a redwood
can push apart (not even excavate)
a canyon in us where we thought we stood,
until our heads are pelted like two fools,
that lovers are begetting more than souls.
zz 093 My mentor does not often visit earth
My mentor does not often visit earth.
True beauty brought him. He said it is a blaze,
though not of fop or fashion. And that praise
will nourish it but cannot lend it worth.
And is she sad? “Yes, she is, and more
her light is solemn, not sorrowful or grim,
as if out o’er a wild and choppy brim
the steadfast gaze of motherhood offshore.”
“Some lovers are afraid, some sense disdain
from what all worship and are surprised to find.”
Is she forbidding? “Not seldom in her mind
they build a price that only slaves attain.”
But? “Otherwise her beauty may be joyous,
given, mated, none is victorious.”
zz 074 Jealousy has cut me
Jealousy has cut me with a fang.
I know without a doubt I am betrayed.
Alone I can’t say that I feel a pang,
but thoughts soft, dark, and murderous invade.
I know I can’t imprison loyalty,
and then expect your heart to love its keeper;
or heart expect to fall in love and be
in hate with everything that makes it cheaper.
But misery has rights and rage a sire.
Skirt justice and paternity and smile,
you tempt a holocaust of blood and fire
indifferent to excuses or denial.
Grief loves itself in rivers no amend.
And either love or lover is at end.
They speak the
That is close to
Snow flowers in the midst of lonely night,
Lonely moments wrapped in the mist,
The walkway, lit with the dim light of moon,
Cold and black road at
The gate of deserted house,
A forlorn voice, clings desperately to the window,
Doorsill, drowned in an unknown fear,
Everything, bewildered andspeechless,
Weary and desolate,
A lone candle on the table,
With the head thrown back
Eyes, fixed at the door.
Coffee cup on the table, cold and quite,
Distressing thoughts, daydreams and I,
A lonely book, in my cold lap and I.
Dog to dog
cat rto cat
fish to fish
tree to tree
man to man
did not love;
was missing love! !
man to man
That is man and
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Zone two: Le Temps Des Grand Explosions
sa fait long
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