About Me
I’ve always been young for my age. I didn’t turn 18 until my 22nd birthday, and by then I was done with growing up. Adults are children who have died, I decided, and if this was maturity, I preferred to be immature. Let me stay childlike.
But we cannot. The world forces adulthood on us, and so with me. Gradually my center of consciousness migrated from chest cavity into neck and shoulders, then upward into head. There it remains today, to my detriment.
These poems, in a sense, represent my rebellion against the onslaught of thought-centered maturity. Perhaps that’s why I like them. They hint of something I’ve lost.
Poems were written when I was a teenager (in the birthday sense), 1972-1974. A few have been edited to better capture what I was trying to say at the time.
my art
Poetry is not my art—
my poems are not to see.
Music, though it moves my heart
will never come from me.
Sculpture is a skill I haven't
I'll haven't it always,
while painters paint things I don't get
or even recognize for days.
And drama's clearly not my art
though I can play a fool.
Still, I feel I have my part—
my art is loving you!
the solemn wars
The solemn wars, the backward states
the senseless death—the pre-sealed fates
of men who fight, supporting right,
but men who lose because they fight.
These trouble spots where wars of men
seek men to bring to brutal end
exist because of hate and greed
when love and peace are what men need.
Unjust, inhuman acts men do
as if were something bright and new
and not the vicious hate it is,
and not the callous war it is.
Will bring disastrous end, this “war”
inhuman man will fight no more.
No man, in fact, full human is
so long he fights when he should kiss.
I see, beyond the mortar’s arc
half-hidden humans in the dark,
deep spirits on the forest floor—
the ghosts of soldiers men no more.
full security
Once, an insurance agent said to me,
“Client number oh-nine-four-six-two-three,
listen to me and have a happy life—
a perfect life for you and your dear wife.
Under our plan of ‘full security’
you only pay one monthly bill and we
will give you all you’ll ever want or need:
insurance, housing, food (and that with speed),
plus clothing, education for a job
(prevention of a need to steal and rob),
and then a brand-new car for each third year.
That’s ‘full security’, no need to fear!
Let come what comes for you’ll be happy still—
a perfect life (with one small monthly bill).
“And so, oh-nine-four-six-two-three,” he said,
“Live the good life, secure—nothing to dread.
And our burial service, don’t forget,
actually comes free—and so you’re set!”
Ah yes, I took the plan—of course I did.
But in my old age now, I wish I’d lived
and not have glutted in security.
And oh, that I was young again and free
to live my life the way it should be done:
to have some real enjoyment and real fun—
but in materiality I basked.
It was a useless life—oh that I’d asked
to play the game my way; but no, it’s gone—
I have no memories to think upon.
Oh does it make a difference what I think?
Is money that important of a link
that the world no longer cares for aught
but that which only can be sold and bought?
And am I just a number to be thrown
around like dice, unwanted and unknown?
Oh that a person counted more than this,
more than a number from an endless list!
And will your life, my friend,
when you are aged and old,
be a story with as little to be told?
round
A fourteen and half pound
Of round
Lies in my hand
Three fingers keep it there
In air
Glossed clean of sand
My right foot took a step
It leapt
Right on its track
My left now moves ahead
Instead
The round swings back
And forward as my right
So light
Now glides ahead
Released the round is rolled
Bowled
It strikes the head
lovers at the circus
Stop the whirly world, I want to rest
to wait a while, to do my best
to gather in my thoughts, and to
linger on my love of you.
So stop the world—let me off—
I’m getting dizzy, turning blue
and I want out before I scoff
in anger at the world. And you
must realize that I feel like this
despite how much of you I’d miss.
I love you, but the world’s too fast
for me—no longer can I last
upon this topsy-turvy mess:
so stop the whirl—I want to rest.
windy day The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin’ in the wind. A wonderful wind a bountiful breeze is relieving the tension setting at ease the thoughts of the world this light-footed day while sit we to watch the children at play. A whimsical wind refreshing the air a signal to all that spring is now here the flowers look up the trees bend around dancing and playing above the light ground. So happy the day and plentiful life there is no time for tension and strife here life is a breeze for nature’s children. Our happiness too is found in the wind for the wind is truth and beauty, and all important in life rolled up in one ball one beautiful breeze which to us will give some meaning and love and reason to live. The blue of the sky is starting to dim the sun disappears darkness sets in the wind now has stopped the trees are all dead the flowers are silent the grass is in bed.
shadows
Here where the lonely shadows grow
And fast the western sun sets low,
Where darkness creeps upon the light
Here calmly, lonely, comes the night.
The feared and dreaded dark is here,
And I’ve no hand to pull me clear
Of these hidden, jagged rocks
That try to rip my pensive thoughts
Into this torn and useless state
That puts self-murder as self-fate.
I need your understanding heart
To keep my death and life apart.
I need a joyous, happy face
To drive my sadness from this place,
Your soothing voice, your loving smile
Keeping death at bay awhile.
Then your lovely, female light
To pull me through this fearful night;
I need, to steer me through the dark
Your tender touch, your beating heart...
Throughout this unreality
I want you here to comfort me.
Look! now the dark is moving on,
Here quickly comes the rising dawn—
The sun is up, pulsing bright
And you’re with me, my morning light.
you
I wonder where you are
from me, I hope, not far
I know your presence can’t be found
around this town:
this city of corruption, crime and crap
where cruelty’s the only code of thought
(and emotions rule the list, but hatred’s at the top)
Nor are you ever apt
to be seen
where money is the queen
where people can’t be forced
but can be bought
where measurement’s not made on strength
but rather on one’s riches stacked up in the bank
Nor are you one of those
that happily steps and stomps on people’s toes
because they are “inferior”
and the toes
of those
superior
They reject the different
because the color of their skin
the accent of their voice
their thoughts within
or style of rejoice
is different; all different
so inferior
to the normal
the “superior”
Ah, and your sweet beauty’s not at home
where the non-thinkers roam
yes, that vast wasteland where the water falls
and the only water falling is society
with individuals a single drop
lost in that vast and endless sea
of blind compliance and conformity
slaves to the rushing river
and never
will they be free
That place you’re not around
but still I wonder where you can be found
from me, I hope, not far
prejudice makes
Prejudice makes the world go round—
Makes it spin and leave the ground
A topsy-turvy dizzy world
Of spin and spin and spin and whirl
Of spin and spin…and spin and whirl
Prejudice makes life fine and fun—
Makes with blood and knife and gun
A life of hate and fight and kill
Until that life is dead and still
Prejudice makes great things get done—
Makes the innocent hide and run
Makes living equals hate themselves
Creates for people their own hells
Prejudice makes good conversation—
Become mistaken communication
Misunderstanding always comes
When prejudice rules people’s tongues
Prejudice makes the world go round—
Makes it spin and leave the ground
A topsy-turvy dizzy world
Of spin and spin and spin and whirl
Of spin and spin…and spin and whirl
the filtered room
Here in the filtered room so dark
Here in between near-opaque walls
Forbidden light, you cannot come—
Our ignorance has just begun…
Here in the filtered room we bask
In ignorance. We do not ask
For outside light, knowing none—
Our ignorance has just begun…
Here in the filtered room alone
With social billions, this our home
Alone and lightless—hidden from
The bright and natural freedom-sun
Here in the filtered room-dark day
Conditioned man is trained to stay
We cannot go, light cannot come—
Our ignorance has just begun…
see the conditioners
SEE
the conditioners, loud and lying
SEE the ignorant, crushed and crying
SEE the people, tried and trying
And SEE
the children slowly dying
WE
are the conditioners, loud and lying
WE are the ignorant, crushed and crying
WE are the people, tried and trying
And WE
are the children slowly dying
prayer
If only I could find in life
that thing which means the most,
if only I could feel the joy
of which emotions boast.
If only I could please my heart
as others please their brain,
and bring a happiness to part
the tares there from the grain.
old night
It used to be—years back—that I
while gazing at the stars of night
would trouble at the touring sky
hurdling toward the morning light.
But now I only see the dark
now I only feel despair—
night’s still here, and in the heart
trouble—still—lurks everywhere.
why is?
Why is the sky so blue
and the cloud so white?
Why is the wind so cool
and the sun so bright?
Why is the grass so green
and the flower so brave?
And why, oh why are the birds
As happy as they are today?
Don’t they know that the world
is just a place that’s sad?
Don’t they know that people
are lost in the life we have?
And don’t they know that happiness
is not for the world that be
That we’ll never find the love
I know could set us free?
Don’t they know that I love you
with all that’s in my heart?
Don’t they know the hurt it does
to think that we must part?
And don’t they know this love I feel
you do not seem to see?
And oh, don’t they know, don’t they know—
You’re not in love with me?
dead man song
They say that I go through my life
with a far-away look in my eyes
acting as though I know
all beliefs of the people are lies.
They say that I search through the crowds
looking for something not there
each of the faces I see
shows me people whose features are bare.
They say that I walk in a daze
seeing faces each place I go.
Each face I meet plays a role—
there is hardly a role I don’t know.
They say that I’m crazy and sick
cause these roles, they mean nothing to me;
I search for the real face inside
all these outer faces I see.
They say that I am a dead man,
just as dead as those buried below.
I only travel, and search
for the glimpse of a face I could know.
Yes, I am a dead man
as dead as the dead will come.
I keep searching through faces and hope
a real face can be found behind one.
beyond freedom
The cars still come and go
Each trapped within the flow
Each trapped and bound within the random flow
People are not free
All islands in the sea
All isolated islands in the sea
The cars still come and go
Isolation never ends
We do not know our friends
We do not even know our closest friends
The cars still come and go
People stab their lives
We live for forks and knives
We live for fame and fortune, forks and knives
But the cars still come and go
Each trapped within the flow
Each trapped and bound within the random flow
sadness
Let them laugh
while others cry
Let them cheer
when loved-ones part
But once, just once
let sadness touch
The inner fringes of
their hearts.
just a name
So pessimistic, here I lie
Not caring if I live or die
To myself it’s all the same
To others I am just a name
Just a name and just a face
Just a tool to serve its place
My value lies in the job I’ve done
Have I failed or have I won?
I went to school but did I pass
And in the Army please the brass?
They judge my worth pound for pound
Am I much fun to have around?
They count my brain and count my face
And if I won or lost the race
And count how well I played my part
But whenever did they count my heart?
out of darkness
Out out out of darkness
into the light of day
out out out of winter
into the dawn of May
quiet quietly we must steal
while our hate’s face is turned
quick quickly let us clasp
all that hate and fear would spurn
soft soft we’ll sing aloud
against uptightened haste
now now let us pray
for a natural timeless place
please please make the flowers
bloom like new flags unfurled
please please let heart’s deep love
bring joy freedom to the world
bits
I sometimes wonder what will happen
when the world and love collide—
Will it ease with joy and laughter
this bad feeling deep inside?
Just a little bit of hate
nullifies the love
Just a little bit of war
wounds the precious dove.
No one seems to notice
No one seems to care
We just pretend the sadness isn’t there.
unheroic couplet
Oh what an idiot I am to think
That I can win your heart with ink.
city life
It is early, early, early
sun has far to go
the streets are filled with children
The woods, filled with snow
It is hot, hot, hot
sun is moving slow
the streets are filled with stifling heat
The woods, filled with snow
It is late, late, late
sun has gone below
the streets are dark and empty
The woods, filled with snow
hookup
Some girl sits
to eat alone
at a restaurant far from home.
She sits and sits
then gets her lunch.
In the place comes a wild bunch.
The boy called leader
dressed in brown
comes to her table, then sits down.
She can’t look up
but feels him there
strong and masculine, his chest is bare.
He grabs her arm
leads her out.
Come to the woods, we’ll make out…
She starts to stop
then thinks again.
Such masculine body with dimpled chin.
He pulls her on
she doesn’t fight.
In the woods it’s dark as night.
Tense and eager
she moves on.
He’s holding tightly to her arm.
A small rough clearing
lies ahead.
Leaves are piled to make a bed.
She looks at him
so masculine.
Her eyes are eager, yet afraid.
Then hard he throws her
to the leaves
he pulls a knife, she starts to freeze.
She tries to move
she’s frozen stone.
With the knife he comes on.
Fear and panic
she screams and screams.
Then she wakens from her dream.
She’s sitting down
before her lunch
in just before came a wild bunch.
The leader-boy
who just sat down
looks at her, then looks around.
queenie
They say you were just a dog
yet I miss you more
than any single person
any single thing.
I miss your long, black nudging nose
that understood my sadness.
I miss your tear-moist, joyless gaze
perturbed when we must part.
But most of all, dear Queenie
I miss your happy ways
your stout black body breathing frenzy
your exhaustless, thumping tail.
Your unbound joy, I miss it dearly
your running natural fun
and your earnest, watchful, loving eyes
that followed me, your king.
Ever were those bright eyes hoping, hoping
that I’d feel up to fun
and out and out the door we’d bound.
We’d chase and dance and play.
But now, dear Queenie, I’m alone.
No knowing eyes to ease the pain
no laughing tail, no nose that sings
to drive the sadness from my heart.
Queenie
I miss you more than anything
and oh
I hope to see you soon.
in the rain
I often feel I'm drenched by hate
and watered-down by strife
I find myself in dampened state—
this was not meant for life.
But though I feel with all my heart
and think with all my brain
and though I love with every part—
I cannot stop the rain.
But if each friend of life would try
and do these things I do
then all the rain would surely die—
and dreams would dawn as true.
chess piece
You’re just a sensuous chess piece
in the game of love
You’re a five-fingered discount
from the shelf above
You’re a full-fledged dropout
in the house of sinning
And you’re a seven-time loser—
but this time you’re winning!
some
Some dear hearts
do not call me friend
Some dear ones whom I
love and cherish
Do not their own love send.
Some of them
think two loves can’t be
Some of those who love
their own dear ones
Think they cannot also me.
Some of these
whose love I’m seeking
Do not feel
the love I feel
Do not hear my weeping.
And some dear hearts
do not call me friend
Some dear ones whom I
love and cherish
Do not their own love send.
homemade greeting
For Thanksgiving I tried to write you this card
but I’ve found writing one’s own greetings quite hard.
I thought and thought but could not write a thing
(I wanted to write a verse that you could sing).
I guess I’ll have to try again next year
but this card will have to do this time, that’s clear.
It’s not a good card—won’t make you happy or glad
won’t put a tear in your eye, won’t make you sad.
It will never make you laugh, won’t even make you smile
but perhaps it will keep you busy reading it awhile.
And if it does that, well, it’s achieved its purpose too—
it’s let you know…I still remember you!
college knowledge
College knowledge is useless
but no one is aware
Cause college is the place to be
the place to think and work
Everyone gets their degree
though such knowledge drives berserk
the brain and warps
your sense of judgment
But no one really cares
they’d always rather be
exclaimed as intellectual
Rather have sophistication
uneducated folk are dull.
College knowledge is useless
but no one is aware
Methodology is emphasized
So concentrate, so study, so try your best
(the secret is to analyze
to calculate and finalize)
And this, by science, is defined
as being wise
Too, you are a measure of your tests
a score placed in percentages
compared and judged with fellow students
You are this and you are that—a category
tells the story.
Yes, college knowledge is useless
but no one is aware
No no one is aware
It never took a definition
to recognize a tree.
on december 21st
It’s the first day of shiver
and it’s winter all around
and a bitter wind refrigerates
the snow that’s on the ground.
Oh but you’ve looked outside your window
you’ve seen the summer air—
that the leaves are still in fall
and winter is not here.
Still, it’s the first day of winter
must be cold all around
and a bitter wind must sweep across
with its snowy muffled sound.
Don’t tell me that it’s comfortable
where you are staying now
don’t tell me that you do not see
the snow that’s on the ground.
And don’t tell me that the wind
is warm and soft today
it just wouldn’t seem like winter
if the weather were that way.
It’s the first day of shiver—
can’t be summer all around
can’t be that there is no wind
or snow to decorate the ground.
But no…this is the first day of winter
and it’s Georgia all around!
reflection ’72
A new year comes to teach my eyes to see—
to look inside myself—a brand-new dawn—
all past years are discarded memories
when 1972 has come and gone
A new year comes to open up my life—
to show me all the things that I’ve done wrong—
things I did or said—thoughts that were not right—
and past mistakes that like last year are gone
A new year comes to bring new roads of love—
eternal love—and things that last as long—
new memories—old things I’m thinking of—
new music to enliven last year’s song—
when 1972 has come and gone
self-admonition
Never lose that sense of beauty, Dwight
never sacrifice the joy you raptly feel
at the sight of nature's ways of life.
Never lose your endemic sense of zeal
for a silhouetted tree across a sun
or a purple cloud streaked against the sky
and never lose the feel of being one
with a flock of blackbirds while they fly
flung together as co-natural friends.
Never leave sheer nature for a man-made place
just think about your loss on nights you spend
without a breeze cold against your face
or without a moon in a misty light
without any natural thing, beautiful or not.
Never lose that sense of beauty, Dwight.
Without Eileen—it's all you've got.
letter in love
A letter to someone in love
will never get through to his head,
what does he’ll see clear as mud.
His love will harden his skull into lead
so there won’t be a thought he won’t muff.
A letter to someone in love
whether written by hand or by type
is like pushing a tank through the mud
when the tracks of the tank are on strike.
Or maybe like giving a mountain a shove.
A letter to someone in love
is like trying to tell a volcano
to stop when it’s done quite enough.
Or perhaps like trying to use Drano
to clean out a dam for a flood.
A letter to someone in love
is like having to live in a shoe
while you’re trying to take off your gloves
and your arms are handcuffed behind you.
Especially when it’s you who he loves!
last to know
My girlfriend hates to see me
she told me so herself
she tiptoed just inside the door
and threw her message on my shelf.
She likes me only from a distance
that is crystal clear to see
she’d rather meet me in a letter
than actually talk with me.
I guess I’ve always been naive
never did I see till now
all the time I spent with her
she spent hoping I would leave.
She never said to go out-loud
yet that’s what she always wished
and now I gather why she sneezed
every time I tried to kiss.
And every time I held her hand
suddenly she’d smell a “burning”
away she’d go, but never find;
was only inner, secret yearning.
Ah well, there’s other girls around
and some that even like me;
and some are even quite fantastic—
but none are quite like she!
moonlight perceptions
The moon leans down and stares us in the face
her round, shy smile has me hypnotized;
I start to sense the beauty of this place
much as I see your beauty with my eyes.
I see the misty clouds that frame her light
and the damp, dark branches of the solemn trees.
Now I feel a flock of breezes in mid-flight
as they push their silken whistle through the leaves.
The shadow of a world is on the ground
and the shadow of your life is on my face,
yet from the wind and leaves’ communal sound
I sense reality in truth untraced—
a sureness of our natural place.
The meaning of our living must be near
for I feel new closeness, quiescent love
for all the things of beauty we have here.
Swiftly come these feelings life is of—
heart throbs that are reflections of the self
as though to underline the reason we exist.
Moon leans down, now smiles to herself
I think your lips are pleading for a kiss!
tears
These words are but my tears
now fallen on the page,
and the tears are but
the lonely leftovers
of all my dreams…
Dreams
that softly have exploded
into an empty
rageless rage,
and tears like rainy sheets
that crash across the page
in silent screams.
empty
I cannot live
and yet I cannot die
I cannot stay a buried oyster
waiting to be found beneath the sea
Nor can I eat forever
on the dreams of lies
When the heart is pale and dead
the body, too, has died
Nor can I move in empty shadows
asking weakly in voices strange
all the questless, unimportant questions
of how? or why?
While all the seeming
motions of my lying body
are mere deceptions
to the brain
When the heart is pale and dead
the body, too, has died
at night
Things are so bad I do not feel like singing
But music’s all I got
I always thought love was a happy sound
It’s such a lonely thing
trying to be me
All the pretty things of nature are
living all around
But there’s a hidden wind blows sadly
from midnight tree to tree
It’s so much more lonely than it seems
Much much more lonely than it seems
And though a million stars are up and wide awake
The dying campfire flame is whispering to me
how its getting very late
Here in the warmth of my sleeping bag
watching all the sparks that are reaching for the sky
I wonder why I want to live my way
I wonder what my living really means
If you’ll come to me
Will you ever come to me
I think of all the things I did today
and the feelings that I felt
As I’m lying on this island all alone
Oh as I’m living with this world
pretending it is home
What feelings did I feel today?
Well I felt the morning calm
as it woke the sleeping lake
singing softly all my dreams
I felt the warmth of nature
playing in the wind
and all around growing into love
I felt the cool refreshing water
engulfing up my body
as it tumbled off the rocks
down to the ground
I felt the chirping of the birds
while dreaming you were here beside me
And that you told me of your happiness
without the use of words
And I loved you like I never did before
And I prayed that tomorrow
I’d love you even more
But the dying campfire beckons
with its burning truthful fingers
That the time is growing late
for one who dreams like I
I’ve let my life just linger wasting
waiting for a love not meant to come
You’re the only one I’ll ever love
and though the campfire now is dying
I’ll dream that you are listening
And that tomorrow’s dawning
will bring another day
I’ll dream of you tonight
by this dying firelight
Pretending you are here to keep me warm
And I’ll pray that you are here when I awake
I pray you will be here
when I awake
futile
Death is but a song
sad people sing
earliest love
We rise
in the morning
with the dawn
mingle
with the wind
like a tree.
We feel love
like raindrops
coming on
shower gently on you
and me.
falling dreams
And when I see her smile
her sky-blue tender eyes at me
I wonder if they might feel at home
on a windy hillside
beneath the falling apple leaves.
country couplet
The mountain lake is calling,
answer with a nod—
Throw off your city clothes
and wander in to God!
aesthetic
Art is when a beaver builds a dam
tell
Don't tell me what I can't see
Tell me what I can be
future love
Like a scheming tigress
who has not yet pounced
you are always the name
waiting
to be announced
rain
What made this rainfall rain?
Where did those ash leaves go?
When did the sky turn pain?
Who made this cruel wind blow?
Why must love hurt so?
looking for the moon
One day I thought the moon had stopped reflecting,
right now I know how that was wrong.
One day I thought my heart had stopped its shining.
I didn't know that love could last so long.
But now I know the moon is always near,
even while unseen it seems so close.
Now I know my heart can swallow fear.
Love always comes when you need it most.
Tonight I think the moon will soon be coming—
even though it's gone I feel it smile.
Tonight I know my heart can't stop its loving.
I pray that will be reflected in a while.
laugh
I won’t falter if you laugh at me
although clouds may cry
and trees in solemn
silence
stare blankly at the sky
and grass, beneath summer’s
heat
turn and gossip silently
and a hundred other things all because
you laughed at me.
Still, I won’t falter if you laugh at me
although
wind may bellow
and each leaf cry out
to his neighbor
and birds, in summer
madness
start chirping wildly
and a thousand other things all because
you laughed at me.
No I won’t falter if you laugh at me.
lament
I wrote the world a song
and now I’m crying
trying to understand
how the sky was so blue
and the clouds stayed white so long
and the trees were so green and
brown and why
they won’t let me sing
my own song
trying to understand
how the haste of the six-lane highway
became the waste
of the trees and the clouds
and the sky and why
I can’t find peace
or love this way
trying to understand
why I wrote the world a song
and now it’s dying
I’m crying
trying to understand
dreams do?
Dreams do
they ever come
true? In-
side I know
mine won’t. I
have no confidence.
I’ve heard some say
you must
believe
a dream is
real before it
is.
Mine isn’t real
and won’t be, be-
cause I don’t
be-
lieve. I
guess I’ve lost be-
fore I ev-
en
started.
on the hill
New things may bring new love
That’s something I won’t doubt
The thought is one I’m hoping of
I need another start
The old love must now be dead
I’m more sure of it each day
Still I remember what she said
Things can’t end this way
Things can’t end without me knowing
If she might like me still
Love can’t cease with her going
Like a tigress over the hill
But see no doubt she is gone
From the crest of the hill there is silence
Broken, weary, life can’t go on
Then why find hope in the wind?
poem i wish you could understand
Last Sunday I’d hoped to send a present of love
to each one of my friends I like thinking of.
So I made up a list and I tried to be fair
but you name was the only one that deserved to be there
your name was the only—
Oh but why even tell?
Either you’d think I was lying or not feeling well.
You’ll never quite grasp how I think or I feel…
so I’ll just smile and laugh, pretend it’s not real.
I’ll try and convince myself I don’t need you near,
exchange all my love for thinking or beer
and I’ll write lots of novels to “express” what I mean.
But then each night I will die on hillsides once green
where I’ll plead with the moon as the wind blows away.
With grey clouds in its light, dead trees where I lay
I’ll gaze through my tears at the wind as it leaves
and cringe at the moon as it sets in the trees.
I’ll cry—
Oh what good is all this if you love someone else?
What use have these words? In what way can they help?
You simply can’t love me if your heart won’t say yes
and your heart can’t approve knowing Michael is best.
You’d have to ignore the things that you feel
and even I don’t want love if I know it’s not real.
I’d rather not know you than mess up your heart
I’d rather be “brainy”, rather find “meaning” in “art”
than do even one thing to sadden your life.
But believe me Eileen, I try to do right—
I’ll try to forget you if you think that is best
(try is all I can promise with things such a mess).
But if I do manage to forget you some day
then I want you to understand that I’ve given away
all my prayers and hopes for dreams come true
all my meaning
all my love of you.
love story
Between the two he gets to choose,
Ronnie’s so lucky—he cannot lose.
His eyes are good, he will not miss
her wind-blown hair, the way it twists
and curves like Nature made it do
and gleams with love in the afternoon.
Then her face he won't forget—
chin so soft, yet firmly set
beneath her light blue eyes (those sing
like summer raindrops in the wind);
but I get the girl he leaves behind.
God, I hope he is blind
and does not love the one who’s blonde:
she's the girl my dreams are on.
dream world
I’m water and mist in the heat of the day
my dreams in the night are solid,
turn-tossed till my bed is grass on a hill
I feel your swift body by mine.
When sleeping my dreams are colors of love
the touch of your hand as you warm me,
blue from the sky colors your eyes
flesh colors your arms close around me.
My dreams are as real as the warmth of the sun
the cold of a lake in the mountains,
but when I awake the air is a fog
and the lake fades to a fountain.
winter lake
Did I not say the lake would sing to you?
Not say it’d warmly hum? The music’s there—
you have to listen soft, my love, lakesoft.
Press against me, tenderly I’ll caress your hair
press snug against me, let the warmness sleep with you.
This lake is made of warmth tonight
(yes, coldness too—the exiled cold of chilled starlight
bitter like the glare of harsh and narrow eyes)
but what is heat, my love, without the cold?
Ah, you shiver for the hot which I supply.
It draws us into tight and hugly love. I feel
tender, beating life, your heaving breasts and heart—
I inhale your sleepy warmth which makes the minutes yawn
the restless cold that keeps us pressing, loving on!
desire
Want to live where I
can be myself—
like to feel my heart
on the outside
want to run along
the hill with her—
like to feel her heart
on the outside
consummation Exposed and nude he goes to where you are, he laughs behind his birthday suit—laughs loudly knowing you will not notice. He has no morals the shameless wind, as he rubs across your body caresses your smooth skin, lays tightly with you on the blanket, each time you nap outside. Yet you’ve never said the wind was rude never called him fresh despite the things he’s tried! Now the wind leaves his bed by you comes drunk with love straight to me. I smell the titillating scents he brings from sleep with you. Tipsy, he twirls around my body, lies with me hugs me with the passion he hugged from you, thus we are wed flesh to flesh, our union consummated by an obscene breeze. No need for hesitation—it’s no sin when we’ve been married by the wind!
thoughts
A person can die for things they do not understand.
Can sink and drown in worlds they don’t belong.
Progress is a ruthless law that knows no love
and in its blindness knows little life or peace.
It knows not what I really am
—or what I hope to be.
noted
The fluffy white
clouds are
flat underneath
just like city
life and modern
excitements and
the lure of love
cloudy The pink, red sun new behind green hills threw in at me these rays of light: "A love is done but peace, be still. Think, what does it mean if sharing's right? "What does it mean if day hides the sun? —clouds send out still sun, till sun comes."
moth
A small brown moth
that flew at me
from a place unknown
to make me start
or at least ask, why?
bid me love
and plant my seed
until I’ve shown
from out my heart—
it was a butterfly
feelings
You are the morning songbird
that wakens me. The soft persistent wind
that shares my morning walk along the hillside.
You are the shrill, piercing laughter of the waves
jumping on the beach. The light blue lake
napping in the sun. The tired,
perspiring afternoon. The shady oak tree by the door.
You are the evening clouds of white
and purple-white, and the restless
northbound flocks charting through the colors.
You are the hues that hug the setting sun—and sing
of tomorrow's promises, and dream.
You are the grey, black shadows that leap across the sea.
The dark. The moonlight of my life. The faint soft night I feel
but have not met. You are the girl
who brings the moon to me. The balanced
exotic heart I do, yet do not know. The sister
to the spirit eluding me, the daughter to the beauty I can feel.
You are
the whispered smile and the teasing grin.
The delighted finger pointing toward the dawn.
The long night's last sleepy yawn. The yellowed opening sky
that lets the morning in!
castles
Why do we stand
on this side of the fence
when we could have had a choice?
Why do we only walk
one side of the road
and never think about its meaning?
Building castles in the sand
is for children only.
And I don’t know why
cards
Seems life is like a diamond
Or club or spade or heart
And whoever the card-game goddess is
She’s dealt me out to a losing start.
In diamonds I'm money-poor
Hearts I haven't won yet
Spades & clubs got me all confused;
Seems like my whole life on the bet.
I've heard it said that life's
Just like a game of chess.
But in chess you get in a jam
It's your fault you're in the mess
With chess you start off equal
& the pieces move the same
& you don't ever have to cut the deck.
Damn, life & cards are a different game.
But sometimes your luck can change
The card-goddess smile on you,
You draw a joker
Accidentally shoot the moon
The goddess winks
Then you know you gonna win.
tent
Pretend the stars are gone, the moon has froze away
pretend night’s stiffened digits are rubbing on the flap
hear the canvas bleating out its chilly, muted pleas
to our restless, cold-numbed bodies. Bodies awake/asleep
that dream of warming autumn hours in a cabin
before the crinkling, yellow fingers of the fire—
dream of our hugging ever warmer on the blanket
till the cabin dreamly darkens, and we tire.
Or dream half-sleeping of a lovers’ summer night
pillowed together on a drifting, sandy beach
and feel the beating, beating, beating of each other’s heart—
to wake aroused and wonder where the coldness went.
Oh to be lovers in the warm, warm sand
while wrapped thick in blankets in a January tent!
kohoutek
When the oak leaves throw their colors to the ground
And the cold wind claims the kingdom of the night
Coaxing clouds to cluster in the sky
And snow upon the winter with their white,
Know that there is meaning in each dawn—
From God's own garden see his gift of light!
When the morning sky is red and yellow
To light the way for the rising sun
To spread apart the clouds for December's smile
Watch closely for God's sign to come,
A sign called Kohoutek—it is his gift
To celebrate that day December loves.
View in the east the comet's glow
A daughter to the yellow winter sun
See it skywriting words of love and peace and hope
Feel life's guarantee of Kohouteks to come
For God has sent a gift to close the year
To catch within our hearts the Christmas here.
bethlehem stars
I saw Christmas in the forest
the other day, on a cloudless
starry night. Pines and scrubs
formed a closure that was quite
like a manger I would say.
Young fawns were on the straw inside.
Where three trees
seemed to form a crib
an embered light spread wide
with rays filtering through the leaves
toward a topless sky.
High above was Mars
looking like a spot the sky was worn.
Its ruddy whiteness seemed to cry
soft tears—as if remembering
that years ago a child was born
and wise men followed stars.
to grandmother on mothers' day
From when I was little to now that I'm big
You've loved me oh so much
Doted on me when I was a kid
Gave me presents and hugs and such.
If I got hurt or the day was unkind
I would crawl on your knee
And you would tell me the wonderful words of truth
That comforted me.
Always, I'd be eager and beaver to go
To Grandma's house to be
Knowing the sun would shine and the day be bright
If you smiled on me.
Now I am older, more mature in my years
Yet I feel the same gleam
Whenever I trek to my Grandma's apartment
To visit my Mothers' Day Queen!
found
If we lived near the mountains
love would find us every morning
jumping through the shallow puddles
on these summer mountain boulders.
Love would find us in this valley
piping secrets in the breeze
—our golden pollen riding wind
over cliffs and over canyons
love and us and all the trees.
sound
When I first stepped outside today
before afternoon had hardly begun
I heard a faint
a tinkling sound
so strangely nearby I could not tell
from which direction it had come.
It wasn’t music I’d heard before.
It puzzled me. I stopped and sighed
A cricket’s whine?
A coming shower?
Or was it bees buzzing among the flowers?
No, just the morning crying as it died.
at the river
From the mud with curiosity i saw
everyone in eagerness was racing
downstream to where the water
spawned into a river. There they thrashed
together in the current, then climbed
the waiting barges. Soon the flow
swept them to the delta
poured them to the sea.
i followed the brook upstream
until i found a mountain lake
guarded by some clouds.
It was rather lonely but
i liked it.
leaving
Long before the winter came
the branches gave the leaves.
September gave the season rain
October the season breeze.
November gave the wet days
that dripped from grey-black skies.
December gave the leaf-bare boughs
and the wind that faintly died
then the dark and puffy clouds
that matched the sky for size.
Clouds gave the snow
that blanketed the ground.
The leaving of the birds gave
the winter’s silent sound.
requiem
They should never have done it
The way that they did
But they sure did do it
So just live and let live.
You can’t change the past
To make the future come true
So just live your own life
In the best way for you.
dreams
Mere clouds can never stop a wind
eastward
In the distant East a cautious, yellow sun
rose slowly, bravely, from behind the rubble
as if dazzled by the blackened, spreading scum
of heavy clouds that pushed death-charred and raping
through the soured air—that ram-forced their smuck
across the scarred and charcoaled earth.
Beneath the scourging, despotic clouds of death
fear-ravished, ghostly faces whitely peered
from out dark, feeble holes amid the after-soot—
dizzied human figures among the ashes groped
turned Eastward to the faint, swelling yellow
heaving upward against the choking, black-inked fog.
Saw first a faltering breeze, then scavenging winds
thrashing a sun-path before the scudding bog.
beginning
It’s as new as the moon
That rose yesterday
And though it’s just as small
I know it’s going to stay.
If we don’t let some clouds
Like past friends of yours
Get into the way
I know it’s going to stay.
night sprinkle
The trees set back turn dark and black
against the evening sky
and cross the way at edge of day
sun calls out “good-bye”
Now breezes form to keep us warm
throughout the coming night
and bring in shrouds well-hidden clouds
that enter from the right
while one by one the night stars come
to sprinkle down their light
They’re followed soon by spacious moon—
she guards us close above
cloaks us in her moonlight grin
and soaks us
wet with love.
walk in rain
I like to walk out in the early rain
trudge by houses hibernating snug
track the road-edge out to where the city ends.
Like to walk far past traffic all alone
and hear patter of the rainfall on my coat
taste the morning droplets on my tongue.
Like to see rainwater play among the leaves
drip from branch onto branch onto ground
trickle through the dead leaves of the floor.
Like to run hands along the damp oak bark
dip bare feet in the dirt. I like to see
raindrops oozing brook-like between my toes.
I like to walk out in the early rain.
non-metaphoric
When by windstorm the knowledge-theories fall
and men see how blocks have called them on
and tricked them into building mental walls
of symbolic brick, idea-ic mortar, the overall
constructed game of mind that has deprived
men of non-metaphoric wind outside—
then, and not till then, men will come alive.
moon (suicide song)
Well I’m standing here to end it all
I see a long way down
I feel the earth move under me
Moon is near the ground
What can, what can,
What can the meaning be
If it’s so beautiful to see?
Look how green the grass grows
How white the sun shines
Look how far the rain goes
And how long since you’ve been mine
Tell me, tell me
Tell me how I can find
Serenity and peace of mind
Tell me what I can try
Give me a reason why
You see I’d like to see
Just a little more of me
Tell me, tell me
Tell me what I can try
Give me a reason why
Because I’d like to see
A little more of me
Look how long the wind blows
It blows forever—time
Look at all God doesn’t know
Maybe that is a sign
Look how green the grass grows
How white the sun shines
Look how far the rain goes
And how long since you’ve been mine
Tell me, tell me
Tell me how I can find
Serenity and peace of mind
Maybe God’s just in my mind
Our origin is mindless
Maybe all we have is time
And every moment timeless
Now I’m standing here to end it all
I see a long way down
I feel the earth move under me
Moon is near the ground
What can, what can,
What can the meaning be
If it’s so beautiful to see?
Tell me, tell me
Tell me how I can find
Serenity and peace of mind
Tell me what can try
Give me a reason why
You see I’d like to see
Just a little more of me
if
If I thought it’d help you love me
I’d ride a drift-raft out to sea
chase after clouds
climb a redwood tree
play ping pong on my knee
if I thought it’d help you love me.
fallen
She touched me.
Skin, tanned by moonlight
clean like a morning lake
soft like a flowered hillside
She kissed me.
Face, textured by breezes
happy like a bouncing bird
thoughtful like fallen leaves
She loved me.
Eyes, lit by yellow sunlight
colored like an afternoon
mellowed like an evening sun
lake
the cardinal-flower
i saw this morning
while walking beside
a lake i'd seen
for only an hour
pressed without warning
deep inside
and made me dream
of her lips' sweet power
changes
Feel the changing changing seasons
Changing days changing minutes
Taking sharing our scattered feelings
From the moment to the moment
Feel the pushing pulsing wind
Blowing through the turning morning
Bringing light and bringing shade
To feed our hearts on changing change
Now feel the newborn blushing moments
Each arising from the changes
Touch the feelings in our hearts
Grasp the changing love that comes
Between the coming and the going
Know the blowings of the moment
Fit the changes with the minutes
Share the minutes as they change
druthers
Not the pretty smile
or the one that lasts the longest
or the one that’s always there
not the gorgeous face
eye-lined and painted best
or necessarily the longest hair
not the beauty queen (who’s just pretend)
nor the engaged personality
trotting at the trend
and not
the body kept concealed
to harbor wounds unhealed.
But—
unordinary girl
who likes the outdoor love
made of naked real
who feels before she knows
finds music in the sound
of swishing grass
or beauty in the way
an apple grows.
the lesson
With every movement and every eager word
she made me feel how wrong it was
not to love this simple world.
Not to feel that when the trees were swaying
I was swaying too
that when the blackbird flocks were soaring
between the clouds
I was soaring too.
jenny's wind
Jenny would love this gusty wind
were she with me here to see it playing
in these tall oak and birch she
likes to wander through.
She would love this gutty breeze
which sneaks beneath the leaves
and rustles them until they waken.
Wind
pretending it's morning still, pretending
it doesn't know about the silence
that swept across the world
yesterday.
Breeze tries harder now.
Relentlessly it tries
to sweep the leaves and branches
into some playful mood, some whim
to rouse us from the numbness
of our silence. Now and then wind
pauses haltingly, then gusts—
rampaging, raging
as if to chase away the darkness
as if to quell the soundless whelming of her death
before it blackens out September.
summer love
Now winter’s come
I like to hum
and sometimes sing a tune
To bring to me
memories
of times we had last June
When I gave you
some summer love
beneath the night’s white moon
Recall we were
beside the shore—
a woman, and a man
Who held her firmly
next to him
on blankets made of sand
Your eyes on mine
were soft and kind
as you pressed against my hips
And the stars above
bright with love
as we tasted with our lips
The waves rolled in
and in the din
we danced a while
Afterwards
we had no words
but silence and a smile
As eye to eye
beneath the sky
we shed our clothes and hugged
Our bodies stark
in the dark
nakedly we loved
The morning smiled
on clothing piled
aside our makeshift bed
And was no talk—
I've often thought
of things I might have said
While rapt amazed
I gazed
at the woman I should wed
But now like summer
you are gone—
my winter lingers on
And midnight brings
a pain to things
my heart has felt too long
once
Once I wrote a poem
that sounded like the world
I want to live.
Once I felt the wind
between the clouds careening
and knew I was at home.
Once I had a moment
beneath the autumn apple trees
when I knew creation was a circus
and God
and I were brothers.
Once I sipped my life
as it bubbled over.
Now I only know the lingering taste.
© Copyright Dwight Lyman, 1990-2025