Winging lightly as the breeze. Like some Autumn leaf. It is the whisper in the trees so tall. It is the burden of the sorrow. Hanging lank in Winter’s pall.
Rolling over in the mud like some limey great catfish. Tomorrow’s mother or this evening’s dish
Pretty eyes like children’s feet. Hankering after their parents for a special treat. And I at work in my uniform. Reading over an occasional worm.
With a partner to my poetry discuss. Over treks to the city on the bus. And take to friends in their room. Ten bucks to use the broom. And then back home to my cottage state. An apartment at a humbled rate. Of rent and sustenance for savor. Far from having to borrow or ask a favor. Closer to sharing the inside. Closer to baring the heart alive.
It is for a timid sum I have been at this stead. With many a page coming out to be read. By friends and family enkind. These things from left field that weigh on my mind.
Sight unseen departments of religion. A government with a lot in tow. Feed Thebian poor, treat the Ionian sick. Cure the ailing and relieve the woe. A man in a big house. A dog gone to a matt. A fireplace burning aglow. A warm and friendly cat. Doctors for the mind. A supplement to care. An occasional bier. Friends accompanied to the fair. Stress of the working day. A load on my back and mind. A partner to help out. A customer treated kind.
Here is today. And here is my life. I would include the good spirit. I would find myself a wife. How far am I in introversion. How easy would it be to hide my time. Where is the house of paper goods. May I continue in my time. Where am I subjected tu. What grand title have I met out purloined. I am more practical to the object. I feel it in my groin.
To lay Down ephemera. And offer one’s hand. Turning around the dreaming. Drifter asleep in the sand.
Oh for the apple tree. And it’s Windsor dales. Seldom eld wending figure. Of burdened bead. Yet soon to prevail.
Police are not scary. To those who have now slept. What night’s peace is now fit to carry. For those here who have laid down to keep. Have lain down to weep.
Spit fire-open contest. And he in his attire has chosen to gather with the par event in horizon.
When will the Zepher attract its cohorts? How shall Ecumenicus return to the deft renown?
With a jiff of the trick. So up air hardy you’ll not rather have them sick.
Each with a one of his exhalations. Providing explanations. And the rippled speech of your common seer.
This I say has entendre closer to sense than any ultimatum my dear.
A clarity of space. Some hilarity in the race. A gander at the stock of our neighbors. A daily listing to chores through many labors. To reeve forth the unguent. To reap broad stars of lusty pent. A divine conflagration of peoples. Over broad passes and many steeples. The makeshift predilection of towers. From loose shrifts, the humble bowers.
Cavalcading like streetfell hippies. A curry of fell dashes from a sky paints paths trippy. Het diagramatical lour embellishing sheens of the topical spheres. Tectonic arch craftsman at the gears. With thunderbolt and looming shrouds. The way they stack up they’re as alive as the clouds
The time has come when I should join the movement. Thinking though my get up and go must have got up and went. Yet where? If I should care. Can this movement be?
If not standing beneath the gallows of a hangmans’ tree. Or as clouds high, born of tempest storming aloft the sea. I am here thinking. That it is a long road to instincting. If I have got to make this movement a part of me.
Warding off strife. Throughout my life. To live, love, and take a wife. With what else being rife. I want it shone. The way these thoughts into dreams are grown. Till our memories are honed. That each of us stands. With open hands. A member in the heart of gold band.
This movement, is it a tribe? Jah people, a revolutionary jibe. At the resting, souls of our earthly harmony. Telling what’s up. To each of us. You and me.
Change comes and we are on our own. Again protecting hearts from loath at what’s still ode. We’ve got to rise up singing. Having been brought low.
What we are certain of will change. What knowledge lays before us we will remember. What we can describe through speech we are familiar with in thought. In that we see we know. In one sense are two things. Dignity is the consensus of mind. An entertainment is a linking of cant universals.
The pledge of the hypocrite is the camping of the crow. One’s rider should not expire at the cost of one’s stupidity. A league in throes has not the sense of self will to lead it. The anchor of the anger is the quire of the ire is the auld mad. Spiritual supposition is an enigma without redown.
There is a need for heroic measures in the spiritual recompense.
My sage has spoken to me of dreams in my head. That will come to life if my body can just grow old and not dead. My own love, in the Summer, a laud. No work to do, not a lien to place on Hod.
Oh great Sage of the Midwestern states. Come seek with souls to hymn and enunciate.
My great horse is named ol’ Sage. He eats locusts on a plate with mayonnaise.
Oh great Sage of my ocean. You are a great and good river flowing. All of your name I will soon need knowing. When I gain the key to your foreboding. And your grand waters make us out for growing.
I wish in any age to tread your waters. To await the day and return of your daughters. ‘Tis no shame to pay for a passage across with barter. So I took my lass to the riverside and there a movie I shot of her. I don’t possess your soul though I may be a martyr.
A real big river is on my mind. Rainfall is a very good sign. Way up North along the pines. Lazy in a stream with a boat’s incline. A levee on a way with sleeps to cull in winning wine.
On Autumn nights when the rye in the fields has been harvested and put into bundles. Merrily and with stealth comes the cather of hay into the rye. To garner away the faith of accumulated clave ceps of purpura from off the stalks. The bundled stalks of rye.
Politicians would argue to keep the clave crow on the rye and let the seekers have their fill from the milled grain and suspiration throughout the year slowly drawn along. But the cather could refuse and go out to pick a many lot in order to brig back the letryses of the garland with him to make out well in doling the larder of his accomplices. The gud stamp of the dance set.
Occasionally when propositioned by gypsies’ and their ghost and when they had enough some was given away. At the want of the best specimen for ingestion. Simply they are were boding of the thrown chances in a lucred plight. The having of dances in the arms of iconoclastic fete stances.
The politicians realizing the light coming long before dawn. Stalwart in doubt as to the wind weaving of survival in their grain stores and stirs. Wondering without refrain and often shunned. From the interior country where the travelers were known for coming out with the laughingstock of the rogue and rambling, the revelers and a rake.
The fact that gypsies had their own sundries of a tailor and wine to speak of the vintner of bleaky sun aum mantra chant nourishment. Taken heartfelt to dreaming child gait and sweet reminiscences. With strange calender romances they would thus have their dances in private on mountain sides beneath the moon.
Personal Writings 