Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The Man with Dark Red Hair

There once was a man with dark red hair.
He lived on his own on a mountain in a boat.
To be honest his location could not be more remote.
People came to visit him because he was old and wise.
They all knew this because ordinary comforts he despised.
His wisdom, it was said, was rooted in his head.
In his hair, in fact, so long it covered his bed.
They'd come to ask him questions about life and other things.
He felt obliged to answer, if only for the joy his answers bring.
Not once was this man ever wrong.
The people were always praising his wisdom in their song.
'Til one day, after aiding a woman with no child's cares,
and a young boy with an unreasonable fear of bears,
he tried to console a old man who had no will to die.
"My goodness!" he said "you're nearly as old as I."
And as if he meant to lead the soul by good example,
he lay right down and died. I think his example would be ample.
The poor old man, seeing peace upon the face
of the wise one, took his place.
And can be found to this day on that mountain in that boat.
Though today the location is not remarkably remote.
He's now the old man with dark red hair.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Twelve Brave Knights

Twelve knights with their swords held up high
and glist'ning helms upon their heads
walked out to battle, win or die
no more to feel th'warmth of their beds

Twelve warriors 'round a table sat
and drank the health of lord to be
and fed on game 'til they were fat
A night like none again they'd see

Twelve men give farewells to their wives
to sons and daughters: pride, redoubt
They leave their loved ones, pledge their lives
for lord and country they head out

Twelve boys with sticks and packs leave home
leave parents standing in the hall
to seek their fortune on their own
until the sup-bell calls them all

Sunday, March 29, 2009

the warmth soothes
the sting of hail
a bright sun's shaft
pierces the clouds
menacing and pale

this is morn
this is the spring
a time when birds
perched on their roosts
entreat all to sing

that bold month
that's life and love
a season full
belonging once
to the lusting dove
your presence splendid comfort brings
and mends my heart until it sings
but just as I so often do
I confuse air and water through

so when I have you by my side
and fear and passion both subside
I long for you though you are there
perhaps there is more of you to spare

a man towards the wind takes breath
and sees before his eyes his death
fancying himself a poor damn fool
for drowning in an empty pool

your presence overwhelms me still
and turns my thoughts against my will
to times that for me were pure joy
when you were a girl and I a boy
who can trust the wind?
she moves on a whim
without pity
without care
here, touching a man's soul
there, stealing his life away
a force of nature
touching all
escaped entirely by none
a curse to see
the world as itself
all sin, all despair
passing in and through
darkened thoughts
wakeful nights
solace seeking
finds more of the same
pushing further
toward destruction
visionary curse
humanity exposed
bringing disgust
and delight to point
a single exactitude
opening onto the condition
thoughts of Utopian bliss,
happiness vanish
smothered by surroundings
offering no repose
this is the life
an artist wins
the reward given poets
for open eyes
and sacrificed souls
abandonment and
infidelity awoke
boiling blood
a wretch's honest
miserable joke

what sordid and
wayward confiteor
causes man
to cause such pain
with such candour?

'wash with sin
birth to death
all of life are
interlude until
our,
my last breath