April 21, 2021: Good Morning, Sweetheart!

               Good Morning, Sweetheart!

It feels good to take your hand today,

As though many lifetimes have faded away.

It feels good to wake up and feel alive

With the call of your love, which I give in my turn.

Your spirit is beckoning, and I'm taking the dive,

Knowing I still have so much to learn!

 

It feels good to greet you and to see you smile

And to know my estrangements are reconciled.

It feels good to know that you're able to hear

The struggles I go through, though stupid or hard.

As I overcome, you are present to cheer.

And there's nothing I show you that you'd disregard.

 

It feels good to taste your tender kiss

And then face the rain in your joy and your bliss.

It feels good to sit down and share a meal,

Knowing there'll always be enough to eat.

And that whatever we say, we'll keep it real.

It feels good to feel complete!

April 21, 2021: "Spring" by William Shakespeare in "Harvard Classics, Vol. 41", page 264.

Spring

When daisies pied* and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
    "Cuckoo!"
Cuckoo, cuckoo! -- O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
    "Cuckoo!"
Cuckoo, cuckoo! -- O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

*comes in double colors

April 20, 2021: Obscurity Bay

Obscurity Bay
 
I met a soul in the woods by Obscurity Bay.
I asked him his name, but he said, “Words get in the way.”
He said, “The things I’ve found when I travel around
from question marks to phonemical sounds
get me on a symbological down
when all I want to do is pray.”
 
Well, I looked at him and I said I was kind of confused.
He said it was only from living in the media’s news.
He said “What’s happening’s strange; not just the market exchange,
but our values and concepts are going to get re-arranged,
and you’ve got to open yourself to the change.
There's not a lot of time to snooze!
 
He said, “We’ve got the heart that’s bigger than the anger and fear!
We’re the ones who seek deeper than the surface appears!
With a definitive pose, we’ll make our terminal close.
You know, your very countenance shows:
The secret’s ripe.  It’s time to expose
It’s love that’s growin’ ‘round here!"
 
I asked him if he ever had time for a friend.
He said his buddies were the seeds that fly in the wind.
He said, “I’m not unkind if I leave you behind.
I just follow my heart while I look for the mind.
You can come along if you’re so inclined.
I’ve never been one to contend!”
 
I met a soul in the woods by Obscurity Bay!

April 20, 2021: A Sight in Camp . . . by Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, pg. 247

 A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim

A Sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,
Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket,
Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim,
    with well-gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step -- and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third -- a face nor child nor old, very calm,
as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you -- 
I think this face is the face of the Christ himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.

April 19, 2021: I've Done My Time

I’ve Done My Time

Waiting at the station; feeling so alone!
I see old friends in the faces of folks I’ve never known,
I think I’d know just where to go if I wanted to get stoned,
But that ain’t what I’m looking for – from the jail house, going home!
 
Riding in the subway, seems like everything’s in tact,
When all at once I’m mystified by a girl in checkered slacks.
I think she threw a smile at me, but how would someone ask?
So I look out the back window to the darkness of the tracks.
 
Chorus:
I’m gonna make it.  
I know I can take it
If I have to fake it,
‘Cause I’ve got my pride.
Wake up in the morning and meet the day;
Find me a job so I can earn my pay.
Somebody make this pain go away
That I’m always feeling inside.
 
My loneliness confuses me about what I stand to gain.
Ten years in a prison cell.  I have no cause to feel ashamed.
But no one knows what I’m going through.  Nobody feels my pain.
Some day I'm going to write a book on how the world has gone insane!
 
Chorus
 
Walking from the subway - Someone’s  rocking to the blues.
I’m watching sanguine faces digest the daily news.
I ask someone what he’s looking for, but I’m silently excused.
Does he think that I’m a criminal?  I thought I’d paid my dues!
 
Chorus

April 19, 2021: To Althea from Prison by Richard Lovelace in Harvard Classics, Vol. 41, pg. 355

 To Althea from Prison

When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fetter'd to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free --
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like confin-ed I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarg-ed winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage.
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above
Enjoy such liberty. 

April 18, 2021: Rivers of the Desert

               Rivers of the Desert

The rivers of the desert

Carve deep into the stone,

Stripping the banks like an outlaw

Who needs to be left alone.

 

A river in the desert

Stays hidden, and he's running fast;

Pioneering the future

while he delves down into the past.

 

I am a river.

I'm changing the land.

Not much to give

To the rock and the sand,

So for now, I take it away.

For now, that's the role I play.

One day,

I'll grow wide and provide

For a lush, green valley.

I do believe that's the plan.

I've really got no time to dally.

I can only do what I can!

 

I become a raging torrent

From occasional pelting rains,

And then I become a trickle,

Hardly able to sustain

The wildlife and the foliage

Who dwell in this narrow gorge,

Yet they keep on coming back

Because the dry desert heat is a scourge.

 

I am a river.

I'm changing the land.

Not much to give

To the rock and the sand,

So for now, I take it away.

For now, that's the role I play.

One day,

I'll grow wide and provide

For a lush, green valley.

I do believe that's the plan.

I've really got no time to dally.

I can only do what I can!