donald-gardner-stacy - Hello Poetry

Let my reason find its burrow And sleep there ‘til tomorrow. For too much thought has made me pale— My wife did phone to weep and wail. I admit to pleasant sins I shall not relinquish, Duty, despair once so difficult to distinguish. Now at night I sleep, a smile across my lips, Knowing my ear is well beyond her churlish quips. Married life can be a nasty business When to spouses, locked in bitterness, Endeavor with all their druthers First to cheapen, then liquidate the other. Now in this second month of my emancipation I grow deaf toward such desperation; Besides, the laugh and wit of my present mistress Has tendered me free of that frightful mittimus.

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Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC

donald-gardner-stacy

A Warrant Eluded

Let my reason find its burrow And sleep there ‘til tomorrow. For too much thought has made me pale— My wife did phone to weep and wail. I admit to pleasant sins I shall not relinquish, Duty, despair once so difficult to distinguish. Now at night I sleep, a smile across my lips, Knowing my ear is well beyond her churlish quips. Married life can be a nasty business When to spouses, locked in bitterness, Endeavor with all their druthers First to cheapen, then liquidate the other. Now in this second month of my emancipation I grow deaf toward such desperation; Besides, the laugh and wit of my present mistress Has tendered me free of that frightful mittimus.

16

Cement formed volume, Honed to the shape of a missile, Spun like stars and stripes of red In redundant revolution. Then Orbit composed another turn Through fluid streams of time, Those dry and slowly-sorted sheaves, Darkening pleasures for the Lion. A dusty labor to be sure Of moths of brittle fame; Thus, the rocky mane eroded And the beast no longer gained. He went aloft as condors do, Borne from flickering fire 'Neath the black Atlantian Sea, Where none should have dared conceive.

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Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC

donald-gardner-stacy

Sorcery in Bohemia

Cement formed volume, Honed to the shape of a missile, Spun like stars and stripes of red In redundant revolution. Then Orbit composed another turn Through fluid streams of time, Those dry and slowly-sorted sheaves, Darkening pleasures for the Lion. A dusty labor to be sure Of moths of brittle fame; Thus, the rocky mane eroded And the beast no longer gained. He went aloft as condors do, Borne from flickering fire 'Neath the black Atlantian Sea, Where none should have dared conceive.

16

I crave quiet more than palest sinners Do their peace of absolution and lift Toward tolerable circumstance wherein Green fields flowing beneath warm winds Play a simple, serene music. I pray in the gray throng’s heralding din This drowning siren die away and leave Faint thhought to famish, feign, or forge beyond Splitting bone and aching sight in face of Plain, revolving day’s hissing tread of night. I lay subtle or naked by degree. The myth of common speech harbors the vague Extremity, solidly-stateed airs, Whims of purchase, the purchases of whim, All paid with the natio0n’s prismatic mirror. Then say this man, a spawn of time, should feel Abrupt and free? Even to imagine Will-tuned guitars flourishing and dancers Sweeping across a mosaic of red tile Inlaid upon the wrecked and shattered ground?

0

Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC

donald-gardner-stacy

The Silent Narrows

I crave quiet more than palest sinners Do their peace of absolution and lift Toward tolerable circumstance wherein Green fields flowing beneath warm winds Play a simple, serene music. I pray in the gray throng’s heralding din This drowning siren die away and leave Faint thhought to famish, feign, or forge beyond Splitting bone and aching sight in face of Plain, revolving day’s hissing tread of night. I lay subtle or naked by degree. The myth of common speech harbors the vague Extremity, solidly-stateed airs, Whims of purchase, the purchases of whim, All paid with the natio0n’s prismatic mirror. Then say this man, a spawn of time, should feel Abrupt and free? Even to imagine Will-tuned guitars flourishing and dancers Sweeping across a mosaic of red tile Inlaid upon the wrecked and shattered ground?

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