Born a dying the sights and
Sounds of our youth. They
Seem but the tell tale tats
Of another former age.  Yet
they are like the night of the
Falling stars or when the dark
Sound went phosphorescent
With every movement of its
Waters are ever remembered.
Penny candy dreams of old
Yesterdays, old even then like
The Memorial Day Parades
The rifle shots of the village
Green.  Left over they seem
When first seen never new
Almost gone, the very few.

May the Bell of Liberty Yet Ring
With its flaw still it tolls-Fear not
To fear the Lord as Solomon did
Saying though all else be a vanity.
I yet fear the Lord because my
Sin if it be that for as love can-
Not be checked it must be so
Like love I cannot decide it or
Discover its twin if there be one
That makes the other false so
Trembling I pray that all I love
Be true without righteousness
That I am without fault but as
One who knows there is One
Who can make my imperfection
Right.  if only for love' sake it
Does make whole all kindred.

Love does encompass error
One thinking he loves but
Loves not. The fault is very
Inward intimate to the per-
Son who's self searching
Discovers it not but still
The core of truth is one
And so brings to repent
The proud soul- the small
Shrouded light within and
The great light without do
Meet forever in the eternity
That is the combustion of the
Wrongful if unconscious pride
That separates man from man.
In perfect love  God's glory over-
Coming all lesser knowings that
Christ shall be to us the everyman

Does it cost too much?
Think about it: If there
Is no evil there are no villains;
No hateful despots; no greedy
Speculaters; no starving children;
No deadly diseases-to name only
A few of the legions of evils that
Plague, torment and grieve   us.
But if these were gone what of
Our charities,of our vain glorious
Good deeds.  Vanity all is Vanity
Sayeth the preacher.  We pray to
The Father to make it on earth as
Is in heaven but is it reasonable
For men to think that it be so-that
The only truth be manifestly so?
No it is not reasonable. And is not
Our reason our greatest treasure
Perhaps equal to heaven itself for
It promises to guide us to all we
Hope for-.Yet the key must be
Given up to the door and we
Parted from it if the gates of
Heaven are to be swung open
For we are like little children
Who know not what they do
For of such is the Kingdom.

Scripture tells me that there shall be
No remembrance of things past.Yet
I seem to remember perhaps that is
Why God gives the old the gift of
Senility that they may roam for
Yet a while where their  treasures
Are  unremembered still bright as
New Ay Take  up your cross  old
Sojourner for it brings you closer to
The end of that unbearable wait so
Soon over now to all of suffering the
End but one to the pure joy of rising
Death overcome in  forgetfulness.The
Soul washed clean is truth innocent
Its fountains are the eternal springs.

As it was  in the beginning is now...
The foolishness of God is better than
The wisdom of man...

turally imperiled

My arms hung limply at my side  until I sensed a heavy
Weight as  in my either hand denying me the right to raise
Them up.  Then it was that my will came to me and with
That other will against me I put my hands up.whether it was
In praise or surrender, one or both I do not know myself.

But it was by that odd gesture that my life was saved.


For Sue

Something that cannot be remembered
Writing for the universal other.  Everyman
Who knows my story is his own.  His story
Is my story.  Spring; Summer; Fall; Winter
When the glory is forgotten only the naked
Idea remains.  Bare branches reaching in to
The sky in dispair of its prayer being heard
Then a solemn quietness comes to the heart
Marking the passing-  Now it is Spring  for the
First time in all its glory the newness that could
Not be remembered but now is forever if it die.

As I remember it Carlos Castaneda once questioned
Don Juan- What is the final overcoming-then before
The shaman can reply Carlos guesses that it is death.
Don Juan tells him no it is old age that is the last thing
That must be overcome.  This reminds me of the story
Told by the war weathered veteran who was asked how
It was to be under fire and was he afraid of dying?  He
Answered that he was not afraid of the bullet that had
His name on it but did his best to duck every other.
To be continued...

It is always now.  It is now that
I write and it will be now that
You read this.    It will be now
Always.  Now whether I know
It or not.  It is now simultaneous
Pardon me Dr Eiinstein every-
Where at once.  The light from
A distant star that reaches us
A million years from now left
From its unknowable time that
Was now then. Coincident and
Everywhere and no one needs
To know it but One who knows
All. Ever new ever the same.  Now
Is Gods other name-I am that I am
Come to me and be with me Now

Let us not as holy men have said
Let  our dreams of another place
Be too small.  Let the future now
Be all.  How many bridges have I
Crossed?  How much water has
Passed under?  I speak of losses
Of the death of dear ones, friends
Lovers, Mother , Father, wife and
Children ; the joys of youth, of
Places that we have lived and left.
They were never all at once but are
All buried in  their separate crypts
Buried with our tears and our youth
So the years go by and still it is another
Now more diminished by the distance
By time traveled that has yet to bring
Us home  Can we not; must we
Not in great hope imagine Now
Again and take the quantum leap
Into that experience totally new
Imagine  the eternal commingling of
All our time in an unending eternity
An All alive and still unexpiring now
In that Kingdom where God has
Stored all our treasures and promised
They would there for us when we
Come home.  This future why not
Now.  Should our hearts not yearn
For this time to come not after death
But in this life - death now overcome
Are we not all time travelers and do
We not see we are at our door.  I see
My beloved and she comes out to
Greet me.  Oh blessed day and  hour.

Is it that some are too slow at
Learning wisdom or is it that
Others are too slow at learning
Patience?  Both fail at being
Godly-For God is both wise
And patient; and war is that
Grand Illusion that trumps
The hopes  of glory that is
Not to be as an apple tree
That bears no fruit nor has
It roots and is never real but
To make the gifts of God to
Be  as if all in vain and not
Known. Yet it never was so
Where love is we know It
Is  and know there is not
Another better-for He who
Is one and both lives forever
His children believing know
Two- that He is truth and life
One and both. Not death but
Victory.  We know of no end
To His Wonder and His Peace.

Invade Invade Oh Merciful God
Slay the warriors with charity.
From your heart wash them in
Salvation's waters of the grime
Cleanse them of every crime. Slay
Our fears that we live and die each
One unloved by God or man all
Unknown for whom we truly are
A stranger here, a babe afraid,
The child of God who has yet to
Take from us our disguise.  Reveal
Now  yourself son and brother man.
Let the lion lie down with the
Lamb.  Put aside all unbelief
It is His Command to us that
We Love one another as Our
Father has loved His lost son
As the shepherd who goes back
To save the lamb that strayed

I burn what is and is not
It is the mighty fuel of
Creation.  Thus the fool
Becomes wise; the ugly
Beautiful and evil turned
To Good.   You see the
Wood.  You see the fire.
You feel the warmth and
You see the ash.  You are
Puzzled .  This two shall
Pass.  I burn and burn
Like the Son that truth
And the Greater Truth is
A little child lead us still .

Much of the Truth which we disavow
About ourselves is what is best in us and
In the world.  The hater is the lover at
War with himself in the world of grand
Illusion that seems oh so real if only possibly
So. What can we know of this fierce man
Full of sound and fury executing pretend
Acts-Is he not surrounded by his troupe
Of other pretenders validating his cause?
It seems we have yet to hear God's word
Even His command to Love one Another
Though it has been spoken from eternity
To love one another- it seems a bridge too
Far;  A gift too great-Yet we are already
Unknowingly there separated by only
The knowing.  It is but a thought of mind
Nothing but a thought of mind that of the
Always and forever the everlasting truth.
Yet who of does not say Lord come quickly
Come quickly Lord for we are now ready.

On the verge of sleep and waking
An understanding came to me of
The novelty of a great evil   that I
Could write-I could write!  The joy
Shear Joy of it.  Nothing else was
There that I cared about-treasures
That I had lost, where I was in time
In space all these faded out.  Joy-
Joy Joy of all joys better than wealth
Better than Eros -pure health itself.
I knew it as I said it again and again
I can write   She will help me the
One I loved , my muse; and I will
win her.  Then nothing else will
Matter   Our love will be forever.

Ah the odor of the new mown hay
The good earth makes you want to
Dig down to the roots, get so close
That you can inhale it in its essence
But there is the mistake for the
Source is not deeper, it is right
Before you where the soil meets
The bright air, where the grass
Grows and the wild meadow
Flowers lately bloomed.   There
Is where the ineffable sweetness
Is and lingers yet.  It is that edge
Without height or depth, it is the
Source before the wild there at the
Very frontier of the out law country
And the peaceable homestead is the
Scent you seek to know more of
To understand the unfathomable
Sweetness of this love for another
Sleep and be with me my desire.

It is an odd thing about misunderstandings odd I say
Because they never break even, almost never get re-
Solved can only be forgot and that's hard to do.
Think on it and what's to do;  take the blame 'n you
Might be wrong and be coldly stung again 'n if your
Not to blame can saying your sorry ever help.  No
It takes grace and about that what can be known and
Not be smart  alecky.  No, misunderstanding is a hard
Nut to crack and hard to forget and never remember
Again and if you do remember well there is no sense
In that now than there was before.  So I may be wrong
but I'll say it anyway: Forget me not my old friends ...


With inspiration from Robert Frost and Edith Wharton

What ever you want
You will want more
Or want less unless
Peace speaks enough
Peace next to the last?

Say what you will-vow to the almighty
Your faithfulness.  Will you keep to the
Narrow path when the whirlwind spins
You into the air-when the roiling seas
Turn you about like the merest flotsam
To be caste upon the strand fighting to
Hold the shore against swiftly retreating
Sands.  Pray do not say what you will
Do when passion comes upon you.  Did
David not know when he took his servant's
Wife and sent him away to die so he could
Have her.  Indeed it is a greater lesson than
Morality that is being told here.  It is belief
That you will always act righteously; that
Nothing can over rule your good intentions-
Make you fall into the stinking gutter where
The unworthy lie in their deserved place.
Greater indeed than the morality of plaster
Saints indeed is the lesson that there is  none
Good.  No not one.  Not one who may not
Be wracked by passion and so became
Anathema to all.  Indeed I am such a one
And wait still upon the lord for my salvation.

As if there were folds in a seam
A curtain drawn out to its fullest
Extent so does life present itself
That afterwards there are no
Corroboration or explanations
For what one clearly remembers
Clearly of things so unlikely as
To be impossible.  Yet they have
Happened; and I believe not to
Me alone.  Perhaps you too are
Mumm because it seems so un-
Seemly to speak about a silence.
That you plainly heard calling

Despite all good intentions to die
A shameful ignominious death;
Abandoned by your good friends.
Mocked and jeered at by the crowd,
Your supplications  to the Father met
With silence then without hope go
To your death of pain unimaginable
Then to wake up realizing that it was
All a very long and terrible dream that
You could even not be sure of anything
Of who or where where you are but
Only know that now you are alive
Now alive and will ever be so.  But
I may be asked what of old age? I  
Answer it is the same story and it
Will end the same way we must be
Born again perchance to dream of  
All of Love's gifts  again just as you
Remembered them so good and true.
How good shall it be then my friends?

Her smile constant and genuine
As the sun.  Declared delight in
Being here just in being here.  
To be seen for this moment by
This most appreciative audience
Who seeing how lovely she is
Look happily on their child in
Fascination that such joyfulness
Should exist so unaware and so
Unaffected by the weary, sordid
World for our sake to be here.

One must be on the outside to
See the whole.  Seeing there
The beauty that is compassion
That is love.  Who is this viewer
Sublime?  Die go to Him.  See
Then benevolently even your
Still small self that is struggling
To be right with the unknown.
Beauty truth they oft seem other.
One is all worthiness but if it not
Embodied in being be it is less
Than vagary.  But to be is to be
Is to be within but how to feel
The right is to know the truth
From the outside that it is good
That I am true and beautiful
That is the love in the eye of the
Beholder.  It is eye of heaven
That sees but to know you are
Loved is to see and be seen.  
How then can the poet be so
Blind?  I know not my tears.
Look down upon me Jesus
Let me feel your love again.
Know that you see me that
Truth is beauty is love and
That is all there is to know.
The eye of God is upon us

If I could impart to you
The beauty of the glowing
Grass You would not ask
Me the meaning of the
Universe nor need to.


For Stanley

The instant you know God
You will realize that all-
Every one else even the
Creatures know as if they
Were only waiting for you.
The last shall be first and
The first shall be last.  The
Shepherd is behind the
Sheep.  Consider this: to
Be in the kingdom is to
Be with all that you love
Even all that you have
Been charged to love.
The kingdom will always
Be completed with you
In our sleep we dream
Of coming home, to
Wake here where we
Have lost no sheep.
I have known this place
But still I ask why does
The eternal moment not
Last but ecstasy seems to
Be born dying, now almost
Forgot like the night of the
Shooting stars in Canaan
We knew not that dying
We were being born again.



For Barbara

It is that something extra that preserves the
Ordinary-that loses nothing of the common
Place but adds adds to it the magic that is
Inherent in it.  That it is wonderful, that it
Is the most great wonderfulness there is
Because it is a greatness that gives itself
Not to a small select few but to every
Experience that we have.  It is an over-
Flowing fountain spilling glory on all in
The recognition of God in all and all in
God.  Such was the coming of the Holy
Spirit to the disciples-The Gift of knowing
The all encompassing Truth that filled
Them with such glory it seemed that they
Were possessed by a drunken madness.

The perfect Is where all
See them selves as they
Truly are.  Yet it is but
A reflection.  The mirror
Is the shiny allegory in
Which all can see them
Selves but if no one asks
Who is there?  The mirror
Says nothing back. If all
Men can see Christ in  their
Life did he ever really live?
Look in the Perfect Mirror
Tell me who is there?

There is hidden charity.
Where?
Where you think there is none.
Why it is here you mean?

Just so.
But if it is so Why is there so
Much sorrow?
Blessed are the poor...
Ha how can that be; if it
Were so all would wish to be
Poor.
It is great mystery is it not?
He said: My burden is lite
Unpack your goods it is
Almost Summer.  Let us
Rest beneath that tree.
See it labors not, has not
Nor wants more yet how
Great it grows.

We do not know what we do
Not know even that that we
Do not know it.  For might
Not some lost language
Of our infancy that we
Were born knowing but
Got covered up by disuse
Was forgot-Say a fluency
Of tonality akin to speaking
In tongues- a language of
Great power and subtlety
If we could hear it spoken
Telling us to Wake Up
We would then remember
And be transformed-cured
Of all diverse complaint
Healed of all injury.  I
Do but say such is my
Intuition that it is so and
Maybe so for all I know
A mysterious sleeping
Truth all but forgotten
May be revealed again
In its first pure light.
The beginning of All
Ever beginning, a glory
So new that it cannot be
Remembered but yet is
Always known to love.

I can see my father's land
Where he grew up.  It is a
Mythical place and was also
To him though more richly
Imagined but in essence
The same.  It is enchanted
Yet knowable, distant yet
Clearly seen as I see him
His eyes looking out over
The water-a life guard
Seemingly focused on the
Far horizon but also with
The heart searching the
Past yet aware of his duty
A sentinel like the statue
Of the Minute man that
Stands guard at the place
Where the  roads diverge
Just before the beach. What
Is this place to me-a bridge
Between his past and mine
It is the idyll of youth so
Vivid, too glorious in its
Exaggeration and rowdy
Crime- of things as they are
And can never be undone
That in the end they cannot
Be repented of because they
Are gone to the golden place
In the sky where the children
Of Summers past still play
Beyond this place.  Like all
Children they know not what
They do and then it is gone.

For Ray all the Old CBVLG and their families,
For Mr Dayton Deacon of the Beach; and
Wild Foster who started it off and with a
Remembrance of how we loved Tag Day
11/17/2016

I am climbing
The tallest mountain
Because I want to be there-
Where there is no mountain
I am climbing still to where
There is no mountain only
Air.  Then soaring higher
Because still I am not there
Where I can see the green
Earth as it is in heaven
Then if I fall say I fell in
Love.  I am climbing still
Climbing in the air.

My friend was depressed and
He had good reason to be
I came at him with some very
Pretty arguments that things
Were not quite so bad as that.
He listened quietly as he drank
When I finished he said that is
All very fine but it is just after
All only a thought of mind.
And I knew it was so.  What
After all do all our fine words
Amount to?  Can they change
Great injuries and make them
Seem gracious and beautiful.
Can we live in a perfect world
Where we are not, may not
Really be.  I thought of those
Friends of Job who gave him
Good counsel but spoke not
Understanding that it was
Not wisdom that was wanted
But the light of knowing what
They did not know- Joy actual.
wiithout which wisdom remains
In darkness; and is meaningless.
There is a new paradigm, that
Quantum leap into another
Experience that is not known
Before it is known.  In that place
We must stand Like Job knowing
That He did not Know pleading
Ignorance before the whirlwind
God made manifest is known.
Till then it is all only a thought
Of mind.  My friend you were
Right and I a fool unknowing

For my friend Charlie.

a place of refuge that you have
because you suffered until you
like water made a cave to be in
until you at last found release
then learned that all your
treasures were your pain
taken up to the Heaven
where things that are no
longer remain in that blessed
place unchanged and you
can come upon them again
When your God calls you
Home

In another room next to mine
Tap tap tap tap tap tap and
Back again in a pitter patter
Rhythm on the floor I can hear
Her life  She is bright vibrant
Emphatic all alone-I know her
Spirit.  She is what has right
To be in my blood.  She is in
The room next to mine.  Soon
I will go to her.  She will teach
Me there once again what it is
To be a child to play again in
The  ellyisian fields of forever.


For Lysa remembering Santa Cruz

Just before the sun fires of the
Day are turned low--when the
Bright Summer sky is still pure
Blue the Little League Park is
Full of children and older folks.
The children play games of no
Names that are as old as the hills
It is liked a revival meeting with
No tent or preacher only people
Come as  to some long ago Druid
Holy place.  I say to myself
Come my heart to me on this
Bench of former times; let my
Soul recline and be at peace
All is well is it not though I do
Not belong and am only a
****** incognito and alone.
Just beyond the field is the
River and across the river the
Church my parents married in.
There also the old high school
their alma mater in that quaint






Old time that was just before
The war.  I had stopped here
For reasons I cannot explain
I had roots of conception in
This town but not by birth
All was to me as Willoughby
My home in a wishful dream.

The cliche is like a ringing bell that must
Be dying before it can be heard again
Ever ringing unto itself so gaining by
Its echo newness by being forgotten.

The roar of love though it have no
Audible part commandeth hearing
Unto acceptance of its precepts that
No raging despot can ever acchieve.
For to it comes the willingness of the
Heart, the mind and soul-not merely
The outward forms of coersed acts,
But the heart made glad, the mind
Made clear and the soul knowing
Peace; eclipsing dark fear with a -
Radiance brought to life by love.
Listen well and you will hear His
Voice-In the heavens and on earth.
When on the road to Damascus...

That I sleep and do not know
Where I go but there am beguiled
Hoping for ever fairer dreams   go
Beyond all waking constraints to
Another place that I do not de-
Liberate- where some terror may
Wait where I may do wrong or
Have wrong done to me-it is the
Price of dreams that is godlike
To let be...forsaking if need be
The rational.  But awake is it
Any different  do not desires
****** freshly minted by
Opportunity to lure us on
Perhaps suffer in consequence to
Great woe yet who can
Say this I will do not again?
Plausible is every dream and
Knows not right or wrong so
Is man's fate to go along by-
Passing the question of evil till
The deed is done.  It is this
That is innate that leads us to
Know that such a one is not
Wise but may fall prey to
Judgements just and unjust
Yet still in the savage grip we
Seek the One that is above
Again and yet again like
The wayward child that I am
Perfection ever eludes me but
Yet in my weeping still I claim
The protection of His Love.
The crying child knows ever
To His Father he may plead
For mercy.  Just or Unjust as
His cause may be it is not re-
Levant to to one who seeks
Remedy.  For Love is greater
Than bookish law to the Giver
And He who  knows His child''s
Thirst to drink of the everlasting
Waters- will not deny him drink.
The gift of love is life in full.He
Forget our sin. Who remember
Him are His beloved children.

Did I eat thereof and is that the cause of my unhappiness?
If I did I have no knowledge of having done so and indeed
Cannot claim the gain of any knowledge that I might have
Thereby gained.  Now we know ignorance is no excuse
Before the Law but the law does but by my ignorance
Declare my innocence.  It is true that God does not vainly
Command.  It is my vanity that I may think otherwise and
Indeed in my imagination deem myself unworthy and in
My enlightened mind suffers all the consequence of my
Disobedience thus in my shadow I do not see my bliss.
Still I am not the cause of my deficiency; would have it
Depart if I knew how though it be only my imagining that
Make it so. a pain of illusion born that I must die in pain
Alone and without a friend--such a illusion let it die in a
Dreamless sleep and I awake  in youthful wonder in the
Garden of the Lord as innocent as I must truly be.  Deep
Inside me I hear his voice: Love conquers all.  It is the
Voice I longed to hear more real than fear-it fills the void
Wherein I imagined myself evil justly dying without love.
In the morning I will awake and know that what He says
Is true: I make all things new; it is glory not remembered.

At Last
Before death
Love life
Your life
With a love
Absolute-
The one who
Loves is greater
Than death.  You
Are that one.  Born
In mourning which
Is the prayer that
God always hears
And always answers

If you would know greater love
Throw in great guilt to the fire
For it is in excess of passion that
Which is unlawful that it burns-
Great love is always excessive and
So must in excess be paid back
As has been said who will be the
More grateful he who has been
Forgiven much or he who has a
Little on his conscience?  So the
Rich man becomes the beggar;
The healthy become sick ;youth
Becomes age and life becomes
Death.  All for Love.   To whom
Much is given much will be
Expected but is this the end
Did Job sso end his life?  No
He was restored given back
All in greater abundance than
Before.  Love gives and love
Takes and love gives again
Even from death to life more
Abundant than before.  Gives
All back in excess forever more.
Sinner-lover passionate as life.
You are and always will be.

All are under God; the one's of our
Faith but no less so those that are
Not.  Does God play favorites.  He
Has told us He does not. Those that
Believe in His universal love shall be
Confirmed.  Those that do not shall
Be surprised but not disappointed
But shall believe with greater joy as
The prodigal  son tells us.Such it is
To be reborn like St. Paul.  If this be
Our faith should we not ever seek to
Be benevolent never to be undone by
A discordant disbelief even to the
Misguided hatred of others.  There
Are many nation- all are made up of
People under God.  In this respect the
People are equal and all have the same
Inalienable rights and every stranger
Is deserving of our benevolence.  If a
Nation practice this it will be a light
To all people.  But this cannot be pro-
Claimed while rejecting the stranger
Without hypocrisy.  The proud call on
Cruelty and say they are godly but we
Know it is not so.  If we are fearful-
Let us humbly admit it that we may
Be given the strength and courage
To Love.  To those who do not ask
It will not be given and even if given
Will not be taken.  It is well said that:
Pride goeth before a fall.  As Soloman
Has said there is this after all:  Fear the
Lord and Keep His commandments.
From Christ we know this means to
Love one another-We may not yet
Know how nor yet have the strength
Then let us pray for it.  Lord not my
Will but thy will be done.  Amen .

My soul what you will is lost
In obscurity.  If the means
That are best belong to the
Strong you know I am weak
But not yet can I be still. I
Am ignorant yet I speak:
Because I cannot escape nor
Embrace this unknowing.
I would know better but  I
Am not patient.  I stumble
In the dark. I curse;  I can
Not find the candle quickly
Enough.  But there is this:
In the darkness I know there
Is one greater than I am who
Knows what I need that in
His acceptance of me is my
Salvation-that the present
Darkness and distress shall
Not prevent His making of
It all the promised grace of
Love-making right my soul.

The consciousness of self
Of one's self makes all other
Celebrity pale-this individual
Self means to each one of us
More than the sum all worldly
History combined:  My pain,
Delight and my despair they
Are what I know most vividly
Even in sympathy and empathy
It is myself that I feel all else is
Abstract , a kind of heresy of
Mutually agreed upon gossip
As every infant know I am the
Star and I Live Forever.  This is
Universal wisdom-Have we let
Go of this Truth given another
Story for"politeness" sake. Not
Our own.  There is too much to the
Contrary-the evidence all says I am
I grant that it says the same thing
To you.  The point is that the ikonic
Figure Christ must be representative
Of thatI am reality and that is where
His Truth exists-that is that our lives
Equate to His.  As in life so in death.
Yet it is a metaphor-the identification
Is not exact but if it means anything
You can surely see yourself in the glass
And Know this story is about you-you
Who cannot die, for if you rise again
Then surely this world is a dream and
Is that not what you always thought
But in this dream you were crucified
Did not your disciples laugh and say
We told you so a lie you were the last
To know it is enough to make you cry
Like a baby and so you shut them up.
Yes we are all one one with the Father
But Forget me not I am His only son.
And so  He left as we all must to dream
Again a better dream as we soon shall
In that place where death is no more
Nor ever was-In My Father's House
There are many mansions.  Believe...

Some where our love must be
Beginning.  If one should be-
lieve the beginning is lost yet
Forever threatened life is a de-
fensive seeking.  For what is
Lost cannot be found again re-
membering is a contradiction.
It is in real forgetting that love"s
Beginning is.  Is love worth less
Because it forgets; is forgotten
No  it is rather now to die for.
As Soloman said:  There shall
Be no remembrance of things
Past.  All is made new my love.

It is an easy enough thing
To prove: a man is not here
When he is gone: Whither
The wind.  The same may
Well be said of all points
Along his passage.  So brief
Now and here is its kin and
Equally likely to wander.  
Tight or loose tautologies do
Not stay the ship our departure
But there is more for we would
Linger yet captain still of every
Crossing seeking what will be
No matter what the whether-
It too shall pass as a certainty
Between now and then i am.





While Reading Conrad's "The
Mirror of the Sea"

Love some one as you once
Loved me.  You cannot- of
Your first love I speak but if
You do you will be young
Again and I too shall also be as
One transformed-all in the blink
Of an eye.  Come my love
Do not mock me as I am now
Re make me and this old world
Say you love me as I love you
If far we have traveled from then
Has as not pain the measure been
Of moments  that are half dark as
Planet turns  and turns till it must
Return.  So long long time goes by
But still youth's memory holds us
Fast in a darkness but half lit by the
Hope of joy- till the circle closes and
When its done it will seem a dream
That was never meant to be- gone
Without remembrance gone in the
Twinkling  of an eye when you say
I love you as you love me and love
Unchanged makes all things new.

For Liss My Beloved

If we should be what we are not
If we should do what we should
Not?  Well it will not go very well
With you and your children to be.
Hell my little ones is  a perpetual
Self-doubt that one may have under-
Estimated one's guilt combined in
A pride that one has been clever
Enough to think so and can re-
Calculate accurately enough to
To repent adequately and so gain
The righteousness of the good life
Here and salvation in the hereafter.
If only in the wonderful relief that
Comes to one who relenting from
Banging his head against the earth
It does seem so-but wait a moment
But a fraction relieved the sinner
Returns to the grind anxious that
He Has backslid.  Children I tell
You none of this real and will never
Happen but in your imagination-
You are good my obedient children
Trust me I would not tell you  if it
Were not so and about such things
I do not change my mind.  Your
Imagination may still play tricks on
You but this shall be forgotten  in
Eternity  Now go and play in the
Garden where my love is ever with
You and nothing can ever hurt you.

History is ever a relocation of all we
Knew before- know now then felt we
Must demonstrate-that we do know
What we always knew-Of such are
Civilizations.  But there is a riddle in
That knowing itself that it contains a
Paradox-that embraces its antithesis
That we do not know; cannot know
Ever.  For we are the nothing of the
Universe-less than dust that is every
Where.  Tell me this ye wise men does
The horizon fall below or rise above the
Sphere of your line of sight.  There must
Be another place as my friend the dream
Librarian said to me in honest puzzlement


For Eddy-you were right
...