1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

Dear artists,
You clear the human mind's mist,
For complete clarity, For daily struggles you bring about bliss,
While the darkness of human's souls abound, you bestow a gentle kiss,

What are we? Just fools?
Or simple slaves to society, simple tools?
Used, then discarded?  Or, when finished with, thrown aside?
Yet, we of the arts, do not mind, even if we are in this bind.

Certain is that we are mankind's aid,
Serving our fellow man in countless ways through producing a relaxing shade,
With no secret vice, no secret blade,
Always with a supporting hand, destined to never fade.

Sincerely,
A fellow artist and admirer.

I'm not beautiful
Or well-bred
I watched my brothers die
I thought I was dead

Saved by a stranger
Who showed that they cared
Wrapped in a blanket
Hungry and scared

Now I just wait
Unsure of my fate
Please come and get me
Its never too late

Gaze upon nature,
How it is so mature,
A ever-changing fixture,
And an enticing lure.

Viewing its splendor,
Its eternal glamor,
Its undying resilience,
And its constant resistance,
We will never conquer Mother Earth.

Beaten down, yet never giving in,
Always resisting to all, always sharing its treasures regardless,
Nature is the beautiful pure maiden,
Ruined countless times by man's intrusions, yet forevermore retaining her piety.

Two moons in our fables and one on her shoulder
Zero gravitation when my eyes behold her
Painstakingly nurtured to escape from within
The face of the moon was drawn on her skin

The real one is white and glimmers with pride
Her moon drawn green will now and then hide
But after I laid eyes on her cratered skin
The whole of her moon had changed me within

Whate’er is Born of Mortal Birth,
Must be consumed with the Earth
To rise from Generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?

The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride
Blowd in the morn; in evening died
But Mercy changed Death into Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.

Thou Mother of my Mortal part.
With cruelty didst mould my Heart.
And with false self-deceiving tears.
Didst blind my Nostrils Eyes & Ears

Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay
And me to Mortal Life betray:
The Death of Jesus set me free.
Then what have I to do with thee?

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav’d, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head’s bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair

And so he was quiet. & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers ****, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock’d up in coffins of black,

And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open’d the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,
He’d have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho’ the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath.
And smil’d among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death.
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And because I am happy. & dance & sing.
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,
Who made up a heaven of our misery.

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white.
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav’d of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree
And sitting down before the heat of day.
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east began to say.

Look on the rising sun: there God does live
And gives his light, and gives his heat away.
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning joy in the noon day.

And we are put on earth a little space..
That we may learn to bear the beams of love.
And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

For when our souls have learn’d the heat to bear
The cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice.
Saying: come out from the grove my love & care.
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.

Thus did my mother say and kissed me.
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:

Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear,
To lean in joy upon our fathers knee.
And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him and he will then love me.

Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be.
If all were as happy as we;

And mutual fear brings peace;
Till the selfish loves increase.
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears.
And waters the ground with tears:
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Caterpillar and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit.
Ruddy and sweet to eat:
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea,
Sought thro’ Nature to find this Tree
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain