Oh! in truth it is mere folly
To wake the sleepy dead
From a slumber that wholly
Rests each orbit 'neath its lid.

Yet, Love knows no boundary,
Love knows  not when to quit.
I'll come to you, My Bride-To-Be,
In the Summer, upon the wind.

Lo! Michelle! Lo! you cry so well;
Tears of sorrow in your eyes do dwell;
Look not so upon the lofty heaven,
At nary a daybreak, at no dusky even;
After the call of the vicious wolf wailing,
When viscous dark falls, a full veiling,
Glimpse athwart the dark old forge,
And see me forge my darkled sword,
This sword shall free thee **FOREVERMORE!

Sympathetic comfort, peace -a harmony of perishable Liberty! Such dying love, was never my leitmotif; and I will not foolishly go about haunting the town -seeking from thee, that deplorable Pity, of which you deem me • as tho renowned • fond of once -as unsightly Greed is to debts! as heavy-laden gluttons add another pound and ounce • on the go • are to Gluttony!


And oh! Ye fiendish dunce • I am here now, (how soon she forgets.)  And I stand above -above the hunts. So many once fetched, lest yet I deem no more necessity. But rather I mourn, mourn now • an Ode to Death, (owed to Death.)  And also I grieve the loss by severed head, my mighty steed -and I wept. Oh! how I wept.

And I lay flowers upon this, his departed spirit.  Of which I had foreseen to naught offend thee • the dead • who'd grin & bear it: but due for his long service to me, I offer him • the weary •  solace from your offence. I shudder to mention it • even now •  I swear it! And do send you a suffered lyric -to confound your pretty head.

A pain in my heart, and a weary emptiness aches
My sensibilities, as tho the cherished sentiments
Of my all my life did start upon an instant quakes.
A moment sallies further into the past as sediments
Settle to the bottom of Lethe, the river which takes
Mnemosyne to me -when in my dream-like states.

To wither, vanish, fade and diminish,
Dissolving in a glass half - empty
That forgets, whilst growing
In Time's passage and e'er
Shrinking with age, is
To wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

Darling, I heed thy cries as you feel
Blemished, and are becoming nearer
To Death than to me, 'cause I cannot
See the petals for the rose ye be,
Or at times sense what scents
Linger in your train, as you
Do wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

However, in perfumed decay, I watched
You sustain your image, and persevere
In a glass that I changed out and made
Half-full, being so careful when putting
You back in it, but still you most certainly
Do wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

The day has come and you have gone
Away, and those familiar feel an agony,
As we display you finally in a heavenly
Vase, for our good-intentioned and
Religious ceremony: but now I will
No longer see you
To wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

You know who you are.

Take your time,
Read the book.

The cover sure
Is very lovely,

But know...
The beginning,
Know the
Premise...

Get to know
The Authors.

Don't skip
To the
******.

A great
Book
Is so
Much
More
Than
That.

I stand upon a scraper of the skies;
Try to overcome a fear of heights...
Born within me; irrational perhaps:
But I wasn't born with wings or *****,
So I don't think it so irrational a fear.
Yet, I stand at the edge way up here
To overcome the fear in question...

I fell. I always said I'd make a
                            good

                  **IMPRESSI­ON

I walk into class.
I am alone there...
Because I like
To get to places
Early. I wait for
Group to begin.
People start
Rolling in.

We all all say
Hi and Hello
How are you
And you and
You? All is
Well we each
Say out of
Politeness:
But really,
None of
Us are.
That is why
We attend
Group.

Each of us
Are damaged
In some way,
Or just have
A void in our
Lives. We each
Have a diagnosis,
Or two, or so.

So class begins
Late every day
Like clockwork,
And then it
Takes the entire
Session for one
Person to say
A few things
About themselves,
And we have
A few moments
To make comments
If the counselor
Allows any
Opinion but
Her own be
Expressed.

And then it's
Break time
And we all
Smoke our
Chosen
Poison because
It is scientifically
Proven that most
People with say,
Schizophrenia
Or Schizoaffective
Disorder or Bipolar
Disorder, (any type,)
Are addicted to nicotine
Because our nicotinic
Receptors are out of
Whack.

Then it's back to class,
Which starts late again
And another person
Gets a moment to share
Their uncertainty about
Their lives. And I have
To sit there with the
Answer in my head,
Because I am not
Allowed to speak
Anymore. I was
Told one too many
Times by the
Class that I
Make too
Much sense
To be a group
Member, and
Should teach
The class.

The counselors
Always hate
That sort of
Thing. They really
Hate it when you
Psychoanalyze
Them. Group
Is helpful, despite
It's many short-
Comings. Well,
I guess I better
Continue going,
Because I don't
Want to miss
Out on Jack's
Repeated *******'
About how Jill
Won't listen,
Or how Humpty
Can't lose weight
Despite a balanced
Diet. You know the
Type... A Diet Coke
In one hand, and a
Snickers bar in the
Other. We are all        
     UnBaLaNcE
                           d.

Ripen into my lover, O Dear!
And seek the primrose path,
One placed in a field so near,
Mountains covered with grass.

Do not let go the will you need
To push your petals wide ope,
Break the chains and be freed,
Not rest within the binding coat.

I will tend to you at morning,
I will tend to you at eventide,
Just promise me you're​ turning
Into the love I need deep inside.

Had we but experience, honor, and time; this diffidence Dear is no crime. We could rest and ponder which way to stroll and waste our everlasting day. Thou by the mountains sides old, should gemstones find in fortunes told. I by a tide of slumber did complain. I loved you long before the flood, the falling rain; and you still refuse until the spreading of the news.

My rose heart shouldst grow larger than empires, and you know a millenium should go to praise your fires, and in thine eyes do gaze, and stoke. Three centuries to admire your rising chest, but eternity to the rest; an eon at last to each part, and the final age to cast your heart. For Darling you've earned this state, and I love not spurned at a lower rate.

Where the hushed
august moment
marries night to
day, a frightening
thing did take place;
thru this house's empty
space, skimmed a most
morose ghost,
and gazed in
upon your face!

In a faraway place, his grave
Resides on a hill by the wave;
Inland of the sea he lies alone,
Seeking sun. His name in stone,
Carved deep to resist age & decay.
The years pass so quickly away,
So his grave is long forgotten now,
The visitors all have passed & how;
And the birds have become so rare
In their passing steps by him there.

To all love-struck verse, echo well.
No troubadour could mimic so well
The far-flung hopes our lines so tell.
To all love-struck verse, echo well.

Bless the kind muse, bless the bard.
Our goal, our aim, to draw
The heart to other hearts
That do play the part.
Bless the kind muse, bless the bard.

Love will follow Love, if it be true.
Lend not Love to repossess, be true  
To your word, or the definition review.
Love will follow Love,
And if this be true

Then all love-struck verse
Will echo well with you.

I am your admirer from afar,
For you are a shooting star.

I yearn for you, a distant fire
-Forever fore and aft you are.

To Reality, bring me back!
In consequence of the fact

Loving you is in fact, in effect,
My only cause, of  this affect.

Noone really understood why (Duba ya)
Heard from the upset waitress...Geesh!
Until his advisor told him quietly,  Uh,
Mr. President, it's pronounced Quiche.

A woman asked me today which brand of underwear I wear. I told her Members Only.

I was told by A"shrink"LAST month that I had Hypermania because I talk faster than the average Joe or Jane. I said, you know, some people read faster than average too. People speak at a speed they are comfortable with. If they don't want to make mistakes during speaking, they tend to speak at the speed they read at or maybe a bit slower. I on the other hand happen to speak fluent gibberish, because I am a virtual speed-reader of *******, so I have a go at it comfortably. Just joking, I don't read *******. I will admit I should slow down when doing a Poetry Reading though, because you shouldn't rush through such. It's kind of like hauling *** on a motorcycle on the scenic route while on a weekend cruise to relax. Anyway, to top off this he claimed another qualifier for my Hypermania was that in my writing to him I was in such a hurry that I "accidentally" wrote abstruse when I obviously wanted to write abstract. I said, "Nooo, I meant to write abstruse." It is a word. It just so happens that one of the definitions of abstract is abstruse -ha ha. But he didn't know that until I told him. Abstruse- Difficult to understand. It's a word, Doc. Ha ha, WordDoc.

You told me you thought I had an extensive vocabulary in the first 5 minutes of meeting with me, so why would you assume it more likely that I ******* up so grossly on a word, than consider the possibility of a word existing without having crossed your eyes or ears? Lol You got a picture in your head of his eyes crossed, didn't you? Me too. ;)

But yeah, I was  "hypomanic" during the observation. Shhh... Even a broken clock is right twice daily.

The gloom in her tender garden
Of memories stains me just as well.

Go to Amazon and type in Jamie Cantore. My book A Bit Of My Poetry is available in paperback and a Kindle edition. The Journal Of Graham Keats is currently unavailable, but I will re-publish it with revisions and additions soon -paperback only.  It's a short cautionary tale. Dristig Trekk, my Minor Epic Poem, is available in paperback and a Kindle edition. Please share. Thank you!

I know not where you bestow;
Which ghost has passed the row
Of roses in your charms & deeds?
Each posy-as in our Winter-sleeps.

I know not where your atoms stray;
In bright whits of a Summer's day?
Yet in true piety, Heaven made rare,
Every strand of your lovesome hair.

Where do the stars sit, if not found
In those spheres of blue all round?
I do not pretend to know she's there.
She's somehere, but I know not where.

So I am poor, but withhold the only key
To allow thee this, my dear safe treasure.
The rich will not a moment closely study,
For dull is the point of frequent  pleasure.
Therefore are treats so posh yet so thin
Since rarely coming in  ages they bound,
Like valuables sum men give on occasion;
Or gaudy gems placed just so in a crown.
So  the moment arrives to peek my chest
Or peep this, my only treasure assessed,
Thru a lil locked spyhole it's 2b revealed.
Make a blessèd instant instantly blessed
-None outside to unfold the pride sealed.
Adored are you whose merit gives scope;-
If had a Victory; if in Poverty, (stay broke.)

So I am poor, but withhold the only key
To allow access such dear safe treasure,
The rich will not a moment closely study,
For dull is the point of frequent pleasure.
Therefore are treats so sober and so thin,
Since rarely coming in the ages they own,
Like valuables rich men give on occasion,
Or gaudy gems placed just so in a crown.
So now the time arrives to peek my chest;
Peep my treasure by a spyhole revealed,
Making a blessèd instant instantly blessed
Soon unfolding the noted pride sealed.
Adored are you whose merit gives a scope,
If had, a Victory; if in Poverty, be broke.

Glory unknown, by cell hidden -revealed
Too from sightless vision opened; sealed
Within; outside his/hers abundance/dearth.
Now then still moving released, captured
Then, now free. Indentured servant served
Better worse then -than- now best worst.
That this selfsame opposite cursed blessed
Blessing; cursing all; nothing confessed;
Denied us them long; short smooth course
Right left whole divided. Letdown supports
Her hem, this that cloaked unveiled attempts,

Succeeds by far, impressive disappointments.

As in the verses of Isaiah 6,
to me came a fiery serpent bearing bliss.
One to us known to be
in the highest order of the holy angels;


and she possesses many an eye,
and wilt one day have humankind
beholding her pent wingtips;


and she shall cleanse thy unclean lips
and purge thy sinful souls
with live burning coals
   -hereby as in the days of old.


God to Isaiah once told,
"I will take from man all but a tenth of their cities,
and the lands will be burned again and again
until the trees shall cast their leaves,
and thereof the substance shall be the holy seed."


Thereafter, her seraph wings did thence open
up-unfold-to be thereby a cause, a love, a flame to need.


Faith is not a thing made up, and hardly is newfangled,
but I saith she therewith displayed it all; and it was
nothing short of supreme blessedness!

Then I beheld her e'en brighter, with showy spangle, and her
attire, a pristine impressive dress that was beaming, lit, bright
with color,  and with shapeliness of contour.


Her shining light like refractory gold, or peerless bits of silver:
and something unknown did glint from within her,
to wholly then bewilder.


Her fire sword was sheathed, and I did most forward enter.


Now with a shy wing shield so still, she can still our meanest ire,
for all must therein endure
what we feel for each and one another;

and none therefore can trust mental anguish to be dull in this,
our loneliest and darkest hour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~
Therewithal, loyal followers, actions shall follow words.
So ignite if you will the glowing candles, and play upon your lyre,
but not upon His word  -and forevermore you will have your needs fulfilled, with hearts afire; rest assured.

We shall hear ye but not understand, the great forsaking
in the midst of the land, we see but do not perceive!

Now hear her pure emotions entire thereat swear to inveigle yet,
our lives so chaotic, so disordered, but we can be rekindled
by a moving fire of an unstained non-object that is hypnotic and of
a fervor I foretell, to be higher than all other seraphim in
the ultimate choristers choir.

And she does as e'er sing so well, the fairest hymn to Him
   -being gentle and the most melodic.

She is a being disentangled, henceforth being the nearest
being of any angel by far to the safety of God's hands.

She's an angel that much more the nigher to His protection
and His guidance; and free will I suspect was denied her
in all but her affections.
And for that reason I suspect it will be she that to me He will send again.

And to Him I heard it said, "H o l y,  h o l y,  h o l y,   is the Lord of all hosts:
the whole earth is full of His  g l o r y!"

And with that, the Lord by Word shook again the doorway posts, and the house that filled with smoke, now is before me, such as is our Savior surely upon His throne.

As in the
verses of
Isaiah six,
to me came
a fiery
serpent
bearing
bliss. One
to us
known to
be in the
most high
order of
thy holy
angels;
and she
possesseth
many an
eye and
wilt one
day hath
humankind
beholding
her pent
wingtips,
and she shalt
cleanse thy
unclean lips
and purge
thy sinful souls
with live
burning coals
hereby.

God speaking
without
speaking
once told
to Isaiah,
"I wilt take
all but a
tenth of
their cities,
and the lands
wilt be burned
again and again
until the trees
shall cast their
leaves, and
thereof the
substance
shall be the
holy seed.

Thereafter, her
seraph wings
did thence
open up,
unfold, to
be thereby
a cause, a
love, a flame
to need.

Faith is not
a thing
made up,
and is
hardly
newfangled,
but I saieth
she therewith
displayed it
all; and 'twas
nothing short
of supreme
blessedness!

Then I beheld
her e'en
brighter,
with showy
spangle, and
her attire, a
pristeen
and
impressive
dress, that
was beaming,
lit, bright
with color,
and with
shapeliness
of contour.

Her shining
light like
refractory
gold or
peerless
bits of
silver;
and something
unknown did
glint within
her to
wholly then
bewilder.

Her fire sword
was sheathed
and I did
the most
forward enter.
With shy wing
shield so
still, she
can still
our
meanest
ire, for
all must
therein
endure
what we
feel for
each
and
one
another.

And none
therefore
can
trust
mental
anguish
to dull
in this,
our
loneliest
and darkest
hour.

Therewithal,
loyal
followers,
actions
shall
follow­
words,
ignite
if you
will
the
glowing
candles,
and play
upon your
lyre,
but not
upon
His
Word,
and
forevermore
you wilt
have
your needs
fulfilled
with
hearts
afire;
rest assured.

We shall
hear ye
but not
understand,
the great
forsaking
in the
midst of
the land,
and we
see but
do not
perceive!

Now hear
her pure
emotions
entire
thereat
swear to
inveigle
yet, our
lives so
chaotic,
so
disordered,
but we
can be
rekindled
by a
moving
fire of
an
unstained
object, and
sure enough
hypnotic;
and of a
fervor I
foretell
to be
higher
than all
other
seraphim
in the
ultimate
choristers
choir.

And she does
as e'er sing
the fairest
hymn to
Him, being
gentle and
the most
melodic.
She is a
being
disentangled,
henceforth
being the
nearest
being of
any angel
by far
to the
safety of
God's
hands.

She's an angel
that much
more the
nigher to
His protection
and His
guidance; and
free will I
suspect was
denied her
in all but
her affections...
and for that
reason it
wilt be she
that to me
God sends
again.

And to Him
I heard it
said, Holy,
holy, holy,
is the lord
of hosts:
the whole
earth is
full of
His glory!

And with that,
the Lord shook
again the
doorway
posts, and
the house
that filled
with smoke,
now is
before me
-such as is
our Saviour
surely upon
His throne.

There is a certain elegance in lines,
a grace that attracts the eyes
to that which is cloaked within the
echoic mystery of an ever clever guise.

All that is knit
from the fabric
of a most frantic                  
                                       ­     illusion in space,

borrows movement
                 from a riddle,                          
       poised in a mostly empty place.


It enchants the mind like a diorama
                                                         ­     hung
                                                       ­               upon the
                                                                ­                   fiber optic
                                                           ­                                         sky,
with pictures of the thoughts behind
           the artists telescopic ><><><><><><   eye.


Our      surreal      desires    are    drawn    boldly
  ­                                              from the breathing palette
                                        of a bright reality,
                                   with living loving strokes
                               that portray our very substantiality:

and never will it betray
          the flaws
           in neither an other worldly
symmetry,
                                               nor the immense complexity
of some alternate geometry.

I seek to come to know the Present by scrutiny, without perceiving
myself to be, at least not here; not here where there's not a soul around, and where day surrounds me in sunlight clear: but the Future becomes born as I seek out the moment I have bound, where I am falling into the depths of Misery, which is and will be, inaccessible to your view on my paths overgrown. Yet o'er tears and reflections I see, reliving my tattered Tragedy within, as I trod the
often traveled moments of my Past --my thoughts are trampled
by my echoes therein.

I seek to come to know the Present by inquiry, without realizing myself to be, tempered by stones and crags, in  the depths of Eternity:
--but the light falters before bursting, scattering upon the Autumn
morn, whereas I harvest my Sadness like a brooding reaper in
Spring, as the Sorrow is again reborn.

I seek to come to know the Present by reverie, without finding myself a being, thru the valleys enveloped in a column of light; and souls encircling me like ivy green, which severs me from a pain that
died, and this time my Happiness is reborn; reborn out of the Gloom, and into the Light that bears my fond memories of yore.

"The paradox of a brilliant theory is that, while the fool in us will wisely find it too challenging, the wise in us will challenge it too foolishly."

All notions of emotions that do compel,
That due me so truly in tremulous motion
Set. Set this blessed mortal coil into action,
And true they do my spirit save from Hell.

So why in my wide-awakened nightmares
Dost the lost choose to give thus to me,
The angers and dangers of abstained Pity,
Refusing, or confusing Love with scolding stares?

When midst the bliss of enjoyment I do naught seek
Their advice, a vice they claim will change me.

Who will trust my lyric is so just
If be it thought just satirical farce?
As it is, many think I merely jest
When carrying the line in new arts.
I could ink the glamour of lovely eyes
And with devices tally up ladies graces,
But generations would claim I tell lies,
As angels keep to themselves such faces.
So if my aging lines keep to their page,
Tho slighted be, by some quick of tongue,
I could coyly claim ladies be all the rage;
In an expanded measure of an new lay sung.
But were these graces just borne by my writ
None would be just in my eyes to try me by it.

A pearl of rain
In the eye
Of an inveigling
                 Flower glistening,


The immense untamed
                             Woods lending the umbrage of an array of native trees,
The dynamic ardor with which the songbirds sing,
                        And the caracole effect the wind has on the branch and It's showy leaves;

And in ev'ry region upon the knoll,
A new pageantry to see

                  ---All this I value more than gold,
                         And keep for my mind's
                                           Anthology.

I ne'er half thought of you as best
Painted, frozen on canvas, still, set?
Static & unmoving...  but I do rest
In my bet you feign'd it. The man Thus, he is as a criminal! If hold he Must you as possession -Beauty's Pageant.
A sun proving to ne'er grow Stagnant.
Go'th then, swept in wind, smooth &
Seminole, with no frame to so seal In
YOUth within his lines -rather reel In
Lines of my rhymes to sustain YOU Ever
Both A's & Q's. No pause, Sure Forever.

Inks & links rather than oils soon Cracked &
Dried out, faded with careless Neglect
And old Time, proving Spell checked
Words, ripen'd on a vine, (freely repro-
Duced,) is better than stretchers 2 show
In one place, wired/hooked on a dim wall
Of your captor. His penchant 2 refuse call,
Or to face, why your smile wert so small.
Unbeknownst to the brushed up painter,
Who with gobbledygook stained your
Heart, but took you as his Sitter bitterly.
So if your Silence art your bitter Mystery,
Then book Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
As my pen chants only 4u -a wonderwall.

My dearest flame is now roused out of her dreams, and her radiant eyes, tho cloudy skies they once were, now shine their resplendent streams, brighter than the midday sun in summer. Now is mine love at the ready, yet let all the undefiled maidens therefore keep attending; and tho I keep now all my actions fast and steady, I pray to Thee that I now nor ever, shall to her name offenses bring -and that, my friends, is what love most true truly is!

Nightfall's soft glow steals o'er the hamlet green, with magic hues to unify the scene. Stilled is the whir that thru the village broke, when round the relics of the old oak, the serfs flocked to hear the harper play, and festivities & joyful hymns closed the busy day. She lies at rest, the matron who delights no more, with cherished fables & legendary lore. All have departed; neither glee nor music flows, to pursue the dreams of chaste repose. All have departed; yet still I idle here! What mysterious charms this quiet spot does endear! Bespeak yon ancient manor scowling thru the trees, whose hollow crown is caressed by the breeze. That casement curved with ivy's greenest shade, first to these eyes, the light above conveyed. The dissecting gateway spreads the grassy court, once the peaceful scene of many a light sport, when all things charmed, for life itself was new, and the heart promised none to be harmed, by what imagination drew.

Have you such scope within
To devour entire so the thing
That a poet would so petition
You by night or day go listen?

If but one thing such a mind  
May ask of thee much in rhyme,
Be it sweet or sour, yet no crime,
Is to upon an hour beg a bit o time.

Love is more than feasts for the eyes.
Gorgeous flowers always do inspire
Possessive urges -no need to despise
Such flaw.Yet if unquenchable desire
Ignites you more by just a ***** action,
You lack a tinder to make a spark a fire;
I would ask a kiss and give her passion
She's never known before, and admire

             -And nothing more.

But perhaps I end too abruptly here,
I would also stroke her lovely hair;
And ask her to scream at the air...

       Just to let out the raw emotion
That comes with being torn open. Life's so good, and yet so unfair.

Donate, volunteer, be a mentor, but most of all... walk with God!

My mind is a vessel o'erflowing with many great ideas.

It's not of consequence who you are, you live: fly quickly... amidst the fields by my gentle vault: trample not the daisies where I consult, hearing the climbing vine and ivy.

I watched you stay. The singing dove did moan. Yet don't chase it from my tomb. To bid me well, save its freedom. Life is great: oh let it fly oh darling one.

It was under the mistletoe at the door, on the cusp of love you died, a maiden right-so dear-already far from thee I did love tonight.

So my lids closed out the good light. And here I stay alas for evermore -with angels beings deaf to dreams- in the remembrance of Night.