The noise of doubt
Poison to the mind
Caught between two worlds, one thin and the other stout,
Gravitating towards faith, a chorus for the blind?

Blotting out all the pessimistic contents,
Praying for a miracle
But, doubt keeps on knocking nonsense.
Graduate my faith to the temple’s pinnacle.

I loathe the tenor of dirges.
But, cherish the flipping of ancient pages-
That refreshment to my hopes,
And the tunnel to moonlight
Narrow escape from fright,
Blind to the future, lend me a pair of sight.

Ignorant to optimism, hand me a share of knowledge.
Dying to taste wisdom, paint gray my hair- merge my reason with age
Send my doubt to the grave.
Let faith redeem me, lest I become a slave.

Close doubt out of my imagination.
Lord, redeem me from the deafening silence of doubt,
Bitter like worm wood
Drown me in hope-hood…
Let faith be my confession,
For I loathe the noise of doubt.

It's
bleeding rain,ripping through and
dripping out of the sky again
anyone got a
bandage?

I got the call at eleven o’clock,
‘They want you to dig a grave!’
It wasn’t such a terrible shock,
The message came by a knave.
A serving man from the House of Gull,
That mansion up on the hill,
Where Baron Downz kept his hunting hounds
And the beautiful Grace de Ville.

They often sent me a midnight call
To dig them a grave or two,
Whenever there was a duel fought,
For graves, well, that’s what I do!
I dig them deep in the dead of night
At the edge of the Forest Clare,
They pay me a hundred and fifty crowns
You wouldn’t know they were there.

For only I know the resting place
Of the Lords that fell by his sword,
Of every man that has tried his will
Each one that questioned his word.
The Baron’s known for his ****** mind
And revenge is his only skill,
He gets them drunk on his German wine
And then moves in for the ****.

He murdered the father of Grace de Ville
Then kept her there as his prize,
The night that he tried to have his will
She almost scratched out his eyes,
He keeps her bound by a silver chain
With a lock that tethers her wrist,
And swears she’ll only be free again
When her maidenhead is his.

The servants told me he paced the hall
With his patience growing thin,
He’d rage and roar when she locked the door
To prevent him getting in,
There was tumult up in the hall that night
So I knew that there may be blood,
I took my shovel and lantern out
And began to dig by the wood.

At three o’clock in the morning they
Arrived in the horse-drawn hearse,
Slid a coffin out of the back
And laid it down on the turf.
The Baron Downz rode his horse around
And peered in the empty grave,
‘A fitting place for the maidenhead
Milady’s so keen to save!’

I felt the chill running up my spine,
It raised the hairs on my neck,
Surely he couldn’t be so unkind,
But the coffin lay on the deck,
The Baron motioned them all away
And they left with the coal black hearse,
He watched me lower the coffin in
Then turned away with a curse.

‘Be sure to cover that coffin well,’
He snarled as he turned to go,
Tossed me a hundred and fifty crowns
Then ambled off, real slow.
I heard a thump in the coffin then
And my heart jumped into my throat,
A muffled whimper, down in the ground
And a scream on a rising note.

I knew my life would hang by a thread
If the Baron came back around,
But still I thought, I’d rather be dead
Than bury de Ville in the ground.
I clambered into that terrible grave
And prised off the coffin lid,
She gasped, and thanked the lord she was saved,
But then came a note of dread.

‘You play me false, you’ll pay with your life,’
The Baron stood looking down,
And then he began to unsheathe his sword,
The shovel was still in the ground,
I turned the shovel blade side up
And ****** it under his chin
We clambered out of that open grave
And swiftly tumbled him in.

I work for the Lady Grace de Ville
In her livery, red and gold,
I’ve not been asked for a single grave,
Nor ever will be, I’m told,
I take her out in the coach and four
To ride by the Forest Clare,
And run right over the Baron’s grave
Whenever we’re passing there.

David Lewis Paget

I’d only woken an hour before
And it seemed to cause a stir,
With people pouring into the room,
Coming from everywhere,
They looked excited, stared at me
And I stared right back, confused,
But nobody said a word to me
And I started feeling used.

‘What the hell…’ I began to say,
But a nurse told me to hush,
Stuck a thermometer into my mouth
Then tried to feed me mush,
She cleared the room and a doctor came
And read my chart with a frown,
‘Welcome back to the world,’ he said,
‘It’s changed, since you were around.’

I couldn’t make head or tail of this,
I didn’t know where I was,
Loaded with tubes, I raised my arms
And flapped like an albatross,
‘Let me get out of here,’ I said,
‘I need to get up and walk!’
‘Your legs won’t carry you anywhere
Just yet, but we have to talk.’

He said I’d been out a long, long time,
It would take more time to adjust,
To start, he asked if I knew my name
So I told him, Benjamin Rust.
And then I remembered the bicycle
That I’d ridden down to the shop,
And the four wheel drive that had sped right by,
Too bad that it didn’t stop!

Then slowly figures came back to me,
A head full of raven hair,
Those pouting lips that had tempted me
And a dimple or two to spare,
She’d arched her brows in a quizzical way
When I’d shown her the double bed,
Then laughed, ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself,
I first need a ring,’ she said.

We’d courted all through the summer months
And made love late in the fall,
I’d said, ‘I don’t want a part of you,
I’d be content with it all!’
We wed in a little country church
Where the rain dripped down from the eaves,
And strolled from the vestry, hand in hand
As a breeze had fluttered the leaves.

My heart had leapt in that sterile room
As I caught the scent of her hair,
I said, ‘Is Jocelyn waiting here?’
The doctor continued to stare.
‘You have to know that your world has changed
And the change may bring you tears,
You haven’t been out for a week or so,
But over a number of years.’

I was feeling the panic rise in me
As those dreaded words sank in,
‘Over a number of years,’ he’d said,
As if I’d committed a sin!
And then, ‘How old do you think you are?’
I replied, ‘I’m twenty-two!’
He shook his head at the foot of the bed,
‘There’s a shock still coming to you.’

He wouldn’t say, and he went away
As I lay there, feeling grim,
So I asked the nurse, ‘How old am I?’
But she said, ‘Just wait for him.’
At three in the afternoon I sensed
A shadow, stood at the door,
And there was a matronly woman there
Who must have been fifty-four.

She said, ‘I can’t believe you’re awake,
We’d long given up on you,
They asked me to come to the hospital,
And I needed to see, it’s true.’
Her hair was grey, but she had a way
That dredged a dream from the past,
She said, ‘Do you know me, Jocelyn?
It’s good to see you at last.’

The horror rose in my throat at that,
My heart hung still in my chest,
‘My God, you look like your mother now…’
‘I knew that you’d be distressed.
I got a divorce when you didn’t wake
After ten long years in this bed,
I feel so sad, but I wed again…’
Her words, like knives in my head.

I’d lain in a coma, thirty years
Why didn’t they let me die?
Jocelyn said she paid for me
In hopes, she didn’t say why.
This world is a terrifying place
When you lose the love of your life,
And wake to the loss of thirty years…
I’ll slit my veins with a knife!

David Lewis Paget

Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.

Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.

Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.

The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.

If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.

Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.

Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.

When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.

As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.

I'm sorry that life drives fast, riding the tail of clock hands
and that when you walk up the steps after working those overtime hours,
you need a little bit to yourself, you need a movie in the dark.  
I'm sorry that the rolling credits to you are eternity knocking,
I'm sorry that life gets so heavy.
like the heals of your shoes,
in every tread on the pavement
I wish we could go waltzing
I wish I could inspire a spring in your step
I wish I was growing up strong enough to feel the wind as its blown
and plan my day's by the sun
I wish I wasn't growing up weighed down by work boots of my own,
late nights under books that I never chose to read,
tokens of time stolen from my pocket while I watch
those lips move and those lips say nothing.
I wish I really was a super hero.
I wish I could turn back time.
I wish those credits rolling didn't remind me I'll never catch up with now.
and I'm sorry i don't know how,
to lift those little nails from your tires,
to make this easier on you.
I'm sorry that I leave the room
before the credits even come,
that my priorities are never quite in order
like the cupboard I never cleaned,
and the thank you you haven't received,
like the months I quit all but breathing
and left you to hold us both up.
and the time after when I hid in the dust
aggressively ashamed of myself
and still somehow blaming you for that and
for how I hate the credits that roll.  
and the arrows that toll each ebbing hour,
from you and from me,
from the could be memories.

I'm sorry.
life moves fast
and a heart is heavy.

I'd still love to learn to waltz.

And Christina
hadn't seen Benedict
on the sports field
the day before

and school without
seeing him
was a long haul
of boredom

and frustration
and even
to go down
school passageways

between lessons
and not get
a peek of him
was stomach churning

with other girls
on about this
and that
and she only

wanting a peek
of him
to carry home with her
to hug and hold

in her bedroom
dreams
but today
in lunch recess

he was there
on the sports field
with that fiend of his
and she thought

he hadn't seen her
and he was wandering
the field with his friend
and they were laughing

and she so wanted
for him to turn
and see her
sitting there

on the grass
with a bunch of girls
and them laughing
and giggling

about matters
when he turned
and saw her
and she felt

her whole being
explode inside
and a rush
of feelings

flooded her
so that she was sure
she'd peed herself
with it all

and he came over
and said
didn't see you there
come let's go

for a walk and
so she got up
unsure if her legs
would hold her

what with the body
having exploded
like it had
and she went with him

and he lingered
near her
and their hands
were near

and she didn't want
to seem forward
and hold his hand
but deep inside

she wanted
to hold his hand
and kiss it
and squeeze it

and take it home
with her
but she just
let it hang there

near his
and he spoke
of being off
the day before

through illness
and that
he was ok today
and he laughed

and said
did you miss me?
and she said no
and laughed too

but god the words
clung to the roof
of her mouth
and she had to

push them out
and he said
he thought of her
laying there

unwell in his bed
and she thought
how she'd have
hugged him

had she been there
how she would have
sweated the illness
out of him

but she didn't say it
but smiled
and felt her insides
turning and turning

and he said
he dreamed of her
and she said
what did we do?

and he said
sure I cant' say
and blushed
and she touched

his hand as they
came to the fence
around the field
and it was electrifying

and her heart
seemed to thump itself
against her ***
and O how hot

it felt being there
she feeling all
so in love
and a slight wind

moved his quiff
of brown hair.

They say that God lives very high;
  But if you look above the pines
You cannot see our God; and why?

And if you dig down in the mines,
  You never see Him in the gold,
Though from Him all that’s glory shines.

God is so good, He wears a fold
  Of heaven and earth across His face,
Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace
  Slides down by thrills, through all things made,
Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid
  On my shut lids her kisses’ pressure,
Half waking me at night, and said,
  “Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?”

From out the dragging vastness of the sea,
Wave-fettered, bound in sinuous, seaweed strands,
He toils toward the rounding beach, and stands
One moment, white and dripping, silently,
Cut like a cameo in lazuli,
Then falls, betrayed by shifting shells, and lands
Prone in the jeering water, and his hands
Clutch for support where no support can be.
So up, and down, and forward, inch by inch,
He gains upon the shore, where poppies glow
And sandflies dance their little lives away.
The ******* waves ******, and tighter clinch
The weeds about him, but the land-winds blow,
And in the sky there blooms the sun of May.