.
I wish to live on the white page,
Cumulus as cloud, be all puffy,
Pure in new world without guile,
My thin body as bounty, cloud eyed
Sky of unsullied page, true kingdom
Of imagination, without euphemism,
Nor malice, but truth, cleanest light,
Where a child's drawings are welcome
Always, waiting to be rainbow crayoned,
Coloured sheen as the dawn appearing
At blackest moons' end, sheet of seraphim
Created, dreamt of wood and earth and sun.

I have seen her playing
With light, edging her hair,
In crescents so fair.

I have watched her fingers
Twirl and twine, beaming gold,
Threshing precious hold.

I have witnessed the taming
Of the sun's rays, captured,
Spinning in rapture.

And I feel for the pale moon
Who offers his frail, vestige light,
While she sleeps at night.

I have seen couples,
So far from each—
Other, on a platform,
Waiting for the next train,
Never touching, yet how
They ****** their mobile
Devices, how softly, sweet,
Without guile nor agenda
They swipe the glass—
As it swoons back in return
With blue lights and alerts,
So dearly needed and answers,
In way words for the machines
Of flesh and the ghost within,
With such personal aplomb
In real notifications of text
And instant message.

.
Tangles of vine, wisps of thorn,
Roping a rocky face of granite,
High, on a hill are drops of sky,
Green hands cradle purple beads
Of the sun, whose skin is frosted
In water vail, morning days' dew
Has come, birds and bees singing
Songs to hum anew, this offering
All to ancient invitations of spring,
There will be wine and flower laid,
Before rise of moon or day is done.

If I said I want you,
Would you run and tell the stars
To close their eyes and ring dry
The clouds of tears?

If I said let me hold you,
Would the earth crack open,
To shudder the rolling lands,
Not cradle the hatching seeds?

If I said I am yours,
Would your name soon dissolve
And be lost in the revolving
Night that candles you in light?

If I heard your voice,
In twining dream and woke
Beside you talking in your sleep
What would your question be?

If I called your name,
Before the first sunning year
And heard you, Echo in the wind,
Would time guide us to the door?

Spewing hate as usual
Desperate for attention!
Creepy Duchebag rabbi

.
Alone I walk, skirting moon dark valleys,

A forest appears, then again disappears,

Call of the owl dims as new sun is rising,

Beyond vast plains, river always gliding.

( Sonnet )*

What length are days so dearly trodden,
Riddled in stocks, museums of mind,
How can one soul with heart commend
And play these martial fields unkind?
We are wages cast about four corners
And spun to globe of coordinates web,
Sailing by moon, lit oceans of scorn,
Rudderless, blind— innocently led,
Yet here, one star, the sun is a beacon,
We are bathed each day in ****** light
And gifted to morn with new beginnings,
From dreams we wake with newborn sight        
And gods watch over with stellar eyes,
We are babes knowing— cradled in sky.

I have followed the forest
Into the clouds to forage,
My bag is still thin, empty,
As my valley and now I see
At the top of the ridge, the happy,
Full moon who lights my way,
I see him as I look down in the river,
He travels with me.

( Song )*

Europe in the dark age, was swept by an ignorant plague
While Ireland was known for poets, scholars, and saints

Invaders, would have Éire destroyed while only hurting themselves
For it was the Celts, who taught poetry to ancient Greece

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground
    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

Beaten, almost forgotten she was
Her sons sent off to the colonies
And Ná Fíle; her poets, became beggars in the streets

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground

Thank you Lady Gregory!
Thank you A.E.!
Thank you Will. B. Yeats!
Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too!
Thank you Mr. Synge!
Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde

    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground

Thank you Lady Gregory!
Thank you A.E.!
Thank you Will. B. Yeats!
Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too!
Thank you Mr. Synge!

Thank you Standish Ó Grady, and Pearse!
Thank you Connolly, James!
Thank you Merriman, Ferguson too!
Thank you Rua Ó Súlleabháin!
Thank you James Clarence Mangan!
Thank you Tommy Davis!
Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde!

    Of all the nations of the world
    Only Ireland's dream is a poet's dream
    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht
    Great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

.
In the seas of night,
I wish to be with you,
Naked in a bed under stars,
All ocean and wake of dream,
For a true journey into the soul,
Fleshed out and wholly dispersed
Within the sheerness of locked peace,
Under the nearset stars of living light,
We could be, truly knowing in that air
And our eyes would climb, bursting
Into new heavens, hot in embrace,
Circle as we row among palms
And cheek joined with bliss
To a bed of touching love
Made for that journey
Beyond all reason,
Into the sun.

.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation.  My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.

.
At first the world, seems on hire,
Threads chill through leaves on fire,

Black ponds grow still under sun,
In opens, slowest silence begun,

Smokey clouds in sweep overlook,
Clime of frosts branched under foot,

Cold winds come and with heaves,
Shattered froze crockery of leaves,

In icy banks bare rivers run out,
Snap as they steam into a knout

And in tawnys of soggy marshes,
Colours grow grey, wet and harsher,

In blisters to come winter shores,
A creatures huddle to frozen floors,

Above are trailings of birds who flee,
Below are underlings rooted in tree,

In sheets of white a graveyard blows,
Black stones piercing the first snows.