This river runs wide and free. This river means home to me.

This river I know Caradoc crossed.
Through Catimundua’s vanity his kingship lost.

Arthur a tourist here drunk on local fusty beer.

This river crossed my blood as Galloglass and Saxon
Would.

In the hook of the river the gales give gifts of frowns
Worn in all the northwest towns.

These ****** scowls don’t mean your sad just were you grow the wind was bad.

And by bad I don’t mean wrong.
That it just blows long and strong.

This river drew me near today, like the faithful go to
Pray.

This river will outlive my time and see as dust this mortal rhyme.


This river has now claimed this day as red light low pours out through the gray.

1680

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

54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.

it's the same as before
or the other time
or the time before that.
here's a ****
and here's a ****
and here's trouble.

only each time
you think
well now I've learned:
I'll let her do that
and I'll do this,
I no longer want it all,
just some comfort
and some ***
and only a minor
love.

now I'm waiting again
and the years run thin.
I have my radio
and the kitchen walls
are yellow.
I keep dumping bottles
and listening
for footsteps.

I hope that death contains
less than this.

From the wetted womb
of a season's mother
a raindrop bloomed
to a planet's whisper

As the eyes of the drop
glimpsed its world
foresaw the remorse
its life devoured

As the raindrop struck
the whispering grounds
shattered to droplets
a million around

The death of the drop
but certainly quenched
the thirst of a planet
from a martyr's lament