We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.

I hope you won’t mind being an architect.
I learned a long time ago that it
will take more than just a little
Krazy glue to put my pieces
back together.

I hope you won’t mind being a pilot.
I was never very
fond of heights
but I have a talent for
falling too fast and too hard.

I hope you won’t mind being an astronomer.
It will take someone
with a lot of wonder
to trace the constellations
scattered across my body.
Sorry in advance –
I connected some of the dots already.

I hope you won’t mind being a meteorologist.
One who isn’t
afraid to don a raincoat and boots
and stand in the storm to say,
“Expect some passing showers
but watch for the sun and
wait for the clouds to clear.”

I hope you won’t mind being you.
As long as you won’t mind me being me.

while all around is breaking,
hold on to the inner core,
strong centre that helps us dance,
strictly.

remember unwritten rules of
etiquette renumbering the you,
after the queue. take your turn.

wait in line, it will turn up in
the lower drawer,
sleep on it like the cat.

today will draw the shoes
for erasure and carry on regardless.





the copper beech is leafless now.

sbm.

Your eyes feel
  dull
And tired is
  your heart

For hate
  is a burden
  and a poison in
  your core

Hate
  has a strong hand
  pumped
  with will

Hate
  shakes you awake
  with remember

He kisses
  you sour


And hides in
  your shadow
  following you
  everywhere

And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.

O incomparable Giver of life, cut reason loose at last!

Let it wander grey-eyed from vanity to vanity.

Shatter open my skull, pour in it the wine of madness!

Let me be mad, as You; mad with You, with us.

Beyond the sanity of fools is a burning desert

Where Your sun is whirling in every atom:

Beloved, drag me there, let me roast in Perfection!