1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and
vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always ***,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of
life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
tread,
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is
ahead?

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old
and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my
feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and
poke-****.

6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know
it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and
am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of
the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

10
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game,
Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my
side.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from
the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride
by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her
feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and
weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d
feet,
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

11
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending
arch,
They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

12
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in
the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

13
The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and
tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over
his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of
his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop
there,
I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as
forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and
day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i

Shot like a cannonball
from the ported-jet,
I swam furiously out
into your hot privacy,
wet tender moments,
where I,
circling
your painted-toes,
sizzled up along
your shapely-legs
upward over
your cute-tummy,
so yummy to drift
along your slender neck
& soft shoulders
to the swirling surface.

Now feeling bolder,
I dove downward,
deeper to meet
your sweet playful feet,
only to take my time
floating,
twirling higher
through your delicious crevices
& between your lovely peaks
topped with granite tips,
I released
to the warm air
once more.

O Miss Pretty Bather,
your luxurious hair
& bare bottom,
I want it all!

I want to drown
with you,
continuously
in your bubble bath,
over and over,
again and again,
relish in this sinless swim,
this genuine moist-fun.

O please
Miss Pretty Bather,
keep the water running!

LOOSE-VEINED and languid as the yellow mist
That swoons along the river in the sun,
Your flesh of passion pale and amber-kissed
With years of heat that through your veins have run,

You lie with aching memories of love
Alone and naked by the weeping tree,
And indolent with inward longing move
Your slim and sallow limbs despondently.

If love came warm and burning to your dream,
And filled you all your avid veins require,
You would lie sadly still beside the stream,
Sobbing in torture of that vivid fire;

The same low sky would weave its fading blue,
The river still exhale its misty rain,
The willow trail its waving over you,
Your longing only quickened into pain.

Bed your desire among the pressing grasses;
Lonely lie, and let your thirsting *******
Lie on you, lonely, till the fever passes,
Till the undulation of your longing rests.

Bright lover, sun bather.
Your soft glow hums, shimmers
Like a flickering fly as it plunges into the light.

Low whisper, dark corner.
Your walls, bruised by the
Aching cries that reverberate throughout
The valley, moan and groan.

Cold shiver, wide river.
Your rushing currents pull and
Tug at my body, naked and afraid,
As moon beams bounce off of my startled eyes.

Hot fever, sweet ginger.
Your smooth figure exhales and
Melts on the linoleum, and I slip and fall,
With little desire to rise.

Halfway between Malta and Saco,
Highway 2 stops a minute
To look back...

Beside the road
A little shrine waits
The traveler:
A stone, naturally shaped
To form a sleeping buffalo,
But etched with lines to emphasize
The dozing buff's back and sides
And drowsing head.

Nearby, a 1920s entrepreneur
Saw money to be made...
Set up a happenstance hotel
Beside the hot and sulf'rus spring,
And "Sleeping Buffalo" was born
To "heal" and to amuse
Odd tourists in their wandering.

Not much has changed...
The old buff sleeps,
But now inside a little pen
To keep the tourist vandals
Safely from his way.

The old resort is open still...
Same rusty pipes and yellowed walls
And rusty water
Warm enough to stain
Unlucky bathing suits.
(The smell's enough to force
The bather to the bath as medicine....)

On my way to other places
I have stopped along the road
To meditate beside the old stone bull...

I understand, a little,
Now that I am growing old,
Tobacco offerings left
Beside the sleeping stone.
Though not a Pagan,
I can feel the distant Ways
Before our Western ways
Made tourists of us all.

507

She sights a Bird—she chuckles—
She flattens—then she crawls—
She runs without the look of feet—
Her eyes increase to *****—

Her Jaws stir—twitching—hungry—
Her Teeth can hardly stand—
She leaps, but Robin leaped the first—
Ah, *****, of the Sand,

The Hopes so juicy ripening—
You almost bather your Tongue—
When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes—
And fled with every one—

i am a phonographic record
and you are the ears that hear me
i cant compare my music
to malignant mammographies
and the phantasmagoria of cash
or to hash-browns and flapjacks
or to a purple field drowning in wisteria
yes, i am hysterical too
like elderberry syrup and cough drops
popping like its hot
so we japa till we drop, it all
yes, everything
so give it a chance
see your face in the reflection
of a pool of moonlight
a **** bather
a fool at the equator
equates to nothing
so i undress my unctuousness
a congruent confluence
like blood on an apartment building wall
a pox in your cereal boxes
flu shots and mandatory vaccinations
without informed consent
we are experiencing a loss of the immaterial
if we pamper ourselves with distraction
we attract the repulsive side of thy will

That spark and fire
Flooding veins with desire
I am thoroughly singed
By this heat between our skin
Bodies pulling closer
Mouth aching for just one taste
Converge
Two bright spiral sparkle super nova souls
Filling every corner, penetrating every hole
Always leaves me thirsty for more
For one night away from the warmth of your sun
Feels like days in darkness
Shine hidden until you turn your smile this way once again

GET HER OUT OF THE PIT!

Get her out of that pit of unhappiness,
where you have condemned her to live.
Out of that cave of insecurity!
Out of that ditch which defiles and ashamed her.
Take out of any pit that denigrates her.
Get her out any pit that speaks death to her life!
Take her out of that pit of loneliness,  you have condemned her to reside in!

Pull her out of that pit and bather her!
Bathe her in the River Nile.
Sanctify her in Christ Jesus!
Bathe her with jasmine leaves.
Bather her and embalm her with the scent of freedom!
Bathe her in blessed and clean flowing water!

Dress her, in the fines cotton and silk fibers.
Dress her in fibers of happiness.
Dress her with lace of purity and kindness.

Feed and nourished her being.
Prepare for her a sunny picnic facing the ocean.
Prepare her a dinner with a full moon.
Prepare a delicacy of bliss and joy.

Educate her!
Educate her in poetry.
Help her forget the graves of her captivity in the words of poets who speak;
of hope, of love,
of the magic of new day,
the charm of waking up in gentle arms,
tell her about flying in an open sky with missing wings, with broken wings,
yet so celestial is the flight that seeks its destiny against all odds!

Take her out of that pit!
Bathe her!
Dress her!
Feed her!
Educate her!
Be the ****** for that woman. Be the ****** for you!

But you must
………………………………….GET HER OUT OF THAT PIT!

LeydisProse
6/11/2017
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/


Sácala!
Sácala del hoyo!
Sácala de la fosa de infelicidad donde la has condenado a vivir.
Sácala de esa cueva de inseguridad!
Sácala de lo que la indigna.
Sácala de lo que la avergüenza.
Sácala de lo que la denigra.
Sácala de las palabra que la rompen.
Sácala de la soledad!
Sácala y bañala!
Báñala en el Río Nilo.
Santificála en el nombre de JesusCristo!
Báñala en hojas de jazmín
Báñala en perfume de libertad!
Báñala en agua fluyente, limpia, y bendita!
Vístela en algodón y seda.
Vístela en fibras de felicidad.
Vístela en encajes de pureza.
Dale de comer, nutre su ser.
Preparele un día soleado frente al mar.
Prepárale una cena en una luna llena.
Prepárale un manjar de sonrisas.
Educala!
Educala en la poesía.
Ayúdale al olvidar las fosas del cautiverio, en las letras de los que hablan;
de esperanza,
de la magia de un despertar,
del amor en brazos sin maldad,
de volar con medias alas, con alas rotas,
más ven un cielo destinado para ella.
Sácala,
Báñala
Vístela
Dale de comer
Educala
Se tu una heroína para cada mujer!
LeydisProse
6/11/2017

I am a bather upon the hot sands of confusion
Never feeling the heat for the waves-
Calm finality constantly washing over

I lie there, while others hide under shade
Far from naked sun-
Yet vulnerable to her heat still

Their blood boils slowly, unnoticed until too late
They run into the water so far
So cold, so icy to their skin

My voice is unheard beneath their quarrels for cover
My words of warning unheeded
By the pride of self title

My blood simmers yet never to a boil
My skin is cooled yet never to a burn
I lie there knowing pain

Peace too.

There are people tired of life. From kinder-garden a child is destined to be endlessly obliged to "do" . Early mornings. Vegetables. Silent hour. "Be quite". Cups. Early mornings. English and painting. School. Early mornings. Lessons, Homework. Exams. Exams again. University. Early mornings.  Lectures. Exams. Work, if you are lucky(??).Early mornings. Conference. Planning meetings. Rush tasks.
"Be diligent" they say, u can rest later. Ye, sure, bang your head on the wall. Be "successful" "Effective people". Do you know about them? - Worked out your potential and bye-bye. No one cares. We don't care about caring. Not enough time sorry, someone else will care.  Study hard, work harder, plan the life, you 'll need it. Or you do not? Not?I think you need.
Classic of genre.  Couple highest educations. Lucky marriage. Successful career and respectful job. Apartment. Car. Holidays  somewhere where u'd like to be longer but u cant, because u are too successful.
System?"**** the system" ,- repeat it more often. System is you , system is me and even a guy who leaves  sarcastic comments, pretending that he is smart ****-face. We are system. No one else knows how to ***** ourselves up better than us. And so we do. No one bather. Too busy being successful. Yeah, **** us.
Feelings?Um yeah, please, a tiny bit on the top of  my career. Love ,- what the hell is that?I do not know , have red sometimes in the books. Never met, never heard. Do not be ridiculous. Affection only towards the family and career. All he rest has to be "comfortable". As friends are becoming useful "connection". When was the last time u called someone without reason and said "Hello"?

I'm gazing toe fat first
at certain things I wish not to see  
like cathartic cathedrals en vue,
still I've forgotten all the rules,
twisting butter knives
runs counter, yet upwards
into spare rib cages,
will silence placate those tectonic plates
can the river merit summer this way,
as Hare Krishna bather's prays echo
blind-side towards the shady grove
already lost to the knowing season

I will sing of her ankles, the sun and the mighty of earth.
I saw her bareness, there in the baths, a lovely vision dancing.
Then, the dark-clouded son of crocus
startled her.
Once he used to jump over measured ponds, saw the bidding
of King Porcupine, he himself aids violently says, You will live in
lymph nodes and he croaked, my neat-ankled
bather , my dear, jumped and ran away.

Honey there’s a lot of things I’ll drink to
Because a lot of things seem the same
But I know when I’m in trouble
Because you call me by my name

I’m not much of a sun bather
More a fighting man instead
And when you get on my fighting side
I’d rather stay home in bed

Staring up at the ceiling
Praying that I don’t die
Or worse you’ll catch me first
Instead of staring at the sky

And topping up your tan
Please don’t think it’s a shame
It’s the life I love to live
Drinking by other people’s names

You can call me D or Hinton
Or maybe something a little more out of choice
It’s all the same really to me
It’s only words put together by a voice


But darling when your voice gets angry
Whether we be drinking or playing cards
That’s when your voice really hits me
And the words come down oh so hard

I could deal with you never calling me
I’m just an outlaw you couldn’t tame
But this lion turns into a mouse
When I hear you call my name

I just have this inkling, that the only time
I’ll hear Daniel Stuart Hinton, per se
Is when Jesus has his glorious
Final judgement day

Because you never ever call me
And I really think I could deal with the pain
But I know I’ve done something wrong
When you call me by my name.

Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
   I will teach you in my verse
   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
   Just compare heart, hear and heard,
   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain
(Mind the latter how it's written).
   Made has not the sound of bade,
   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
   But be careful how you speak,
   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via
Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;
   Woven, oven, how and low,
   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,
   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing,
Same, examining, but mining,
   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire",
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,
   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,
   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.
   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,
   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.
   This phonetic labyrinth
   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured
To pronounce revered and severed,
   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,
   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
   Blood and flood are not like food,
   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which exactly rhymes with khaki.
   Discount, viscount, load and broad,
   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?
Right! Your pronunciation's OK.
   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher?
Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.
   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,
   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision,
Now: position and transition;
   Would it tally with my rhyme
   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,
But cease, crease, grease and greasy?
   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,
   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous,
Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,
   You'll envelop lists, I hope,
   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it!
Affidavit, David, davit.
   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik
   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.
   We say hallowed, but allowed,
   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover.
   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
   Petal, penal, and canal,
   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit
Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",
   But it is not hard to tell
   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
Has the a of drachm and hammer.
   *****, ***** and possess,
   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants
Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.
   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,
   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker",
Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",
   Making, it is sad but true,
   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,
   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic,
Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.
   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,
   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,
Make the latter rhyme with eagle.
   Mind! Meandering but mean,
   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny,
You say mani-(fold) like many,
   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,
   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring
Rhyme with herring or with stirring?
   Prison, bison, treasure trove,
   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald
Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.
   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,
   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it,
And distinguish buffet, buffet;
   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,
   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling
Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.
   Evil, devil, mezzotint,
   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention
To such sounds as I don't mention,
   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,
   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included,
Though I often heard, as you did,
   Funny rhymes to unicorn,
   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely,
I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.
   No. Yet Froude compared with proud
   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial,
Tripod, menial, denial,
   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,
   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely
May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,
   But you're not supposed to say
   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid
Worthless documents? How pallid,
   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,
   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,
Paramour, enamoured, flighty,
   Episodes, antipodes,
   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser,
Don't peel 'taters with my razor,
   Rather say in accents pure:
   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,
Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,
   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,
   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you
More than r, ch or w.
   Say then these phonetic gems:
   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,
There are more but I forget 'em-
   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,
   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit
Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;
   With and forthwith, one has voice,
   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger;
Then say: singer, ginger, linger.
   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,
   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very,
Parry, tarry fury, bury,
   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,
   Job, Job, blossom, *****, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,
Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners
   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,
   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual,
   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,
   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

****** does not rhyme with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific;
   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,
   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and *****,
Next omit, which differs from it
   Bona fide, alibi
   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion,
   Rally with ally; yea, ye,
   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
   Never guess-it is not safe,
   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary,
Crevice, but device, and eyrie,
   Face, but preface, then grimace,
   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ***, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;
   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear
   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often
Which may be pronounced as orphan,
   With the sound of saw and sauce;
   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?
Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.
   Respite, spite, consent, resent.
   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
   Monkey, donkey, clerk and ****,
   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour,
S of news (compare newspaper),
   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,
   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers,
Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.
   Once, but *****, toll, doll, but roll,
   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!-
Is a paling, stout and spiky.
   Won't it make you lose your wits
   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel
Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,
   Islington, and Isle of Wight,
   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?
   Finally, which rhymes with enough,
   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup...
My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

Stuck in the cloving of seasons,
Mourning the falling leaves,
The long, hot summer hours,
The dusty flowers,
Tired with their bee-filling,
Wanting only sleep.

I am torn for loving summer,
Regretting nothing:
The summer flings,
The two-up rides on tree-lined paths,
The running, ducking laughter in the summer rains,
The sparking, smoking skies of 4th July,
The too-warm walks and wanting shade,
The pleasures of a new-cut lawn,
And you, the constant sun-bather there-upon.
The sweet embraces you and I shared in the nights,
Knowing seasons last for just a while,
We celebrated summer through it all,
Not wasting time before the coming Fall.

00000
I love you, Melody Joy. db

Were on  568 a. C., a gentleman who was passing by Magdala tower met and fell from his horse, he approached one of the famous Canaanite, children of Migdal and Afad. One said his name Sherom and other Moshe. The gentleman asked them to tell you about the story of a tower and supernatural properties. Sherom and Moshe smiled, beginning to narrate the popular version ...:

Sherom speaks ..."Once upon a time a tower that had many steps that anyone who enter feel one dizzying air, and would never come up to his last cell; it seemed the very wall of china endless wanting to arrive. She was jealous all night passers Magdala, ancient city of Palestine; Well, she was so high that resembled a tree to be an ant, and why the song that emanates from his high-rise building always orientated sweets steps that fear capsize and fall into the hands of an evil villain.

They flee ye fearful, as the ant when I looked at the tower, thought he walked toward her and so hurried his steps. Miriam was not the case, every night had to work through the dark alleys like hammers on the stones of a mysterious sculptor; strong sounded by the Siroco. Her walking with her soft feet, synchronized with the hammer sirocco, so it would be easy prey, --- At the moment, Hurián distracted a wild ... birds, --- and then continues Moshe ... :
Moshe ...: The mayor watched from near the tower, trying to figure out ... What did or hiding the backwater of her eyebrows ...? . And so, everyone would wonder that observe something similar....

still a sad day his father dies and is subject to funeral expenses, which luckily managed Míriam; every night emancipating the thirst of caravanners coming on route from Syria to the tavern Kvish Gadol. Here, they were giving their friends the final toast to his leg, then close the business and incorporated into the gutter furnaces buried lands. That same afternoon, before the massive help of their neighbors, basked crack open the stalled Afad time with smiles cover its arid cot and abandoned.

Nor they spent more than three days, when Míriam Rishon Lezion part in convoy, carrying by destination the sea. Sada stayed home Elijah; the spouse of his sister Hiram. The Mediterranean Sea front blew his hair; brown them stuck to your skin as auguring stay long.

Your face and his skin seemed toasted desert landscapes, which were mixed with the air and water. Back his rueful survive in Magdala; now by the time spring glistening in majestic glory stay near the coast. Jamal sleep at home, and then give their rich fruits contacts to work and pay the caravaneer Jamal, for their generous service.
Sherom stutters to continue, relax and continuous..:
Sherom ..: A cloudy afternoon when she walked down the beach, she found the dress of a man, she then watched a bather distinguished between horizontal nebulae waters. He descended from the sparkling water blocking the sun with his back, leaving some summer rays eyes walk the circular craters Míriam. She bent her back to her face left free, so you could see some sadness Jofat large tonnage carried her back...

Jofat ...How many times I'll see, if only today I just...?
Míriam grabs a branch of soil and writes ... Magdala...
Jofat ..: Hence you come!
Miriam..: This is what you see ...!
Jofat..: From the high tower, architecture brilliants eyes and sovereign Semitic structure ...

He took some water and washed his hands of Miriam, she tight her throat and muttered short sentences from a song of the earth; the sun suspended in the air kept the closest shade to protect the Migdal in your heart with its long silhouette, and sleeping in her skirt pocket. And so steep on his feet shackled with Jofat sea could be seen on certain days of the month, some of them not greet, but the events of each light would smoothness to the ways of Rishon le Zion.

Miriam worked hard so that one day could return. Luck was for Jamal, since their trade with Syria, Egypt and Persia as plenty of fortune, even Miriam, as a reward for their effectiveness powdered received from his hands, a radiant psaltery; which would occupy the glazing bars rubbing singing, as if he were to do with laggard itinerant sheep and dromedaries, waiting for an order. His singing is heard near the tower at night, pretending to be huge flows.

Moshe continuous ...:
Moshe ..: In Palmahim the surrender time genuflecting Miriam, going to the heights of the tower. It was so high that other two were built in the absence of the most beautiful image of Miriam!
In Palmahim with two children playing Miriam, nodding tired smiles to delight them with your company. Later, Jamal calls and tells them they boarded the wagon to go to Magdala, as the weather worsened giving sparkling  drops from the dark heaven. She takes children on his back and carries, while a voice call...
Jofat ..."Miriam ... human silhouette Miriam you lashed out in my consciousness stems filled with shattered by the voices of your tower, instead of spittle, threw on me ... sand ..."
Miriam ..: How not understand ... Already I go, Jamal comes next week, she goes with him to Magdala, Goodbye ...?!

Sherom follow  ...:
Sherom ...: On the outskirts of the village, standing water get across quartz effects mirrors, together with scattered clouds that were separated from the elderly seeking true face having the concave dome, munificent joy of receiving the source of the roof on abdomens lichens Migdal Cemetery.

Phandle to the cemetery to see his father, sitting on long solar gloomy. From a snowy mountain peak bravely he attaches to his return, his spirit, part of the sleeping immaterial life; her daughter resting under his feet, returning to his waking body, from her home. This sees abandoned, comes directly addressing the courtyard, there is a tendency and sleeps the days he was not.
Miriam ...(In the dream) ... "Father yet I have you gone, sometimes you hear me come at night, slept more I thought you were not and you just saw it with my neighbors put your white shroud for your rest...
In the tour, kisses the earth and see the tower, climb the steep rocks without spilling any of his ancestors, in the cold stones seemed to portray their faces doubt. Heavy rocks taken from Migdal, from their own ancestors, as if each stone should appear the illusion of taking the petrified intra bodies. Reaches the top, and a gale brought Galilee praise in his voice came ... then interrupted a manly voice ... "From here started the silent sound that opened my ears to want your divine fire, as they came from Galilee, went to fetch a big challenge to Palmahim ... astral and spoke Jofat dominated by the silhouette of Míriam "

Then woman of Magdala returned where his family, with his tower that never stopped jealous of her, because it was so high ... that everywhere is watching him...
And thus the mayor twin towers built to accompany her and Jamal gave him work to generate music and accompany him in his last days with the burning heat on his forehead. Provided, Miriam take charge of protecting children with high structure, similar in nobility Miriam attentions.

/ my newest self-published collection of poems, [depictions of reentry], is available now on Lulu.

will send for free a hard copy to anyone interested in writing a review – make request to bartonsmock@yahoo.com

book preview on site is book entire

some poems from it:

[liftoff]

the scarecrow loving puppet put a pop gun to the head of the soundman’s lamb.

-

my last meal
was my mother’s
voice.

~

[attic radio]

the fattest baby in the nursing home can’t chew with its eyes open.

it’s a slow day.

looking into the future
a skeleton’s
dog
sees only
sticks.

lightning
marks
the robot’s
church.

~

[meditations on depth]

the mouth
of the thing
that eats
in fog
a doll’s
head

-

the holy spirit
high
on the bricklayer’s
toothache

-

a cat person
at death’s
door

-

poverty

a belonging
moved
by many
mirrors

~

[seeing]

bored as a slaughterhouse

crow / angel

on a skateboard

~

[depictions of reentry (xxi)]

the barn
bat
with the eyes
of a diver’s
shadow…

the dads were all digging
the nudes
were thinking
small

every chair
an electric
chair

in daylight, that motherless grief

~~

/ my first non self-published chapbook, [infant cinema], is available from **** Press.

I currently have three signed copies available for free- make request to bartonsmock@yahoo.com

excerpt, here:

my child. my diver who wets the bed. my worrier who rescues domestic scenes for animals accused of gaslighting. my swimmer. bather of grasshoppers. my lovely bird alone in an airplane.

~

two things to do on an empty stomach are:  

hold a séance.  

follow the spider’s trail of abandoned birthmarks.  

~

in the video, the young woman is being force-fed cake by a man with a ruined tongue. my mother can’t eat and watch at the same time. your mother is holding me and wondering what happened to this thing. our fathers are veering into the realm of film criticism. where you are depends wholly on my sister’s makeup. god’s parents have no concept of time.

~~

/ also, ending tomorrow, is the goodreads giveaway for my self-published thing, [FOUR], which includes four recent titles of mine in full along with some newer poems.  

some poems from it:

[the many]

as an uncle
can enter
any garage
and sense
the absence
of a nailgun
so
can a holy man
prepare
a meal
in the missing
church

~

[purlieu]

a bruise, a school

of fish.  a caterpillar

crossing

the floor
of hell.  a thought

sick
to a son’s
stomach, a winter

glove
in spider’s
nightmare.          

~

[mouthings]

a brother
dodges
suicide
with a piece
of paper
that doesn’t
work. a mother’s
blood

goes white
at the ink
of amnesia.

bus stop, breastmilk
there was

no me.

at what would god
not
be caught
dead? speaking

is how we talk
to the words
we say.

~

[stratum]

two brothers come to blows over which sister likes fast food more.  a man we want to love is shadowboxing a snowdrift from the parable of touch.  blood is a food group.  I pray to my hair.  call my footwork by name.  take my time

with amnesia.  

baby facts include being born again in the museum you were carried to.

I hear rain
But I see none,
Why do I feel to cry?
Is it just because being a lady is so-
Complications occurred and now I am left bloodless

I hear rain.
I'll look out my window
And feel her pain
She's dead.
*****.
3 men, my mother said
Her mother, she's torn
Said she heard her daughter's screams
but
Dad said 'Nah, that can't be her, keep looking'
Where was he when his girl needed him?
Where are those men?
Someone find them!
They deserve a hanging!

I think about sharks a lot
They eat people who swim in shallow sea water,
why,
Do they leave them half eaten
To be dragged to shore where we see them?
No, eat them whole!
Now images of a lady in a turquoise bather haunts my night dreams
She's pretty the lady, in face yes
Can't make out the rest, only her neck
and some part of her right shoulder is left...

Man, why do I feel so deeply
Sometimes I wish I had no heart
for it hurts so for these people
They were living
before they died
And in what a manner!

Man, I shouldn't have googled shark attack at Muizenburg beach at work
But I was curious.
Surely death by curiosity won't hurt half as much.

He used to be always next to her
Affectionate and being a chauffeur
He knew her favourite liqueur
Prepering a bath with douglas fir
Wasching her every blurr
Everyday being a monsieur
He was just not to compare

But one day he left
It was to her like a big theft
She felt alone and bereft
Calling for some rest
In her heart grow up a huge cleft
Before no one saw her so stressed

For a long time she couldn't gather
Calling every week her father
Asking why the cake is so batter
And how to live without her ex charmer
She wasn't anymore a bather
Sometimes she looked like a cadaver
Looking for some reason to laughter

I AM AMAZON

******* bather
one tanned proud breast
the other - white scar

unashamed of her
solitary breast
'I AM AMAZON!" she proclaims

the next year
the other breast is lost
she bares her chest to all

*******
breast-less
she smiles at being alive

"I offer myself to the sun
sans the emblems of woman
I spit in the cancer's face!"

dressed in only
birdsong
caressed by sun

I AM AMAZON

******* bather
one tanned proud breast
the other - white scar

unashamed of her
solitary breast
'I AM AMAZON!" she proclaims

the next year
the other breast is lost
she bares her chest to all

*******
breast-less
she smiles at being alive

"I offer myself to the sun
sans the emblems of woman
I spit in the cancer's face!"

dressed in only
birdsong
caressed by sun

I wanna stay alone
I wanna  be alone
I hate people, I hate crowd
Different and alone, I want to be
Alone doesn't mean lonely
Alone means safe and secure
Alone means fine
Alone is what I want
People are what I hate
Your existence bothers me
Doesn't matter for me
I can exist without you
You bather me
Leave
I want to live
Vanish
I want to flourish
Die
I want to try
To fly
To open my wings in the sky

I AM AMAZON

******* bather
one tanned proud breast
the other - white scar

unashamed of her
solitary breast
'I AM AMAZON!" she proclaims

the next year
the other breast is lost
she bares her chest to all

*******
breast-less
she smiles at being alive

"I offer myself to the sun
sans the emblems of woman
I spit in the cancer's face!"

dressed now
only in birdsong
caressed by sun

I AM AMAZON

******* bather
one tanned proud breast
the other - white scar

unashamed of her
solitary breast
'I AM AMAZON!" she proclaims

the next year
the other breast is lost
she bares her chest to all

*******
breast-less
she smiles at being alive

"I offer myself to the sun
sans the emblems of woman
I spit in the cancer's face!"

dressed now
only in birdsong
caressed by sun

I AM AMAZON

******* bather
one tanned proud breast
the other - white scar

unashamed of her
solitary breast
'I AM AMAZON!" she proclaims

the next year
the other breast is lost
she bares her chest to all

*******
breast-less
she smiles at being alive

"I offer myself to the sun
sans the emblems of woman
I spit in the cancer's face!"

dressed in only
birdsong
caressed by sun