The church flings forth a battled shade
Over the moon-blanched sward:
The church; my gift; whereto I paid
My all in hand and hoard;
Lavished my gains
With stintless pains
To glorify the Lord.

I squared the broad foundations in
Of ashlared masonry;
I moulded mullions thick and thin,
Hewed fillet and ogee;
I circleted
Each sculptured head
With nimb and canopy.

I called in many a craftsmaster
To fix emblazoned glass,
To figure Cross and Sepulchure
On dossal, boss, and brass.
My gold all spent,
My jewels went
To gem the cups of Mass.

I borrowed deep to carve the screen
And raise the ivoried Rood;
I parted with my small demesne
To make my owings good.
Heir-looms unpriced
I sacrificed,
Until debt-free I stood.

So closed the task. “Deathless the Creed
Here substanced!” said my soul:
“I heard me bidden to this deed,
And straight obeyed the call.
Illume this fane,
That not in vain
I build it, Lord of all!”

But, as it chanced me, then and there
Did dire misfortunes burst;
My home went waste for lack of care,
My sons rebelled and curst;
Till I confessed
That aims the best
Were looking like the worst.

Enkindled by my votive work
No burnng faith I find;
The deeper thinkers sneer and smirk,
And give my toil no mind;
From nod and wink
I read they think
That I am fool and blind.

My gift to God seems futile, quite;
The world moves as erstwhile;
And powerful Wrong on feeble Right
Tramples in olden style.
My faith burns down,
I see no crown;
But Cares, and Griefs, and Guile.

So now, the remedy? Yea, this:
I gently swing the door
Here, of my fane—no soul to wis—
And cross the patterned floor
To the rood-screen
That stands between
The nave and inner chore.

The rich red windows dim the moon,
But little light need I;
I mount the prie-dieu, lately hewn
From woods of rarest dye;
Then from below
My garment, so,
I draw this cord, and tie

One end thereof around the beam
Midway ‘twixt Cross and truss:
I noose the nethermost extreme,
And in ten seconds thus
I journey hence—
To that land whence
No rumour reaches us.

Well: Here at morn they’ll light on one
Dangling in mockery
Of what he spent his substance on
Blindly and uselessly!…
“He might,” they’ll say,
“Have built, some way,
A cheaper gallows-tree!”

A Compilation Of Romantical Tidbits
From The Tomes Of Marcus


Perhaps somewhere along time's vista
as I stroll down the lane
twixt the cherry blossom snow
and the baby blue blanket of sky,
a crystal miracle
will flutter down
on the fragranted breeze
to alight on my honored shoulder,
blow a kiss in my ear
and say “today is your day,
what do you wish?
I shall grant reality
to whatever desire is most special.”
there would be sining,
elven voices mingling in the air.
there would be dancing,
a wild run midst the night skies.
I would pluck stars from their heavenly roosts
and place them like flowers in hair
to wink at me from inside your sparkle,
try vainly to outshine you
and finally bow to the Queen of their own.


memories
and memorabilia
substitute for your presence
as mementos embrace me
with their hint of your essence.
they fill me with silly fanciful notions
of lazy afternoons
and the coursing of unbridled passion
almost furious in its urgency
promising ecstasy and rhapsody
and calm in its permanency
whispering this is rapture and sincerity.


I see images of a rose,
love on the vine.

an erstwhile poet
dancing in his orbit
around the center of his universe --
you, the inspiration for each verse.

want to dive into your ocean
and ride the waves of emotion.
there's no worry I'll drown
for weightless is love's crown.

I yearn for the touch of your words
to fall like silken snowflakes about my head,
burst into flames once heard
and set my paper soul burnng in their stead.

there's so much to share:
a sweet kiss;
a gentle caress.
flattery may get you everywhere.


they say sweets that pass the lips
stay forever on the hips.
so sweetness gathered from twixt the hips
should spend eternity on the lips.
the nectar makes me giddy
like honeymoon champagne
and forever intoxicates me --
love's fine wine thrills my brain.


LOVE is a big word
woven from a million smaller 'luvs'.
I luv being with you,
it adds dimensions to my personality
and makes ego insignificant.
I luv the way you smile,
how your eyes reflect the joy of the soul
and the soft glow you radiate
flares brighter.
I luv the rush of color
it brings your gently drawn cheeks.
and I luv your lilting laugh,
a simple sound that melts me
and absorbs me into its echo.
when you wish to laugh
laugh with me,
it moves me along
in a soothing warm cascade.
when you want to smile
smile on me,
it removes obstacles
and lights my way.
when you need to cry
cry into me,
I'll soak up your tears
and return truth,
fantasy
and support.

listen to me.
I sound just like
some foolish romantic,
young and in love.
guess I am
from time to time.
wish I could be that way
every second, every day.

Anothr bird falls from heaven and bites the dust
The silver horse runs for eternity
While the burnng daisies; shall burn forever more

In dreams, I see, another part of you in me,
I cling, to hope, that someday soon you'll also see,
But, then, I know, that part of you is somewhere gone,
And, all my dreams, get lost inside a lonely song,
I know, if you, would only take the time to free,
That I, would show, how you see you inside of  me,
To sleep, so deep, and wait in dreams for you to come,
I wait, with hope, so soft your love would beat my drum,
That I, soon know, that all my hopes lie deep within,
All that, you are, and everything of you has been,
So, hiddened inside, that smiles of you so light my day,
That I, am here, to give my love to you  I say,
Then, let us run, as fast and far as lovers can,
Outside, this world, we go to find another plan,
And, I, will love you just as long as you desire,
For all of you, will always light my burnng fire.

It's like looking through a keyhole
the first time you look; black
you don't understand, so
you walk away
but you look again
your eyes adjust
realization washes over you
but that's only the first break in the riptide.
Not true perception.
The next moment you see clouds
and the flooded floor
but is it acid
or saline?
There's something lying on the ground
a wounded dog?
No.
But a wounded soul
nails digging into hair and skin.
"It's just a headache"
they would say
If they were on your side of the door
but peeking through the keyhole
you can see the demons.

Iron.
That's what you recognize as the scent of the cell
It doesn't repulse you
It draws you in
like blue electric light.
Chains start to scratch your ears
yelling and moaning fill your head
but you're not frightened
you're not frightened.

The last sense is the one you burn for
to touch
to help and to hug
to comfort them,
Bur your not trying to help them
you came here for yourself
you want them to help you
you thought seeing this broken bone could help.
Release you
from your cell.
Did it?
If only for a little while.
Do you feel better?
Back to your burning cell
you return to flames.
You would trade your prison for theirs in a heartbeat
and they would greedily take
the key from your hands.
They want to feel that burnng
but it can't be
So will you ever return now?
Just for envy?
For longing?
Or peace in misery?
They would.
It is a poets nature
to keep returning to those memories of burning
If not for an instant
then never.
Because that's what happens
when you peep through another's keyhole.

Reaching out to nothingness -
There must be something there for me
Letters stacked in piles of gibberish.
Emotion down my cheeks but not my pen.
Where is my muse - the one I promised
To give my life and being to. She’s gone.

My fingers grasp the nothingness
And clutch it to my wounded heart
As if somehow to make it treasure.
The accolade is down the street;
And I have no way to get there.

Crippled pen and crumpled verse
Is what I have to proffer here
Who is it wants what I pour out:
Acid on the desert of my soul
Burnng wth a flame that never dies
        ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Wipe the salty tracks away
Pick up the barren pen again
And strive to coax a butterfly
Or fawn or bunny from its depths.
Gardenias with their magic scent
Are surely locked inside somewhere.
I need to somehow set them free
And if not that, then find a way
To learn to live with what I have
And never whisper “I want more”.
                       ljm