Keep up thy vigil, dimpled shepherdess!
Gift night a lantern light to guide lost stars
Strayed from the flock, treaty with tenderness
Soft grazing grounds in heaven's nebulas,

Look low for lone stars fallen from on high,
Feasting on kindling tree-tops laced in cloaks
Of lily blossomed snowy dew drop sighs
Billowed from scattered cushion clouded smokes,

Look further still beneath the ice-fringed eaves
Of gold-spun thatched roofs dotted down the lane,
Footfall echoes stolen by kingly thieves
Triumphantly majestic in their rain:

Look last for shadow framed in windowed light
Keeping thy lonely vigil through the night.

Part One - Missing presumed dead

Apparently Alec was missing presumed dead
at least that was what the obituary said
how then he got married is still a mystery
life after a very dark period of history

               Jane plodded head down through another long day
               solitude complete in a strange kind of way
               while Kestrels are tacked to an untamed sky
               she screams "Dear Lord wont you please tell me why"

young Alec stood well over six foot tall
legs full of shrapnell disfigured and all
willing to give all for a meagre days pay
a young man with half of his face blown away

                Shepherdess Jane sat under sad twinkling stars
                it was plain to see she had her own mental scars
                the Ferryman's Daughter, she was so kind
                different from the others, Jane was blind

when the bells of victory began to ring forth
it was too much for Alec, he headed up North
up to the North where the bronze fields shone
but Alec's old personality had gone

                 there in the North a young Shepherdess called Jane
                 did dry Alec's tears and soothed his deep pain
                 Her voice rolled over hills in a plaintive wave
                 as they assumed Alec lied in an unmarked grave

In time they married, Jane bore Alec a Son
but talk about the war, Alec would have none
all that he said was "between you and me..
I've seen things that no man should ever see"

                 flashbacks in his mind of the dead still ringing
                 offset by his young Wife's ethereal singing
                 somewhere around the Somme young Alec lay dead
                 at least that was what the obituary said.


Part Two - The Ferryman

The Ferryman vowed he would find his girl
he picked some roses to place in the top room
searched high and low to find his precious lost pearl
swore he would have her back before the flowers bloom

treated like a slave, a young girl in her prime
the Brothers got away Jane was left behind
her body it did whither through the passing of time
She was different from the others, Jane was blind

worked as a Milkmaid her hands would get so sore
under constant threats she still searched for the spark
work never done a family waits on the shore
although Jane was blind she could see in the dark

the moon shone bright on the path to the Ferry House
the gusts picked up on the night Jane ran away
salty wind and sea shanty's awakened the grouse
as Jane finally gets her break from the play

He scoured every square inch of the land
yet couldn't ask why? Or search into his past
at the Wayfarers Inn they'd got it all planned
released from a cruelty that could no longer last

the night the Father died Gaelic psalms they sang
a lonely house still stands like a watch to nature's will
when they buried the Ferryman the church bells rang
the flowers in the attic, they stand there still.


Part three - The Inn (recapitulation)

The Ferrymans lantern swung in the pouring rain
he heard that his Daughter had made it to the Inn
the audience sang to the Drovers refrain
midst discarded cigarettes, rolling dice and gin

Jane had long picked brambles from thorn covered vines
lived an intoned existence yet she had her plans
though Jane was blind she could read between the lines
a chance to escape, she grabbed it with both hands

the Inn's cosy light shone at the end of the lane
to Whiskey Jack, Jane's elopement had come to light
she had nothing to lose and everything to gain
Jane's now with Alec and has recieved her respite

see him dramming away yarns, bereft of what's true
then screaming his lies to the starry sky above
but tidal subtleties are demanding their due
his heart had long died to the trueness of love

the landlord played the piano and felt every note
the Ferryman's lantern swung in the pouring rain
given up his search, now in want of his boat
regular at the Inn but never seen again

he knew that yesterday would never come back
sailing aimlessly like a throw of the dice
he knew there would be no-one to take up the slack
the doomed Mariner paid the ultimate price.

At dawn's first light, she awakens,
casting off her grey stone shell.
Her skin reflects Old Sol's blaze,
revealing no sign of age or blemish.

She takes to the tower's spiral staircase,
descending with the timely grace
of Autumn's auburn leaves falling.
To the pier, she walks alone.

She comes to rest on an ivory throne
and casts her gaze upon the mountainside.
Dining on dates and a spectrum of berries
as she solemnly inspects every summit and base.

Sailing down from overhead,
a hunting falcon attempts to catch a view
of the maiden seated on her chiseled cloud.
She neither blinks, nor turns. Eyes set upon the jagged rocks.

Her purpose is frightful, but she continues.
From eras since passed and still to unhatch,
she waits for the mountains to come alive.
Once more, she will tend to her hard-set herd.

1.

One Day the Amarous Lisander,
By an impatient Passion sway'd,
Surpris'd fair Cloris, that lov'd Maid,
Who cou'd defend her self no longer ;
All things did with his Love conspire,
The gilded Planet of the Day,
In his gay Chariot, drawn by Fire,
War now descending to the Sea,
And left no Light to guide the World,
But what from Cloris brighter Eves was hurl'd.

2.

In alone Thicket, made for Love,
Silent as yielding Maids Consent,
She with a charming Languishment
Permits his force, yet gently strove ?
Her Hands his ***** softly meet,
But not to put him back design'd,
Rather to draw him on inclin'd,
Whilst he lay trembling at her feet;
Resistance 'tis to late to shew,
She wants the pow'r to sav -- Ah!what do you do?

3.

Her bright Eyes sweat, and yet Severe,
Where Love and Shame confus'dly strive,
Fresh Vigor to Lisander give :
And whispring softly in his Ear,
She Cry'd -- Cease -- cease -- your vain desire,
Or I'll call out -- What wou'd you do ?
My dearer Honour, ev'n to you,
I cannot -- must not give -- retire,
Or take that Life whose chiefest part
I gave you with the Conquest of my Heart.

4.

But he as much unus'd to fear,
As he was capable of Love,
The blessed Minutes to improve,
Kisses her Lips, her Neck, her Hair !
Each touch her new Desires alarms !
His burning trembling Hand he prest
Upon her melting Snowy Breast,
While she lay panting in his Arms !
All her unguarded Beauties lie
The Spoils and Trophies of the Enemy.

5.

And now, without Respect or Fear,
He seeks the Objects of his Vows ;
His Love no Modesty allows :
By swift degrees advancing where
His daring Hand that Alter seiz'd,
Where Gods of Love do Sacrifice ;
That awful Throne, that Paradise,
Where Rage is tam'd, and Anger pleas'd ;
That Living Fountain, from whose Trills
The melted Soul in liquid Drops distils.

6.

Her balmy Lips encountring his,
Their Bodies as their Souls are joyn'd,
Where both in Transports were confin'd,
Extend themselves upon the Moss.
Cloris half dead and breathless lay,
Her Eyes appear'd like humid Light,
Such as divides the Day and Night;
Or falling Stars, whose Fires decay ;
And now no signs of Life she shows,
But what in short-breath-sighs returns and goes.

7.

He saw how at her length she lay,
He saw her rising ***** bare,
Her loose thin Robes, through which appear
A Shape design'd for Love and Play;
Abandon'd by her Pride and Shame,
She do's her softest Sweets dispence,
Offring her ******-Innocence
A Victim to Loves Sacred Flame ;
Whilst th' or'e ravish'd Shepherd lies,
Unable to perform the Sacrifice.

8.

Ready to taste a Thousand Joys,
Thee too transported hapless Swain,
Found the vast Pleasure turn'd to Pain :
Pleasure, which too much Love destroys !
The willing Garments by he laid,
And Heav'n all open to his view ;
Mad to possess, himself he threw
On the defenceless lovely Maid.
But oh ! what envious Gods conspire
To ****** his Pow'r, yet leave him the Desire !

9.

Natures support, without whose Aid
She can no humane Being give,
It self now wants the Art to live,
Faintness it slacken'd Nerves invade :
In vain th' enraged Youth assaid
To call his fleeting Vigour back,
No Motion 'twill from Motion take,
Excess of Love his Love betray'd ;
In vain he Toils, in vain Commands,
Th' Insensible fell weeping in his Hands.

10.

In this so Am'rous cruel strife,
Where Love and Fate were too severe,
The poor Lisander in Despair,
Renounc'd his Reason with his Life.
Now all the Brisk and Active Fire
That should the Nobler Part inflame,
Unactive Frigid, Dull became,
And left no Spark for new Desire ;
Not all her Naked Charms cou'd move,
Or calm that Rage that had debauch'd his Love.

11.

Cloris returning from the Trance
Which Love and soft Desire had bred,
Her tim'rous Hand she gently laid,
Or guided by Design or Chance,
Upon that Fabulous Priapus,
That Potent God (as Poets feign.)
But never did young Shepherdess
(Garth'ring of Fern upon the Plain)
More nimbly draw her Fingers back,
Finding beneath the Verdant Leaves a Snake.

12.

Then Cloris her fair Hand withdrew,
Finding that God of her Desires
Disarm'd of all his pow'rful Fires,
And cold as Flow'rs bath'd in the Morning-dew.
Who can the Nymphs Confusion guess ?
The Blood forsook the kinder place,
And strew'd with Blushes all her Face,
Which both Disdain and Shame express ;
And from Lisanders Arms she fled,
Leaving him fainting on the gloomy Bed.

13.

Like Lightning through the Grove she hies,
Or Daphne from the Delphick God ;
No Print upon the Grassie Road
She leaves, t' instruct pursuing Eyes.
The Wind that wanton'd in her Hair,
And with her ruffled Garments plaid,
Discover'd in the flying Maid
All that the Gods e're made of Fair.
So Venus, when her Love was Slain,
With fear and haste flew o're the fatal Plain.

14.

The Nymphs resentments, none but I
Can well imagin, and Condole ;
But none can guess Lisander's Soul,
But those who sway'd his Destiny :
His silent Griefs, swell up to Storms,
And not one God, his Fury spares,
He Curst his Birth, his Fate, his Stars,
But more the Shepherdesses Charms ;
Whose soft bewitching influence,
Had ****'d him to the Hell of Impotence.

(At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond)

  Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these grey rocks; that household lawn;
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake;
This little bay; a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy Abode—
In truth together do ye seem
Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, O fair Creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.

      With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away:
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou wear’st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer:
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A ******* sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind—
Thus beating up against the wind.

      What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful?
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways, and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality:
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder Brother I would be,
Thy Father—anything to thee!

      Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompense.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes:
Then, why should I be loth to stir?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall;
And thee, the spirit of them all!

This rich Marble doth enterr
The honour’d Wife of Winchester,
A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,
Besides what her vertues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More then she could own from Earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told, alas too soon,
After so short time of breath,
To house with darknes, and with death.                              
Yet had the number of her days
Bin as compleat as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The ****** quire for her request
The God that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came
But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;                                
And in his Garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a Cipress bud.
Once had the early Matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorsles cruelty,
Spoil’d at once both fruit and tree:                                
The haples Babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languisht Mothers Womb
Was not long a living Tomb.
So have I seen som tender slip
Sav’d with care from Winters nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck’t up by som unheedy swain,
Who onely thought to crop the flowr
New shot up from vernall showr;                                      
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And those Pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hast’ning funerall.
Gentle Lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest sease thee evermore,                                      
That to give the world encrease,
Shortned hast thy own lives lease;
Here besides the sorrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon,
And som Flowers, and som Bays,
For thy Hears to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy vertuous name;                                        
Whilst thou bright Saint high sit’st in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who after yeers of barrennes,
The highly favour’d Joseph bore
To him that serv’d for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the boosom bright
of blazing Majesty and Light,                                        
There with thee, new welcom Saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

it's nice to know it's not for naught
there's value in what can't be bought
where my plans convene with thought
i invest different kind of plot

honeycomb are to the bees
as madness is to mysteries
and are polite priorities
nectar of insecurities?

the recounted sheep are bleating/(bleeding)
cry of wolf to deaf misleading
as i bray again repeating
every note so self-defeating

thrown about the limbs of trees
chaos with-in-discrepancies
that which we melt just to freeze
wring tangles such as these

my journey is while they sleep
shepherdess lost counted sheep
the edge, again, to fall or leap
for flight first failure grade so steep

My white whale wild in the seas
This ship no sail, nor north agrees
Ever-spurning taste of tease
I am ahabs intricacies

to illusion am i ******
eternally roaming the land
through burning thirst for empathy
-i'm plagued with insecurity

in an old biblical story
mortal glimpsed our father's glory
From that instant's blinding light
was driven mad took his own sight

if i could measure and define
truth and where it draws the line
which cliff faces only mine
encases truly, i am fine

chronic illness violently
supressing luminocity
onlookers hang silently
as ash consume ferocity

speed builds on tracks in my train
I know this is too fast, again
upon myself, 'you dare complain,
without reference to real pain?'
all avert their eyes, refrain
saying nothing is my bane
am i alone and insane?
this focus that i can't explain?
creating reason for my pain
purpose for and by diseased brain

~

a crystal cradle slowly falls,
from an indigo sky;
coyote’s distant howl,
blends his primal song,
with the whoot, whoot of the owl;
desert minstrels, keeping beat,
with cricket and cicada’s chorus.
above, a dark horse grazes,
in a field of ancient stars;
and below, encroaching mists
gather in the waving grasses,
crouching... waiting to devour,
all who venture near.
the endless whisperings,
of the brook, stream of
ageless waters, tell of tales
of distant ice and snow,
far above these thirsty plains.
aurora’s blend their magic,
their enchanting flame,
dancing in the rising ethers;
mesmerizing sleepy eyes,
a shepherdess is lulled away;
transported by her distant dreams.
dawn’s approach she fails to hear,
’til it's much too late;
when songbirds of the desert,
now seated in this orchestra,
sing her sleeping soul awake.

~

*post script.

watching the set of a cradle moon on a late night return from the rolling hills of Central Oregon’s high desert last month prompts just enough lines to keep these images alive, until i am able to give them complete thought and words this morning.  aside from fatigue, i love driving at night.  197’s winding crossing down to the Deschutes at Maupin and then it's descent into The Dalles beside a wide Columbia; these, and my longing to be home beside my wife, keep me from sleep driving, alone with my thoughts and imagination.  though rare to Oregon, there are times of year when the aurora borealis pushes its way far enough south to be viewed on moonless nights.

to the fore, no dilly dallying,
no words wasting,
I don't write nursery rhymes,
just relay tales re the peoples
I have met journeying on this
natural good earth

I know, I have met,
Little Bo-Peep,
no fiction she,
she has counted my sheep and I,
hers

she pins and pylons,
her tales on my heart,
beetles, bugs and little boys,
crumbs in the bed,
no bleeding hearts here,
maybe a bandaid
on a boo-boo'd finger

this shepherdess tends her flock
and records their history,
the little foibles that make
life's little tantrums into loving poetry

when I think of her escapades,
I recall well that old Yiddish proverb:

God could not be everywhere,
so he created mothers...

and when not tending her babes,
she can bake one hell of a good word cake,
on her island~continent kingdom

my chest is full of burning coals / a penitent shepherdess, dreaming / above the slumbering world the moon changes shape / through the waking-world, spring turns to summer / i kneel before the garden in sorrow / one olive in my hand

Swaths of color
bring subjective representations
of objective correlative
puddles sit
collecting in black retinal holes
becoming what we wish
or believe we know
creating ****
to break a never ending cycle
adonis, taken before her day
filth meticulously applied
to create an unknown class
an artifice
a ploy
aimed at degradation
filling broken vessels
drained of all that has been deemed important
now is as good as any moment
timeless all one and the same
spinning girl, the shepherdess
seen all as one
dissolving time and space
an altered aesthetic
flattening planes
all is over
and nothing has ever mattered in the end

I love you God, I really do.
I am sure that You would know this better than anyone else.
But as I do love, so do I sin
For in loving you, so do you teach my tender heart to love another
Of mortal being (from dust do we descent, to dust will we descend)
And in love does my weak frame yearn
To be touched
To be caressed
For love turns (in the eye) the heavenly ******
To the hellish *****
From innocent shepherdess
To the alluring temptress
I tremble so when your words do I read in the Book of Truth
For the final judgement will (so) soon be upon me
When I will bow before You
A humble servant, shamed
For you breathed me into the world spotless and pure
And I return tainted, impure
With sins of kinds to many to implore
But then do I read in the same Book of Truth,
Of your love for me and all my breed.
How You,
The tenderest of lords do wield
The rod only to yield
When remorse do this lowly creature's heart fill.
For your love is fair,
Impartial and true
So my love is fair
A creation by You.
And so does this fiery flame that I do feel rages on
Burning me in this world and after
And so I pray to you dear true One,
Let me be her, and she, me
In a union blessed by Your holy grace
For then can I face
You as a man who has loved
And in returning, loved.

our mother
was not one
to make sounds
above an infant
in another’s
house, no, our mother

our shepherdess
mother

would have us flock
to god’s
epizootic
nostalgias

Honeycomb are to the bees,
as madness is to mysteries;
and are polite priorities
nectar of insecurities?

The recounted sheep are bleating/(bleeding),
cry of wolf to deaf misleading;
as i bray again repeating,
every note so self-defeating.

Thrown about the limbs of trees,
chaos with-in-discrepancies;
that which we melt just to freeze
wring tangles such as these.

My journey is while they sleep;
a shepherdess lost counted sheep;
the edge, again, too fall or leap
for flight first failure grade so steep.

My white whale wild in the seas,
this ship no sail, nor north agrees;
e-spurning taste of tease:
I am Ahab's intricacies.

To illusion am I ******,
eternally roaming the land;
through burning thirst for empathy
I''m plagued with insecurity.

In an old biblical story,
mortal glimpsed our father's glory;
from that instant's blinding light,
was driven mad- took his own sight

CLIMBING TREES IN HIGH HEELS

the swish of her
dress as
thigh crosses thigh

the static electricity of her
nylons laddered
from climbing trees in high heels

the rescued cat now
safely asleep by the fire
snoring not purring

the whiskey a jewel
in the cut-glass decanter
the glint in her eye

again the sigh
as thigh crosses thigh
she singing softly to her

self as if
she was the only one
left in existence

the clock leaving
a longer and longer
silence  between each tick

and tock

and tock


the clock now stopped

looking elegant
in a thin white vase
the yellow chrysanthemums

just stare and stared
as if they were frightened
of the silence

a shepherd carrying a lamb
in chipped china
looking out of place

without his companion piece
a ***** shepherdess
broken only last week

it was ten past 7
though the clock did not know
that

Time had abandoned
the room
outside the first snowflake falling

Mary Shepherdess with hair the color of bark
lead your sheep astray;
To the writhered valley deep in the dark
where the demons and witches play.
Little lamb be not afraid
your mistress is near;
don't listen to what she may say
she is Fear.

tables claim street
space
shaped like sheep
pens

foxy shepherdess
orders me
Mr Wolf marks
my card

economics of
ergonomics in consumption

For A. F-H., whose smile is our beacon.


I

Long I wandered wild in lonesome lands
Footsore and weary through barren plain
And rock-peppered hillside, though be it in vain
Seeking a country where a person might thrive
I staggered and scrabbled, half-dead, half-alive
Digging sour meals from desolate sands.

In darkness I trudged as through a great maze
In endless dim hollows I scooped and I strayed
Thinking myself master of all I surveyed
Not knowing the name of the lands that I crossed
But knowing the freedom of those who are lost
Until two bright ****** appeared through the haze:

The stars!--I’d never known them before!
Or thought I had, but these were spectral and wild
And flickered and danced like the hands of a child
Had I known only cold white pebbles in space?
But these were of substance and held in embrace
A promise of peace upon some distant shore.

My wandering complete, my journey begun
I set my shoulders and plotted my course
I travelled with purpose now, seeking the source
Until I met another wanderer who--
Come now!--You see them?--Will you follow them too?
And we went on together, as one.

The stars, ephemeral, shifting color and hue
Lured us on like some mystic queen’s diadem
We puzzled at great length on the nature of them
Were they set to guide us?  Or tear us asunder?
They calmed us, inspired us, and--wonder of wonder--
We met other travellers, who followed them too.

They must hold in their beauty some grim destiny!
A dozen, a score of us beat out a path
Through grasslands and forests, a widening swath
Teeming with hope, on a night cool and still
We gathered our strength, crested one final Hill--
And looked down on a town called Century.

Ah, Century!  That was the name, and mark it well!
There was no fanfare; we were not expected.
But we were greeted warmly, and accepted
With quiet grace we were handed mugs of beer,
Given seats by the fire as if we always were here.
And perhaps we were: I cannot tell.


II

I had my ease there, and fell to talking
With a quiet and ancient man, who listened, rapt,
As I told of our exodus, and then clapped
With joy as I mentioned the stars when they came.
He bristled with pride, as though hearing the name
Of an old dear friend, finally come knocking.

I (with a penchant for telling, of course,
And seeing his bright face elated to hear it)
Described how the stars cried out to my spirit,
How they swooped and they soared as if in a pageant
And glittered with every color imagined,
Sweeping my future along with their force.

He greeted my discourse with little surprise.
He chuckled and rocked on his small wooden throne
And bested my story with one of his own.
“My vision is gone,” he said, “Those stars are no more,
Though I’ve seen what you speak of, one time before--
Not in stars, but a shepherd-woman’s eyes.

“Before there was a town here, there was naught
But a rustling river that gabbled and hissed
And a tribe of lost creatures, spied through the mist
Scattered by champions and kings long forgotten,
Trod on, passionless, wispy as cotton;
To scratch out meager living was their only thought.

“This the shepherdess found when first she arrived.
Others found them pathetic, worth a glance, if that much,
But her heart was a lion’s, and she saw them as such.
Her banner flew proudly, it snapped and it played
As she rode through the valley to begin her crusade;
The people knew darkness, had merely survived--

“But her light came to them to fill them with vigor.
She shone like a beacon, she growled and roared
And the lost souls came unto her as a horde
A lantern, she fed them her fierceness and love:
A lighthouse below, and two stars up above.
Dim history’s vast, but her glow proved the bigger.

“They came to honor her--we* came, I should say,
She taught us to teach ourselves, taught us to build.
Taught us to love ‘til our heart’s overfilled.
We built her a statue to never forget
And shine a bright lantern from each parapet
And we carry her legend to this very day:

“Ambition we have to be more than we were,
And know that we each have a light of our own;
When grim fate insults and the road’s overgrown,
The sun shines down here and heals every hurt twice
Where she led us and let us build our paradise,
And we call ourselves Century, after her.”


Epilogue

Now nestle I here where all roads end.
The old man hyperbolizes, of course--as do I,
But lead us by example she did, by and by,
And her light shines as long as memory will allow,
We treasure her beacon as much then, as now,
And she has been, and always will be, my friend.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth

or so I was told at the humble age
of seven years old. I did not ask
and I did not question.
I saw that it was good. Or did I?
It was only the beginning
but what of the rising action
what of the darkness growing
over the surface of the deep?
I was yet to learn for sure
the conflicting nature of faith
or the meaning behind every rosary bead.
Thrown in at the deep end
I stared into the void. A vault
between the waters, or perhaps
an endless sky covered in stars
a ceiling in my bedroom
yet another thing I did not question.
Thus no answer came.
How was I to know the darkness
if not for the light of day?
I waited days and years
until the night came again
and for the first time in forever
I asked myself why
do I truly seek forgiveness
or salvation? Could I be
reborn into a creature
of fire and vengeance
or a winged bird blessed
with the gift of flight
and a lack of conscience?
Perhaps I could have been
state of the art
a true reflection
instead of this serpentine twist
somewhere deep within me
grinding, nesting
in the manner of a deadly disease
clouding my vision
and numbing my senses
taking away any certainty.
The very nature of existence
is to learn its meaning
is to doubt the ideal masters
and their conjured ideas of freedom
infinitive and infinite.
I do not have the answers
but I ask the questions. I am
in control of my own fate
I rise above the darkness
I am the master of the seas
the shepherdess of my own herds
I see all that I make of my life
and I see it is good.

Thus the heavens and the earth are completed in all their vast array.

as a shepherdess

overly
reflective…

at what age does it become

this black
hand

a grey
tear?

-

it worries me

your use
of the red
fox

-

on baby
there’s not
a scratch

Our Lady Corona ,
Walks in heavy light,
She is the patron saint of the quarantine soul,
The saint of not to close ,
Of yes, of course, if you think so,
Of broken relationships filled with stress fractures,
Of racial violence,
Of No , I ******* think not anymore, not today,
Of lost ambition and found glory,
Of viral dances and memes,
Of shattered vases, hearts, and tears.

Our Lady Corona,
Shepherdess of our own moral ambiguity,
Of our lack of societal value in others,
Of our need to be, exist within our own universe,
Of our lack of empathetic emotional service,
Of our generational divide,
Of our continental divide, of the divide that is the political mainstream.

Our Lady Corona,
Take pity on we poor sinners,
Take pity on those we have wronged by our “snow flake” or “Boomer” additude,
Take pity on the hearts that blacken daily with their lack of remorse and understanding,
Take pity on the break down of human empathy.

For we ask in your name to be passed over,
The great equalizer you bring for some.

But in your wake let me singularly believe,
Not all things, not all people, not forever, just days,
Perhaps, just as all other things , you too shall pass.

LGG 3/19/21

[parade for sorrow]

I miss
blinking



[imp]

the man digging in his yard is looking for his dog. this is my lucky window. in this much silence, a baby could get a tooth. a mom a finger if a car door slams. the man digs and the ice comes for its heartbroken road. wounds move in a deerless world.



[born]

disguised
as

as if
I would know



[access verses]

a classroom, a house

but never
the ghost
of a church

–

the boys
they play
scarecrow
loves
horse, and the girls

the shepherdess
on a boat
names her dog

–

hey, distance

lose
the baby

(says
the empty
box)



[holding the baby]

a deleted voicemail of a boy asking his mom how to prepare a past meal. my handwriting an insect I want the best for. dream and the moth it won’t finish.



[vespers]

them raccoons out there is tarrying

up

yr bible

–

tearin

–

border: my eyes can’t stop what the back of my head is eating

mirror: a godless hyphenate

–

my man is a body whose moon is vacant

–

they is out there to flood

sightseers

with basilisk

****

–

in the valley of my choking
the fingers of my father
are going
dog’s-collar
purple

–

out-the-way churches. and acne



[declination]

in forgetting how many to save, god wants to know

are you still
seeing

things…

I remember the animal, the appropriate

mask…

once held, is the baby
less
wild

is the room
in the room



[sympathizer]

the many plain
sons
of god
their parking

tickets



[the mud on god's cheek]

at birth we are given a ladder we can’t see.

our feet

bare



[animal masks on the floor of the ocean]

mouse, teacup of the missing stork-

owl, lamb of night-

this was god. he was sad and everyone noticed.

Fluted cap dripping skull matter thin as blood
as ice, as milk,
we sat rotting in the sun
alone and pretending we werent
lest we be left out again
not again, my lover
my motherly carer my sister my brother
please see that the first to die does so
in the other's arms
corrupt and corroded beyond
ae looking glass charm.

The night floats through the day
    as
Sun skins the dirt underfoot
  and a whole winter seeps
our morphine stasis,
    planted cosmically in place
   forever and ever for a day,my love that I must one day forget
    
that one day must die as the earth dies as i must

     only to be reborn as we dreamt

In the cold ashen season where coal
   lines the cracks along our wall.
Heavenly July days that seem so far a way.

You gathered my thoughts,nirvana shepherdess
   that shed lively shards of grass over formica;
You held me warm as the flies peeled my skin,
    budding me close warm enough to make the needed death
feel not so drastic, feel calmer than words could express.

A little girl was born in a square mile a babylondoner, February child, who had many sheep disguises , born in the hour of the sheep, in a house on the street where the Shepherdess Walked, travelling on the underground, one would have to stop, at Angel.  Her Father called her after him, by all accounts she was the prettiest child, his fourth, her father was very vain, on this subject, it was hard for him to be humble.

Her name also had sheep, her name meant sheep, her middle name a Ram on a King. Her Father worried about the violence, the football hooligans , the fights between mods and rockers, he decided to move back to the homecountry, the country of her Mother and Fathers birth, the Emerald Isle.  This coincided with an eviction notice, their house was about to get knocked down.
  
She moved to the plain of the Yew in the Emerald isle when she was four years old, they built a house in the town of the Castle by the river Barr, on a height that was named Harmony, that place did not often live up to it's name.  Her father came from another town that was much prettier, not far away, houses and land were as rare as hen's teeth, in that town, it was not cheap either.  Her Mother had an idea she wanted distance from her Mother in law, Rachel Ramona and her mother clashed a lot on ideas, but they did love each other, and Rachel understood her Mother, better than her Mother gave her credit for.  

To RRK, her Mother was never there for her, her Mother had an issue with her, that is a puzzle to this day, it will probally always remain a puzzle, her Mother never talks about stuff like emotions, feelings, or the inner landscape.

RRK found refuge in the world of men from the youngest age, she felt like she belonged in that camp, this idea got her into a lot of trouble, then, now and probally in her immediate future.

CLIMBING TREES IN HIGH HEELS

the swish of her
dress as
thigh crosses thigh



the static electricity of her
nylons laddered
from climbing trees in high heels



the rescued cat now
safely asleep by the fire
snoring not purring



the whiskey a jewel
in the cut-glass decanter
the glint in her eye



again the sigh
as thigh crosses thigh
she singing softly to her



self as if
she was the only one
left in existence



the clock leaving
a longer and longer
silence  between each tick



and tock



and tock



the clock now stopped



looking elegant
in a thin white vase
the yellow chrysanthemums



just stare and stared
as if they were frightened
of the silence



a shepherd carrying a lamb
in chipped china
looking out of place



without his companion piece
a ***** shepherdess
broken only last week



it was ten past 7
though the clock did not know
that




Time had abandoned
the room
outside the first snowflake falling

ATHBHLIAIN FAOI MHAISE

she hadn't spoken
to another human soul
for she didn't know

how long now
her words covered
with dust

like the china shepherdess
tending her flock
on the mantlepiece

her thoughts
were rusted
into place

her mind
unable to
move

oh she talked
to the cat but
it wasn't interested

in a word
she had to say
only wanting to be fed

she sat so still
in her distressed
green velvet gown

as if she had time
travelled from
another century

and that time
had abandoned
her here

she imagined that
one day Death
would come calling

and like a real
gentleman he would
take her away from

all this
as the New Year
entered the room

and the dark
exploding
with fireworks

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."


“In the dark silence, in the void of all sensation, something began to know it. Very dimly at first, from immeasurably far away, but gradually the presence approached. The dimness of that other knowledge grew brighter ...”

― Aldous Huxley, Time Must Have a Stop



the shepherdess turns
and in turning
turns into porcelain

as does the chasing shepherd
as they are caught in that
one fleeting moment forever

an ormolu clock
announces that it is the ormolu clock
and that time must have a stop

which is the Huxley novel
the Duchess has been reading
before she expired

dust gathers upon
the chasing and the chaste
porcelain figures

the ormolu clock
stopped in its tracks
has forgotten all about time

the novel lies on the floor
as if a victim of crime
dogeared at page 39

what happens next
the Duchess will
never know

and her fancy
of the porcelain come alive
dies with her

the fire stirs itself
and a loose coal
burns a hole in the carpet

the cat sees all this
and thinks nothing of it
resumes the process of sleeping