I await new words to document my love

for song, like a tiger hunting bison,

mid burdensome visions of life undone,

unfulfilled in compromise and lies.

As a cricket chirps, "Listen to her."

another chatters, "Nothing is real

but the heart. Chase this animal

of passion and sense like a lion."

In accordance with a white August moon,

genuflecting across hot summer shadows,

I greet mindful impressions as a king

responsive to his constituents and domain.

And the nightingale, soaring aloft in voice,

bids his mate rejoice beside a pond

reflecting every season of night and day.

Within this delight, I write and pray.

Tides of Bondage

One moment soulfully brilliant,

a woman fair concerned for me.

The next more distant than yesterday,

someone willfully apart my reach.

One moment grand and confident,

glad to be held and touching.

The next miserable, void of sense,

apparently fed up with loving.

And my wise daughter asks, "Why marry

anyone inconstant in love?"

My answer was none. Shall I tarry

mid sadness unnecessary and hunger?

One moment my lady and sweetheart

chasing the rainbow we dream.

The next a stranger in sorrows

unwarranted, unfounded, without need.

While My Husband Lies Sleeping

The wind through your whistling owl

makes music, but where is yours this hour?

Where's your song for me?

Am I not as necessary as sleep?

You stayed up all night to banter,

and now you've retired. Tell me,

if you have energy to seek answers,

why not the time for me?

I can't comprehend your mind

so eager to discuss the art of giving

but unwilling to hear my song.

What are you giving to me now?

Obviously, no resolution has come

to you regarding our last conversation.

So I suffer in silence once more,

nursing feelings you refuse and ignore.

It seems you're frequently confused and tired

since accepting the duty of caring.

So I search understanding alone,

next midnight oil and your snoring.

Late Night Combat

Has the hush descended into the canyons

or climbed the zenith to still the clouds?

On this mountain of blood, where cannons

once echoed the wrath of God, a shroud

of clover untrampled by leg-weary soldiers

bends to a north-bound wind. All appears

both inanimate and natural. The surroundings

are the history of my life resounding

like the reverberate calling of dawn.

Has the pleasantness drifted out to sea

or calmed the raging waters inside of me?

By this ocean without reaching horizon,

where mast and men and hull have fallen,

a lone gull circles the stars' reflections,

seemingly searching the dead's resurrection,

and the night offers no end to his flight

toward those glimmering prisms of light,

so he soars towards the sun in my eyes.

Did futility return to test my wisdom

or challenge my wit to combat derision?

On a flight to somewhere and back, I find

a reason to continue, though cold this clime,

this elevated atmosphere unformed, unbound

by highway and lines defining the town,

the state, the person, religion, the hourglass.

I chase the rainbow of today, and as

theaters promote fancy, contemplate silence.

Am I chosen to comprehend war and hate

or reject earth's violent and caustic state?

Aboard memory, intense, unearthly voices

resound, "The sense lies in our choices.

Do we dare to battle the worst of sins

(our ignorance), or would we dwell within

the blindness due isolationists to freedom?"

For certain, life holds but one resolution:

seek that which is true and improve without guile.

March of Findings

Let it be known the blind man sees,

though barren of sight, what he believes

to be the majesty of mankind.

He doesn't see himself as blind.

Let it be known the mute man speaks

a language clear, and too, unreached

by those not caring to be around

him, unable to hear without sound.

Let it be known the deaf man hears

the beat of his heart without his ears.

Let it be known the paralyzed walk

within their desire to try and not squawk.

Let it be known without senses we're hindranced

no more than the man forever incensed with

his neighbor's achievements and his own neglects.

Pray he learns the lesson of perseverance.

(January 9, 1979)

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