Many a tiresome hour

I have bestowed on

My golden flower

. . ....

There lay a rapture in the silken thread

Unveiled by dearth and war

Unbosomed as though a sword may gleam,

And salve upon the torn—

And as the fires wane for none

And tear apart the frail—

The holy tigress hails with love,

Her sword, a rosary...

They knew that love would not be lost

Between the two, who knew loves cost /

And though lovers be lost, love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion...

Before the sun had ambled low

Below the pines and firs

I fancied I had loathed the sun,

As all the saturnine—

Until it rose upon the fields

and weathered faces

In shambles higher than

The blackened sycamore

Broke upon the hills, at bay,

And ere Illumined nevermore,

When it rose the more

Upon the fields and

weathered faces—

I fancied I had loathed the sun,

Before the dearth of graces

(Not happy...

When I fell, belayed and with

Despair I’d never known

I crept aside the callous wall

Mad as birds atone

When all I appeared

Was flesh and bone

And tethered from the stars

My every love had gone beside

Withheld of light afar

—-

(I was reading 1984. I relate to Winston Smith. Especially towards the end. These days I can never seem to think straight enough to form coherent thoughts, or even to w...

_Blossoming over sowing bourne_

_Roses fare the cattle horn /_

_Where season’s solace turns the minnow —_

_Dearth of solace for the widow—_...

_Although I tread on callous stone_

_I know I do not walk alone_

_For even while in cobble cool_

_I still can hear the whipperwhool_...

A lovely word for mourning ears,

And for return— the pine.

A silence for the sorrowful

And for my love— the pint....

——

_To chorus, shouting Gryllidae,_ /

_And to her whip-her-wool—_ /

_He clamors on the loveless tin_ /

_Resounding in the pine;_ /

_Wherein the quiet moon he cries,_ /

_And brews his own demise._ /...

He had found in the wood, a vast cathedral with openings in the ebony walls and ceiling that allowed rain and sunlight into ponds surrounding the pews; and, at certain times of the day, onto the wooden carved crucifix at the head of the church, where sharp vines slithered up The thigh of Christ, and formed over his anguished face a crown of thorns and climbing, scarlet roses.

Each pond, a koi...