Little poems I found while looking through folders from several years ago!
—
The dread blink of a night-full eye
when there is so much
to be done.
—
Fallow fields dead by sun
the earth has all gone flat;
I amble in the yellow yard,
I think of this think
I think of that.
—
Still is the goodly heart –
oh quiet little room!
My face as pale as the moon,
I ask my tiny star
that all the flowers of the earth
might be made young again.
—
Mademoiselle, you must
learn the books by heart –
But I keep a lonely house, madame,
with little room for poems,
where all the rooms have fallen cold
and the tinder’s all been spent.
—
If I crack a house of mirrors,
will it be through my own fault?
—
I scatter all the daisy chains
Sleeping in the underground
And no one spares a blink.
If I am nameless, I have gone
To rest and then to sink.
—
I walk below a small bright star
at the lighting of the lamps
while in the little far-off house
a piano plays nocturnal sounds,
the child’s fast asleep.
—
What a lovely lullaby –
you sung the lilies sleeping
in the summer air:
unblinkingly I loved you
flowers scattered out my hair
…
if there is a lightlife in these madhouse blues
please, where is the place?
—
Slow summer
we walked
by a red-berry bush
and talked to the sky
of paupers and papers
and kingdoms and capers
of halfpenny sense:
but clockhands have run
their course thousand rounds,
my face is grown pale,
the moon of a tale
of gladness and chattering tattering sounds;
how ugly it pounds –
the flat-footed day in her old stomping boots
the bootlegger bootless!
forsooth oh forsooth!
—
O, what madness blasts in the little face!
The jingle of cross’d sense a-ring in the streets
Like courier’s bells in a snow-falling storm.
A flower in the eye, for remembrance
Of the childlike things, lost to the souls
That forgot the hour they slept for their dreams.