Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
Veiling, barely, his dread
Beauty and its blaze,
An angel sets warm bread
and cool milk at my place.
His eyelids make the sign
Of prayer; I lower mine,
Words interleaving vision:
--Calm, calm, be ever calm!
Feel the whole weight a palm
Bears upright in profusion.
......
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
......
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
......
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day
For half his flock were in their beds
Or under green sods lay.
Once, while he nodded in a chair
At the moth-hour of the eve
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.
......
The wind hears many secrets
As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
He mulls them over and again
But doesn’t repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.
The wind also has many lovers –
Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
......
Fragrance night, spicy
Breeze tangoes near tomorrow
to green world stage raves
Howling blues stir lilac dark
Starlight, whistling in the park
Clouds keep on drifting
in times of vanishing moon
It's nature's wild dance
a sultry summer tango
......
Yesterday I was in the parched, red desert, where it pours only seldom,
Bearing joy for varicolored cacti blooms, a silvery shower, very welcome.
This morning I deluged the green, pathless forest, at the dawn of purple.
Tomorrow, wet footsteps will travel, down the tree-lined street of myrtle.
In wild days of ago, my fervor caused floods, as I danced in dewberries;
Then a soft, yellow sun spun rich gold, making cherries and cranberries!
While there is gladness everywhere I go, my sporadic errors humble me,
Like an errant wind which blows off course, tenacious, golden honeybee!
Backdoor wide open
A cream moon is coming in
Softly, like a dream.
Beyond red sun, pearly rays
in a lazy, lilac night.
Howling wind whimsy
'midst the fantasy flowers
in plum, pink and green.
Silver moon, always welcome
......
I was an environmental scientist, working with large wind farm developers,
To harness wind and generate electricity, as a plum sun flees, to tell others.
I worked at helping developers comply, with all environmental regulations;
Minimizing the impact to it and populace, like storm tossed petal situations.
I conducted studies and recommended strategies, to mitigate undue harm,
For wind turbines are good for all earth, like a rouge sun keeping us warm.
Floral fulfillment filled fragrant gardens, after faceted fancies of jade spring.
......