Poetry’s reason is not staid
Her terms are a basis for time.
And too, hold reference of limits
Between the mountain summits.
Her nature imbues rhyme
Down to the lowest valley fade
Where all cares shall be laid
(For heights must become another climb)
So that this wretch may remit.
There was man – naked and running;
The point of flight was not apparent.
There was beast – still and waiting;
The id’s fright – was not transparent.
There was time – moving hands aberrant;
For the night’s rhyme was dissonant.
And man was running – naked.
And now, the beast – awaked.
Sailors of the night -
Upon the seas of red...
Do you pray for right
Or do you tempt faith?
Neigh the forces be read
That shall drown ye in ‘stead...
For thy loin’s fetid fed-
Aye! the devil must be led.
Innocence lost – Oh! ye poor waif.
Why does a pebble set out rings
That seek to be circles across time?
And how will the young prince’s flings
Find deeper truths below the water’s
rhyme
Whilst the reasons for each may have a place;
Neither are new dreams of an ethereal
space
Nor are they congealed ideas of very old
kings-
Now that the church is quiet; no one
sings.
Enter with tremor of eye
Or rush in with fervor to die
For evil’s fog hides the way
To and back the first day
Before the dark insane sky
Burgeons over children’s stay.
Ask the politicians if life’s fruit
Is more a true lie played on a lute
Or a false truth to rearrange
How Macheath lived so strange
So, to disguise the real face
Of Mac the Knife’s trace.
In the sunlight the needs are clear;
whereas the moonlight finds fear.
And your eyes find me alone
with nothing left to own
when the day is done
and there is no one-
The night is there; still
and there is a chill.
Accept the ways of ache
In the hours before night’s wake.
That look in the eye is the way
From where lost has a long stay.
Poems must have their say
For dawn will find lost strays
Back home - at first-lights rays.
