Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market

Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.

All around you

A Valentine's Song

MOTLEY I count the only wear
That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,
Who boldly smile upon despair
And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes.
Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer
That the bare listening should make strong like wine,
At this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.

We do not now parade our "oughts"

Death & Fame

When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in
Manhattan
First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sister-

Deceased

Harlem
Sent him home
in a long box-
Too dead
To know why:

The licker
Was lye.

The Young British Soldier

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,

On His Deceased Wife

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused Saint
   Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
   Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
   Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.
Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
   Purification in the old Law did save,
   And such, as yet once more I trust to have
   Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Albinos On The Razor-Edge Of Danger

At the behest of witch doctors headhunters are on the prowl.
They're watching, waiting, stalking and avoiding detection,
in the hope of an ambush with a brutal ferocity.
Their bowie knives and gruesome machetes as sharp as
a guillotine blade that is poised for execution,
certain to dismember any unfortunate victim
into chunks of bleeding flesh in a matter of seconds.

Faced with the looming menace many albinistic
persons are housebound in their homes,

The Song Of Los

AFRICA

I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet:
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity.
In heart-formed Africa.
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd!
And thus the Song began

Adam stood in the garden of Eden:
And Noah on the mountains of Ararat;

! ! Life

This life,
this energy,
this consciousness,
we sense in
everything
we touch,
we feel, we smell,
we hear, we see,
we even taste?

Y..... Happiness

I guess it was my aunty's fault
That before I was six years old
It were my looks that made me happy
She just never stopped praising me

Later when I went to school
I realised I was a bit of a fool
To be so proud about my looks
My happiness shifted towards my books

Natural Theology

Primitive

I ate my fill of a whale that died
And stranded after a month at sea. . . .
There is a pain in my inside.
Why have the Gods afflicted me?
Ow! I am purged till I am a wraith!
Wow! I am sick till I cannot see!
What is the sense of Religion and Faith:
Look how the Gods have afflicted me!

Delirium

The black snow runs down from the rooftops;
A red finger dips into your brow;
Blue snow flakes sink into the empty room,
They are a lovers’ dying mirrors.
Heavy and torn to pieces the mind muses,
Follows the shadow in the mirror of blue snow flakes,
The cold smile of a deceased harlot.
The evening’s wind weeps in the scent of carnations.

The Last Winter Storm

The Last Winter Storm

Every year, at the scheduled arrival of March,
Mother Nature became seasonally enraged,
Like a lion, an unjustly imprisoned beast in a cage,
Like a cancer patient walking on stage
For the last time - the last baby is now aged;
Two seasons are about to crush and crash.

Every thing started with the hauling winds

Hymn To Proserpine (After The Proclamation Of The Christian

Vicisti, Galilæe
I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end;
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep;
For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep.
Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove;
But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes or love.
Yea, is not even Apollo, with hair and harpstring of gold,

The Eight Wonder

I lay here on this grassy hill
Looking up at the sky
There's a cloud shaped as a daffodil
And a spotted hound up high.

My problems are released
Into the turtle shaped clouds
My sorrows have been deceased
By this beauty I have found.

Childhood

I.
That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents or court,
nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;
his domain, insolent azure and verdure,
runs over beaches called by the shipless waves,
names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt.

At the border of the forest-- dream flowers tinkle, flash, and flare,--
the girl with orange lips, knees
crossed in the clear flood that gushes from the fields,

Sonnet 14

XIV

When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever
Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour
Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

The Big Boots Of Pain

There can be certain potions
needled in the clock
for the body’s fall from grace,
to untorture and to plead for.
These I have known
and would sell all my furniture
and books and assorted goods
to avoid, and more, more.

But the other pain

Ben Apfelgarten

There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called,
Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago,
And he was very fortunate in being very bald
And so was very happy he was so.
He warbled all the day
Such songs as only they
Who are very, very circumspect and very happy may;
The people wondered why,
As the years went gliding by,
They never heard him once complain or even heave a sigh!

Six Years Of Darkness

-Darkness
6 years struggling in the abyss of darkness.
Sleepless night laying down on the bed middle in the ocean.
Surrounding by walls, that might look like my own fortress.
Laying down on a hard surface with no motion.

What kind of life has this become?
Being ingulfed by thousand emotions.
A body that doesn't care and becomes numb.
A skin with thousand scars that looks broken.