poems

Q.R.V.

As for a lover, I’ve chosen other

And broke love’s own decree

But when I pause, there’s still a clause

Rights go to Q.R.V.

The Little Troll-Man

The little troll-man came last night

To my bedroom door

He said I had invited him,

Like I had done before

With eyes that pierced (an orange-red),

A nose sharp as a knife,

And ears that heard my heart’s own thoughts,

I feared for my life

Then I recalled, I held at whim,

The moon’s own snowy might

And through my palms, I could feel

My guardian of night

I told the little demon-man

He was “not welcome here,”

And showed him by the blinding light

That pierced him through the air

Beauty

Beauty

The very word born of the trees

My stained-glass heart ruptures for thee:

A pang of joy to cure dis-ease

For the Birds

The birds sing to me each day,

Goading me to, “Come, make hay!”

Coaxing me toward a shift

Reminding me, ’tis all a gift

Crimson Leaves

All the crimson leaves are gone,

And all my wishes fallen

Guess it’s been a long time since

I’ve heard your music callin

My ship to a distant shore

Guess this girl don’t sail no more

For the wind that took the leaves

Turned my sails to different seas

Dolly Moon (4)

Now, where is that Dolly Moon?

She’s to pass by my bedroom

And cast a silvery, calming glow

As pure as white and cool as snow

Dolly Moon (2)

Now, where is that Dolly Moon?

I’ll woo her with a jolly tune

Tell her about the afternoon

While she’s still in her dressing room

Dolly Moon

Now, where is that Dolly Moon?

Shrouded with a cloud festoon!

If the wind had any rigor,

We could spy her fulsome figure

Nevermore

I’ll write a song called Nevermore,

And travel to a distant shore.

I’ll carve it into stone by runes,

Under a bone-white winter’s moon.

And when my body meets the coal,

You may yet find my treasured soul.

Sequel

Oh, if it were just the same,

You would live up to your name.

And I could spell you all the better,

Cursively, down to the letter.

These stories which you long to write,

Write me instead: read me my rites.

Oh, if it were just as equal,

I’d have never been your sequel.