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Octaves

 I 

We thrill too strangely at the master's touch;
We shrink too sadly from the larger self
Which for its own completeness agitates
And undetermines us; we do not feel -- 
We dare not feel it yet -- the splendid shame
Of uncreated failure; we forget,
The while we groan, that God's accomplishment
Is always and unfailingly at hand. 

II 

Tumultuously void of a clean...Read more of this...

The Ballad Of Gum-Boot Ben

 He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.
 He asked me for a grubstake, and the same I gave to him.
 He hinted of a hidden trove, and when I made so bold
 To question his veracity, this is the tale he told.

"I do not seek the copper streak, nor yet the yellow dust;
I am not...Read more of this...

A Year Ago

 I'm sitting by the fire tonight,
 The cat purrs on the rug;
The room's abrim with rosy light,
 Suavely soft and snug;
And safe and warm from dark and storm
 It's cosiness I hug.

Then petulant the window pane
 Quakes in the tempest moan,
And cries: "Forlornly in the rain
 There starkly streams a stone,
Where one so dear who shared your cheer
 Now...Read more of this...

The Mowed Hollow

 When yellow leaves the sky 
they pipe it to the houses 
to go on making red 
and warm and floral and brown 
but gradually people tire of it, 
return it inside metal, and go 
to be dark and breathe water colours. 

Some yellow hangs on outside 
forlornly tethered to posts. 
Cars chase their own supply. 

When we went down...Read more of this...

The Return of the Children

 "They" -- Traffics and Discoveries
Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs' dove-winged races--
Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome,
Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with pitiful! faces
Begging what Princes and Powers refused:--"Ah, please will you let us go home?"

Over the jewelled floor, nigh weeping, ran to them Mary the Mother,
Kneeled and caressed...Read more of this...

The Old Kings New Jester

 You that in vain would front the coming order 
With eyes that meet forlornly what they must, 
And only with a furtive recognition 
See dust where there is dust,— 
Be sure you like it always in your faces,
Obscuring your best graces, 
Blinding your speech and sight, 
Before you seek again your dusty places 
Where the old wrong seems right....Read more of this...

Letters To Friends

 I


Eddie Linden

Dear Eddie we’ve not met

Except upon the written page 

And at your age the wonder 

Is that you write at all

When so many have gone under 

Or been split asunder by narcissistic humours

Blunder following blunder

Barker and Graham, godfathering my verse

Bearing me cloud-handed to Haworth moor

From my chained metropolitan moorings,

O hyaline March morning with Leeds

At its thrusting best, the...Read more of this...

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