I am humble, He said
But what of being honest?, another asked.
I am gentle, He yet professed
No, what anent honesty,
That shapes one's integrity?
He was again questioned.
I am friendly, He proudly said,
Seeming to have the world by him accommodated.
No, are you uncorrupted to them,
And corrigible to all men?
The other retorted.
What got I to do with corrigibility? he queried.
For none could in any way be honest perpetually;
So we do have to compromise at times.
No, no, no, that is wrong! the other began.
Honesty is the best virtue
In which all other virtues prevail
The evidence of man's generosity.
For an honest man is an hundred times better—
Than a benevolent man in wonder.
He pays Peter in Paul's coin
And steals from a man and do it a good to another.
What if the world were only generous,
With no sign of honesty,
Would it stand it?
For it brings the worlds to a world
And peoples to a people.
But many lack this golden efficacy of life.
Yes, with it all other virtues prevail!
I am humble, He said
But what of being honest?, another asked.
I am gentle, He yet professed
No, what anent honesty,
That shapes one's integrity?
He was again questioned.
I am friendly, He proudly said,
Seeming to have the world by him accommodated.
No, are you uncorrupted to them,
And corrigible to all men?
The other retorted.
What got I to do with corrigibility? he queried.
For none could in any way be honest perpetually;
So we do have to compromise at times.
No, no, no, that is wrong! the other began.
Honesty is the best virtue
In which all other virtues prevail
The evidence of man's generosity.
For an honest man is an hundred times better—
Than a benevolent man in wonder.
He pays Peter in Paul's coin
And steals from a man and do it a good to another.
What if the world were only generous,
With no sign of honesty,
Would it stand it?
For it brings the worlds to a world
And peoples to a people.
But many lack this golden efficacy of life.
Yes, with it all other virtues prevail!
My most fervent hope is of the species that,
It wonders most powerfully and unceasingly anent the security of
These notebooks containing these selfsame poetic works;
And I hope also, that asleep and secured is how they are put away.
It must be for me to assume, and ah, yes, presume even such.
Forever I must presume their safety, that of these notebooks,
Else the very worst and most maternal ilk of
Patent worry should invariably ensnare and enmesh me:
It should eternally trap and bother me, this
Baldfaced concern for these, my scribal children.
Thus, within the compass of the caliginous fastnesses of
The occluded drawer of my wicker-paneled,
Square and flat-summited nightstand,
They lay at rest; and, when I, of a night or
Even a day, have little use nor need of them;
And whensoever as my stylus has stilled its diurnal or nocturnal
Movement, and is stationary, silent and at rest:
Resting along with these many notebooks:
These cribs and nurseries gently housing and cradling my poetic,
Inscribed progeny, and there is then no hourly
Requisite of further poetic parturition.
I met her briefly though it seems
Now she is just a fading dream
I wish I could, meet her once again
I guess it wasn't meant to be
To join together perm-anent-ly
I'd still be happy, to be her friend
But the world is a very big place
People move and don't leave a trace
Years fly by like dust in the wind
Could she had loved me, I don't know
I should have let my feeling show
But, I was to afraid of the fall
But the world is a very big place
People move and don't leave a trace
Years fly by like dust in the wind
As time moves on eternally
I'll recall that distance memory
Of that time, that I held the wind
Nine turns o' lunar
sailin' ace wit' me schooner
suckin' me pointer
plucked orf me decks 's'twere
me lingo sucks, yo'd concur?
Ahoy, me mateys. Me scrawlin' me be servin' anent th' mugshot o' th' wordy wench
Linda-Marie, th' sweetheart o' these 'ere waters. Go shakin' yo' ample booty, worthy
lass, 'n heed me pennin' wit' favor. Aye, aye, Cap'n. Arrrrgh!!!
Renewal
life sought it meaning
in my palms of search
and outward reach
and love given selflessly
has show that it is written
of two souls becoming poets
in the fable of love's
Jovians lore.
It is writen
It is writen.
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