This Plea send i before that day,
on this narrow neck of Land,
As here i stand on borrowed breath,
in this uncertain plain of ephemeral filth,
before the maker of all realms,
ere i be lunched on the eternal voyage,
between the duple unbounded paths,
the curtain sooner could be drawn
while the lips uttering faltering strains.
Thy power supreme guides the currents aright
King of mercy,
Let not the hour intrude on me at ill-spent moments
find me wrapped beneath thy cross,
with the blood of the everlasting covenant,
signed and sealed for my pardon.
Thou alone fashioned the wheels of providence.
As this my puny frame succumbs,
grant that when my last hour be called,
the cross my firm fort shall be.
when that messenger unseen, unheard
in dark shades steals through the night,
See the Blood of the messenger of the covenant
My Plea
my petition
from now till my dying day.
fuddle, chuckle, cuddle, fumble, subtle-supple-couple, snuggle.
A heavenly feather falls slowly and lands in free
its a symbol of angelhood and celestial mediation
Soothingly, comfortingly, a Sensei surrounds me
and showers me with blessings as I claim reaction
and write, for I am a poet that is what I do...
An angel divine incarnate without pious duple
sincere in her approach she never cleaves fear
for her gentleness instructs me like a Holy wimple
ministering with anoint from close then near ;
I write, for I am a poet and that is what I do
Alabaster skies with electric blue streaks of night
adhere to her path like a messenger of old and
claim your place in the banquet of His light
she is a paragon of love , fingers in the sand
I write for I am a poet and that is what I do.
An almost April falls as if the season
were feeble and elderly already.
It is a Pavan for a dying princess;
see how she is laid upon the yellowing grass
her beauty reflected like icy droplets on Spring stems.
Do you hear the sad music?
Even death has its music,
even the smallest of germs
even the invisible footprints
of a killer virus have a sad music.
We are troubled, for the days look in vain
for a new tune to sing.
When April is in her bright green flood
perhaps the Princess will revive
with fresh blooms in her flaxen hair,
maybe this sad Pavan will learn to dance again?
~~~~~
The title of this poem is taken from a 16th Century English composers work.
The Princess allusions references obliquely a work by the composer Ravel.
A ‘Pavan’ is a slow, stately court dance of the 1500s and 1600s, usually in duple meter.
~~
I SPEAK OF
the delicate years
and the words our children hear
with delicate ears
i speak of
the duple meanings
have ruined some finest words,
tainted innocence
i speak of
denying teachers
use of words in the classroom,
those child-gentle words
i speak of
words – not giving name –
to touch imagination,
magnify the shame
We spent the night—
once, in non-verbal talks, from rhythmic
folk steps in duple time
to a wild swaying. To enjoy life,
be totally free. A lover, friends
and me. Yes, me. I was there, to be with
them. They wanted loud music and
the exotic juices of an Agape plant, I
preferred a peaceful night. Still we
partied, with the ungentle winds
and my sentiments. The snapping chimes
of woods in lit and the boozes took
us down the field, presenting the earth and
the sky. I watched the night, with
drunken eyes. Ah, there were the stars
and me and the options
yet decided. The stars easily had it, and I dazedly
winkled, welcoming them into my world.
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