Much like the setting sun
Whose golden rays to us all enfold
I enter the promised land of gold
To live all the fun.
It’s golden age I’m told
My teeth and I sleep not together
And my eyes lay bedside like my father
Like many who become old.
Then my head may spin
My voice shaky and my limbs weak
I am wrinkled and faster is my heartbeat
It’s the shape I am in.
But some may be fine
Though I limp and fight blood sugar
And breathe with a wheeze and grow feebler
And my sun may not shine.
In my boyhood joys I recall
Though hopes and dreams stole my sleep
Love had a meaning for ever to be
With family and friends and all.
The past lies in the present
Like birth, one must prepare the end
The methods that those above send
But why life cannot be reset?
Categories:
feebler, anniversary,
Form: Free verse
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, writing, , In Memoriam,
Form: Quatrain
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, writing, , In Memoriam,
Form: Verse
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, dedication, writing, , In
Form: Quatrain
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, dedication, , In Memoriam,
Form: Quatrain
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, tribute, writing, , In
Form: Quatrain
...for Hart Crane - In Memoriam - (1899-1932)
Words of purpose, carved and struck,
as chipped from granite's cold confines,
fashioned into filigrees
that shocked and startled feebler minds.
The Bridge, that span of subtle magic,
metaphor of time and space,
stretching skyward, swooping low,
connecting man to style and grace.
Letters of sophistication
sent to those who praised and scorned,
ever striving for perfection,
friends were used and heroes mourned.
A man at odds with bland conventions,
drunk, debauched, yet tried and true,
companionship oft cold and faithless
fostered with a dockside crew.
On a ship, confused and homeless,
wandering, he yearned for ease,
the ocean summoned this poor vagrant,
in its depths he found his peace.
Categories:
feebler, dedication, , In Memoriam,
Form: Quatrain
We enter the scene of a room—
Not through a window—
There is none;
Not a single gap through the wall
But for a door—an opening—
Just one;
At an end in this closed box,
There’s a jutty hanging-out
With a leavened candle-stick:
Lighted Candles adorn the scene—
They burn with fervor
And a glowing wick..
…Nothing much is seen in the corners—
Which are dark—
In a gloom they sit…
Apart from a feeble, ailing man,
There’s seen none—
No other presence…
Apart still, from feebler groans
We hear naught
To baffle the sense…
One moment, This Picture swims
Across and through the head—
Then all that’s heard is silence:
When in the next,
Is sensed a dead—
The air grows heavy—a little dense…
All of a sudden, the flames that burn,
Start to curl and wiggle about;
Now, in an attempt to free themselves,
They writhe in pain—try reaching out:
All in no time, the remnant dies—
All argument, conjecture and surmise…
Categories:
feebler, death, imagination, mystery
Form: Imagism