Long Stoutly Poems
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Written: May 10, 2024
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Cosmic candor will be suitable
beyond our sight, providing insight
we sift and shift, sustaining a sanctum,
carefulness must be displayed,
as amorphous words uttered,
cosmos works in tandem,
with our intentions,
In this wild environment,
that may seem beyond repair
In wild minds, we find no concern,
each soul craves to be aware,
we should strive for calm not despair,
together, we can be substantive,
and mend anathematized minds
making us utterly magnificent.
Words seem ambivalent
yet, possess vast strength.
as any skilled poet would attest
and may usher us in archaic paths.
leading us to faraway moons
leaving us arcane
in a mesmerizing gaze,
words can exude golden honey,
but can also aureate souls,
and beleaguer afflictions,
& caterwaul time to a standstill,
whether in art or blithe nature,
we stoutly witness moments,
that urge garrulous trivial manner.
& leave dinkum impact on lives.
In that face an eon of desultory,
talk, a lifetime of anguish,
glazed over are those eyes with
diaphanous teardrops that never fall
but were swallowed as water.
Parched lips are always sealed.
Uncluttering a word to ease
torment & disconsolate,
or hope inebriated
into smithereens
and dreams ravaged
by effusive tempests;
ephemeral furrows on the brow,
those trenches in which
all previous battles were fought,
and fatuous wounds endured,
all frivolous fights are done,
let's await an ending.
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
1. The Buddhist Priest
This was the day of the White Crane.
I was walking from Kyoto to fair Kobe,
and not omitting a single shrine,
now nearing the end of my three-day journey.
The morning had taken on a hue
of pastel. I reached a promontory, above the sea
with curious roadside ancestor tombs,
slabs of coarse stone. The wind
and waves, so restless, had done their work,
scarring and scarifying the soft chalk,
leaving strange columns, each capped
by its crude ashlar memorial tablet.
As I prayed to the dead, my bare head
was lifted. My gaze (no longer mine)
was drawn towards a tall pine,
standing alone, its trunk bifurcated.
That tree, I felt somehow, had waited
for me to come. Looking about me,
I saw a peasant, short and stoutly
built. "Tell me about the tree,"
I said. "And what's that poetry?
That hanging plaque?" He said I'd found
something special. "This is hallowed ground,"
he muttered. "Matsukaze and her sister
Murasame mourned here, Mister.
Then Heaven took pity on the two brine
girls, and turned them into this pine."
By mortal things, we should set no store:
but hearing this, I wanted to know more.
In the stillness of day I stoutly wait
With cool breeze sending shiver down my spine
The thought of you warms my idle figure
As nightfall approaches with much fervor
Such a delight when your arms reach me out
And pin me close to your body at night
Listening closely to your heart’s desire
Your thoughts so vivid as you clutch me tight
Night-time rejoices when you jump for joy
Your bubbly smile makes me feel so alive
But gloomy at times when your heart cries out
Pour out all your tears and I’ll wipe it dry
Your fears I feel of what is yet to come
Ease your mind on the softness of my touch
As I cradle your body in comfort
A good rest and sleep will be yours tonight
4 Feb 2018
Dartmoor in a rainy morning light
On the shoulders a well full pack
Regulation fifty six pounds hanging
On an already near breaking back
Marching on a compass bearing
No deviation allowed
Hour after hour
Under low hanging cloud
Forcing boot after boot
Water already seeping in
Wanting to kill the Doc
For his banter and his grin
I’ve been driving a desk
For more than three years
Wanting to kill the Rupert
That went and sent me here
Just a grinding march
In a murky moor haze
Mile after mile suffering
In an exhausted daze
The Doc’s cheerful voice
Dragging us along
But oh lord I’ll kill him
If he sings again that song
There’s Don stoutly walking
Showing his stiff upper lip
While Reg curses madly
As he takes a near trip
And I’m staggering on
Just by the power of will
Compiling my growing list
Of folks I intend to kill
Dartmoor in October rain
There’s an approaching end
And I suppose really
The Doc’s not a bad friend
The three day’s route march
That I thought I’d never make
Is finally finished and
I’m grinning through my aches
I had a dose of tonsillitis
The M.O. a sadistic swine
Proved beyond doubt
He was no friends of mine
His successful cure
Caused me so much pain
He sent me off to Dartmoor
In the pouring October rain