Snow In August (A Book of Original Verse)

 

       Snow In August

She had enjoyed sweet certain knowledge that,
however hot the summer, August brought

its welcome snows upon a boundary fence
that she had kept to please her neighbors, too.

Although she had not sown its vines, she had
allowed that fence its luscious covers, had

declined to prune the annual tendrils so
that years could boost the bounties of the white

and snowy blossoms butterflies and bees,
too, found refreshing in the August heat
 

till such snows stopped, till angry neighbors spoke
at last about the inconsiderate weeds.

Embarrassed she had thought the worthless good,
she used her swing blade as a neighbor should.

     Erasing Rosa Parks

I’m glad that God did not share power

            To travel round in time

For then no matter what we choose

            Our choice would be a crime--

How could we undo villainies

            Yet not do offspring crime?

We’d have to send all slave boats back

            Yet keep them, too.  It would

Be wrong erasing innocents

            Born either way.  It would

Be wrong erasing Rosa Parks

            By doing as we should.

     Roman Pragmatism

Don’t simply dig a well.

An aqueduct as well

Draws drinks as well--as well

As looks.  What draws more well

Is better than a well.

    How They Would Be Done

What’s gold about the Golden Rule?

            Same gilded flashiness

That in a crown or scepter says

            “Think as the holder says”?

Although it lacks such flashiness,

            There’s better mettle.  One

Is sounder asking neighbors how

            They would prefer things done.

If asked to name that sounder rule

            A careful namer should

Use something modest that comports--

             Tin, zinc, or even wood.

    What’s In A Name

I pluck away some place within the weeds

To nest and sing and there avoid awhile

The wild’s unceasing appetite for all.

Composing such a nest, of course I shall

Weave in materials that comfort me

Yet do not harm the fabric (such as bands

Of rosaries for fingering a bit

And strings of Bach and Schubert.) Given that

“Placebos” placate, prime construction should

Avow them to avoid a vapid and

Thus subprime craft. Allowed my ornament,

I modify my piece of things themselves.

Long as they hold, I scoff at any claim

A lyre’s a liar by that or any name.

       Freer Buddhas^*

I saw two little buddhas.  Very pleased

At their low price, I plucked them quick.  The clerk

Jumped just as eager selling them.  "Poor work

At pricing” was my thought.   I seized

The brownish bag in which she quickly squeezed

The little figures.  Fine, ornate artwork,

The low-priced little pair would plainly perk

Up spare spots on my parlor mantle.  Pleased

By such good fortune, I then thought no more

About the bargain buddhas till upon

Returning home I found the figures gone.

I blamed the clerk of course.  She’d known they were

On verge of their nirvanas and therefore

Had priced the pair to pare their loss to her.

* Two sale buddhas bought from the Freer in D.C. in July 2009 did go strangely missing.

      Antique Family Clocks

Their faces fading, moon dials out of phase,

I rarely rewind antique family clocks.

Beyond the tunes they play, they’ve little point--

Old rusting hands do nothing more than point

In predetermined circles that can’t sign

Which night in night is dark or demarcate

Our noons in night.  Nor can they tethered mark

Our noons in day or when our days are dark.

Wound round, hour categories twist upon

Themselves.  Our categories must instead

Discard such clocks and calendars’ fixed years

Or run us fast or run us in arrears.

We are our metronomes--to hell with clocks,

To hourglasses, gnomons, dials, or cocks.

        /rāz/

Despite their different raising, most weekdays

A tramp and lawyer crossed each other’s ways.

The razored lawyer tied his neckties tight

To keep both foul airs out and feelings mum--

Until the counselor’s car at rush hour stalled

Beneath the heavy, humid summer rays

In plain sight of the site the parasite

Had daily fouled.  Mid horns, that bearded bum

Came to assist.  As long acquaintance called,

He pushed.  The lawyer steered ashamed and dazed

How razed was raised, how raised was never razed.

      Ergo Egoism

A monk unphased by Anselm’s cleverness,

Retorted with some witty wordplay, too:

“I shall concede for sake of argument

 That I am quite subordinate to you.

To understand you, I must understand

The way you think of me and what I do

Which means I’m still the center whether I

Should focus on myself or merely you.”

       Cur Deus Homo

A moral quandary comes before the world

Is balled and tethered round its single star.

The one who lacks a mother and a name,

Starts perfect in itself as one complete--

Though imperfection thinks of self alone

Which turns the perfect to imperfect, turns

It to a jumble both in self and deed--

Unselfishness needs others off its leash

And thereby frees up error and thus wrong.

Omnipotence is tied into a knot

It cannot solve and yet so-powered must.

It takes its skin and takes its punishment

Upon a cross, racks further avatars

As Krishna’s demonstrate with countless scars.

     No Alchemy of Me

                        (An Acrostic)

All cunning alchemies purporting to

Make happiness from others’ essence must

Of course deceive no less than those that claim

Rocks make rare metals.  Any good must be

Found in the thing.  If not, it counterfeits

A good it lacks.   Thus, souls are sole fits for

Themselves.  Uncovering each sole essence will

In turn prove measure of itself and joy.

    The Three Wise Men

Three men debated revelation.  Wilde

Would wrap it up into a single book

Where all of revelation is compiled

For easy reference should one need to look.

Gus thought it strange that all God had to say

Could squeeze into a single sack tied taut.

If true, he still could not discern the way

To find the sack.  All Nature, thus, he thought

Was  revelation.  Chas would not confuse

What authors thought with their own creatures’ views--

Did Shakespeare’s fools mean Shakespeare would be dumb?

Through Nature, ink or other medium

If God expressed himself, how prove he meant

More than mere fictions for his merriment?

    Winter Clocks

Most textbooks say the cold shrinks pendulums

Which makes some clocks run too fast winter months.

And yet one wonders if such clocks combine

More accuracy with pragmatism, too:

The winter days run faster being short

While speed perhaps keeps frostbite from bare hands

That bear cold circles without any gloves.

    Rev. Daniel On Dreams

I blame our nightmares on King Nimrod who

Built Babel.  Till it fell, all dreamers knew

The meaning of their dreams quite clearly—just

One lexicon implied no less.  Now one

Can only understand a dream if one

By chance dreams in one’s native lexicon

Instead of countless others coursing through

The night.  And yet,  I  somehow managed to

Catch all the words at Babel and can do

Translations for a modest fee for you.

     Tempus Fugit

I’ve lost the arrogance of keeping time,

     Of even thinking I had means to lime

         Or cage a thing that just as freely might

            Climb inside or climb out or take to flight

              At random defecating as it flaps.

               I’ve learned there is no meaning when it craps

           On heads below.  Despite what preachers say,

        Time’s dung, its chirps, its cackles don’t convey

     Blame, praise or mockery.  Time flies indeed--

Although the point of that is not its speed.

    Arden

The “natural” opposes nature.  It

Would change the thing itself, tame the untame

And hitch some substitute up to a name.

Ineffable, things in themselves won’t fit

With any words though “natural” would try.

Where Arden keeps her sanctuary, I

Withdraw with Dukes and Rosalinds, with Jaques,

And Ennises, beyond false prophets, hacks,

Prudes, bigots and all other perverts who

Use “natural” to “measure” what they do.

    Kites

Both God and I make kites to fly.

            We have our little fun.

I keep mine on a string and tie

            On tails not talons.  None

Are preyed upon by mine, none die—

            I pray that every one

Is kept in tow while in the sky

            And reeled down safe when done.

    Judgment Proof I

My only measure is myself.  Therefore,

I’m judgment proof since none may judge me and

Due process will not let me judge myself.

     Judgment Proof II

I never find myself unfit or base--

I cannot be a judge in my own case.

Nor can another make such findings--I’m

My only measure, only paradigm.

      Egyptian Nights

A thief of ninety years broke in a tomb

And “stole” a mummy’s heart--his youthful bloom

Of only ninety years plus life’s perfume

Made sweet the wrinkles, rotten teeth and rheum.

      Righteous Indignation

Some fifty miles away he’d found a room

He could afford and had just settled in--

He’d had enough of his foul wife and child

And hadn’t come back home from “fetching milk.”

He’d opened up a dirty closet to

Unpack those few possessions he had stashed

In flight and found himself unnerved to find

A ragged box upon the closet floor.

He warily removed the top and saw

Two mice that bared small teeth in firm defense

Of their small, screaming litter in the box.

With a curtain rod he killed the father first,

Then bludgeoned next the mother and her brood

In self-defense as any “real man” should.

     Retirement

Today I did not crawl back in the box

Which day each day seductively unlocks.

I did not lie and nap in numbing stress,

Did not retire in work but from it. Less

Fearful of the light and what it may

Show, I’d not euthanize another day.

At last, I ceased toil’s daily suicide--

To day I said, “I shall no longer hide.”

     Miscellaneous Epigrams And Riddles

            What’s Live Is Quick

What's “live” is “quick” the linguists say--

The nonce is born to leap away.

                Palladas 9-6

I was a wild pear tree until your graft

            Gave fragrance.  I reward you for your deed.

             From Palladas 10-60

           

One may trade time for wealth but not for more of life.

            From Palladas 10-75

           

As Nothing, we eat vanity and graze

            On breaths of wind in pastures of the air.

           From Palladas 10-82

Do we imagine dreams are life?  Or are

            We living although life itself is dead?

            A Riddle

To be or not to be?   Is anyone

Beyond poor Hamlet’s question? 

                                                     (Yes, a  nun.

A nun in being is a nun.  A nun

Not being, on the other hand, is none.

It therefore matters not should any nun

Select to be or choose oblivion.)

     A Possible Self-Epitaph

With this last terza, Harold Lloyd withdraws

Behind time’s curtain.  Past jeers, past applause,

He rests in verse and rests from reading laws.

     April 2, 2010

Let trumpets blow as well for her some day--

It’s both Good Friday and that second day

Of April when Saint Abby went away.

            Town and Country

Sequestered, each appears a bitter place.

Contrasted, each appears a better place.

                 Ethel Waters

She couldn’t read a note--a trivial thing.

She had no need of music.  She could sing.

                 Philaenis’s Dress

She isn’t color blind.   She matches hues

Of clothes by smells of dyes her tailors use.

                 Daphne’s Redress

Reject Apollo?  Is that daft?  Need one

Be switched with limbs and sticks like Daphne grew?

        A Modern Cannibal At Table

Since mind’s now brain (or in it), ignorance gains

Perspective eating missionary brains.

        Kant Acrostic

Copernicus, how can

A mind be central when

No mind exists without

The concept of a mind?

      Five O’Clock Upon the Sun

We shall not ask as others* may have done:

“When is it five o’clock upon the sun?”

*Wittgentein mocked this.