baaa

it was i who kept hard words to show
that some before had writ with high skill
and artifice where cups or chairs
were ornaments they wished to fill

this diverse script, with vaulted spine
that reaches skyward is struggle bound
while lambs graze along sidelines
and spits turn ever round and round

my hard words rise into my throat
an apple adam did willingly swallow
and plead to be melted there, unspoken,
by those tears that must swiftly follow

if i could say a thing, ever,
that actually had a meaning
i’d say what the lamb says in my heart
against which i am leaning.

restoration poetry

restoration poetry

it might have been written hundreds of times
i thought i saw .. is such a happy phrase

a single voice in the distance “you must expect to tumble”

then, later
“why do you speak with your eyes closed?”
and, “how did you manage to see that?”

he left the room a few months ago
a beautifully empty room.

meanwhile,
the ground about the house maintains it there
and in their minds so deep did print the sense
the ancient cup or modern chair were
less ornaments to those that wear
a forced, obscure mythology to convince
and we elsewhere, still seek for them in vain.

so those that think, and do but think they know
a fellow that has neither art nor brain
to entice him to a throne again
where men are dull and conversation low
he had hard words ready to show why it seemed
that some before him writ with greater skill.

he saw the town’s one half in rubbish lie
resolved to conquer, or resolved to die
‘tis our example that instills
and boldly dares invade that heart
of One to mow vast crowds of people down
the matter of Fact has become the slightest part

his anger reached that rage which surpassed his art;
no name but your own shall be found