Some more recent revisions of poem's I've previously posted in older recensions. I've posted them again because I think they are among my better ones. Let me know what you think. I'll probably select out a few more in a few days.
When the god of wine and revel
made dizzy the city's prince,
the omens darkly muttered
with a strange malevolence.
But the king kept to his folly;
he was slain by the godly bull
and carried home in his mother's arms.
Amen: the gods are cruel.
You are proud in your ways, O mortals!
Better it is to mourn
than to march through mocking streets
to where the beasts are torn.
You are vain with the vain cosmetics
by which you hide your soul;
you boast of your civic order,
but destruction is your goal.
You speak the name of Justice?
But Justice walks with a sword
to slit the throats of mortals
with a fate no charm can ward.
When your life is over --
when we see the path you've trod --
we will see not boasted glory,
but the mocking of the god.
The sun is not a ball of fire
but the sum of one desire:
to lure; and thus must it appear
to thoughtless eyes a burning sphere.
But all this rolling globe of light
is more than what appears to sight;
less like a flame, more like a word
in which the thought and deed are blurred
it rolls, and in a single thought
all the paths of light are caught
and bent around it like a sea
extending to infinity;
it speaks, commanding: Come to me.
Some have thought the earth to fly
like a droplet in the sky;
a little water, a bit of earth,
a thing like nothing in its worth.
But they who ponder on the skies
study better, grow more wise,
and know: each star in its course
is subject to its endless force;
all the glories near and far
are affected where they are
by whispers born of ecstasy.
The whispers say: Come to me.
The stars are moved; each like a thought
has searched the sky and gently sought
the paths and ways by which things flow;
each is a word to those who know,
a gesture to each thing and kind
that the seeking soul can find;
each calls out to eternity,
each ripples out upon the sea,
each beckons, saying: Come to me.
A Tiger Pouncing
The light is a tiger pouncing,
a panther pawing, a lion roaring;
like waterfalls in their pouring,
its color thunders, unrelenting.
Rippling in the shadows
like a rumor in the city,
it leaps like glory's coming
in the rainbows of the flood.
The light on the wall is flowing,
leaping and lightly purring
as it panthers in my room.
A Saturday Morning Walk
Saturday I wandered far,
questing for I knew not what
in the morning promise of rain.
A good woman gave me two peaches,
omens of immortality;
they were sticky in my hands,
the juice running freely,
rich with sweetness,
a hope preserved
for the seed and for our taste.
The night before had been dark,
sheltered from moon and star;
but the darkness was a rolling darkness,
a seminary of life and hope,
like the darkness of the earth
feeding the growing root.
My memory held this all;
my thoughts looked out on the world,
seeing that it was good;
my will hoped for the glory
and the rising of the sun.
In such moments we are God-like,
more than words on water;
on such mornings we live
as whispers sent down from heaven
and writ with letters.
What is this I see, my God,
the presence all around me?
I lift my eyes to tangled thorns --
with bleat of ram and flash of horn
the gift has been provided;
a twilight ram, creation's cusp,
has grasped my hem in offering.
Satan caught him in the thorn,
the angel was his herald;
his hand is laid upon my hem
in gestures of creation.