Lots of little rough pieces in their initial stages.
In All the World Are None for Me
In all the world are none for me
but the whispers from the sea,
but the shadows on the sly
out the corner of my eye:
none to capture weary heart,
none to take this soldier's part,
only mocking almost-mights
haunting dark and lonely nights,
only idols made of sand
that whisper of the promised land,
only nothings made of air,
pithless deserts, dry and bare,
and one small impulse deep inside,
stubborn in its inborn pride,
to seek and quest and never stay
till love is found, or judgment day.
O hey nonny-nonny, heed and make way
to the hallelujah-holy-laden foofaraw day!
Light up the la-di-da glint-and-leap glow
and shout with a heigh-heigh, heigh nonny-no!
As nonny-no nothings leap up in the dance,
sing ditties no more and leave nothing to chance--
the nonny-hey ladies love rolling romance!
It is so strange to be alive,
so unexpected, as if the world
had suddenly jumped up in surprise
at its own contingent birth
and decided to return the favor
by allowing me to be;
and since this pleasant little wonder
has so taken me unawares
I'll pass on the gift with my pen.
My thoughts are on your body,
dewdrops clinging to the leaf;
take my hand, entwine our fingers,
let my breath course near your ear,
and warm me with your glow.
Unburdened by Quarrel
Unburdened by quarrel,
the mind springing open
feels sun on its inside,
delights in the truth.
Unbound and unbroken,
soars high over hills.
Subtle words and little lies,
deception, games, and alibis,
sorrow, sadness, lonely sighs,
traps and coward's compromise:
row by row tin soldiers march
step by step to take your heart;
note by note their trumpets call--
one by one tin soldiers fall.
The broil of battle brought them together,
hardy Wiglaf said, heavy-hearted,
"Remember I well our meals in the mead-hall,
boasting of Beowulf-bravery in deed,
great giver of sword, giver of arms,
to whom we swore repayment in right
come the time, for kindness in kind,
even letting life to be lost.
Allowance he made for our claims as if weighty,
believing our boast and the bite of our steel,
but he, mighty king, meant this great monster
to keep for himself, to conquer and kill
as in the yore-time, years of his youth,
the days long ago, before our lord leaned
on lowlier lads, and lessers in arms.
On kingly flesh is now feeding the flame;
by almighty God, let my bones burn
before my liege lord be covered in fire!
Who are we, shield-carriers homeward seeking
before battle is broken, with Beowulf battered?
For such dutiful king to die forsaken,
butchered and beatend by terrible beast,
is not deserved, when still there is sword
yet to be drawn, in honor to serve!"
Then swiftly he ran, his king then to succor,
deep in his driving through dragon-formed flame.
"Beowulf, king, brightly beloved!
Remember your boast to hold your repute,
to live life of glory never forgotten!
Fight, sire, fight, for life and for fame,
I at your side, at your service my sword!"
This peppermint tea like liquid love
warms the heart and cheers the soul,
scents the air with incense fair;
prayers raised of thanks and praise
cheer the heart as it takes in
your liquid love like peppermint tea.