Short Poems

Amid a jumble of
tanka books, haiku books —
noonday nap.

Hands so cold
I can't work the writing brush —
Nearing midnight.

A page that Time now covers with his hand
A ruin in a desert over grown
With weeds — the all thats left us of the grand
Exploits of Alexander who alone
Conquered the whole world to his vain command
& tother all the pomp that doubt dwells on
As being the remnant of great Babylon

The young sun is gleaming
Oer the young sprouting corn
& the Pewets are screaming
Oer the Mores in the morn

Joy treads on flowers but time devours
His summer like a blast
Who sets no foot but he killeth flowers
& a deserts left at last

O jilting love thy sunny eyes
Gleam oer each gloomy token
Of cheeks made pale with dreary sighs
Hearts frownd upon & broken

When first the world & I shook hands
In visions of success
Right fair seemed favours flimsy bands
That cheated my distress
My joy was linked
With friendships gil[d]ed chains
Some death hath [taen] but falshood more
Till not one link remains

Where are hearts that cannot praise
Or hearts that ere could wound 'em
Sweet women in their witching ways
With youth & health around 'em

Close up the windows & shut out the night
The peeping moon makes but a chill display
That streaks between the blinds its freezing light
Painting cold pictures of the closing day
The childern they are hastening in from play
So seek a match & light the candle up
& set the noisey burring wheel away

The daisey wan the primrose pale
Seem nought but white & yellow flowers
To every heedless passer bye
When they attend the springs young hours
But they are loves & friends to me
That tell me in each short sojourn
Of what they felt & I did feel
In springs that never will return