Short Poems

Still as
On windless nights
The moon-cast shadows are,
So still will be my heart when I

Only the moon
in the sky above
a vacant reminder,
should you think of me,
perhaps it will link your heart to mine.

Few men in any age have second sight.
But never doubt your gift. You are right! You are right!

Father, we thank Thee for the night
And for the pleasant morning light,
For rest and food and loving care,
And all that makes the world so fair.
Help us to do the thing we should.
To be to others kind and good,
In all we do, in all we say,
To grow more loving every day.

Farewel, Dear Daughter Sara; Now Thou'rt gone,
(Whither thou much desiredst) to thine Home:
Pray, my Dear Father, Let me now go Home!
Were the Last Words thou Spak'st to me Alone.
Go then, Sweet Sara , take thy Sabbath Rest ,
With thy Great Lord, and all in Heaven Blest.

Showing a torn sleeve, with stiff and shaking fingers the old man
pulls off a bit of the baked apple, shiny with sugar,
eating with reverence food, the great comforter.

Ever since the great planes were murdered at the end of the gardens
The city, to me, at night has the look of a Spirit brooding crime;
As if the dark houses watching the trees from dark windows
Were simply biding their time.

XXXII teeth that bethe full kene,
CC bones and nintene,
CCC vaines sixty and five,
Every man hathe that is alive.

The enclosed, self-possessed one spreads his wings across the lake, beak pointing downwards, eyes searching out the bright movement of water serpents and green flies.
How he wishes for his victims to be sad when he pounces on them from above, but they are mute and merry,
merry in the mirthful water:
This is what makes him sad,
what saddens the mute flamingo, as he continues to pounce,
generation after generation, upon the mute gaiety of the water.

The elephant carries a great big trunk,
He never packs it with clothes;
It has no lock and it has no key,
But he takes it wherever he goes.