Short Poems

Batt he gets children, not for love to reare 'em;
But out of hope his wife might die to beare 'em.

Barre close as you can, and bolt fast too your doore,
To keep out the Letcher, and keep in the whore:
Yet, quickly you'l see by the turne of a pin,
The Whore to come out, or the Letcher come in.

At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our feet and day!

Be like the bird, who
Halting in his flight
On limb too slight
Feels it give way beneath him,
Yet sings
Knowing he hath wings.

When Old Dai goes down below,
He may still make Young Springtime brew;
But there's no Li Bo on the Terrace of Night,
So who in hell will he sell it to?

The night we stayed at Summit Temple
I could reach up and touch the stars.
We did not dare to talk aloud
For fear of disturbing the men in Heaven

The barrier stone has rolled away,
— And loud the angels sing;
The Christ comes forth this blessed day
— To reign, a deathless King.
For shall we not believe He lives
— Through such awakening?
Behold, how God each April gives
— The miracle of Spring.

Pony Boy though it's spring we're still apart
oriole songs in the warmth are at their fullest
separation seasonal change upsets me
quick and clever who chatters with you now
a canyon stream a road in the empty mountains
a rough gate a village among old trees
I think of you I grieve and almost sleep
toasting my back I lean on the sunny rail

Barber, barber, shave a pig,
How many hairs will make a wig?
Four and twenty, that's enough.
Give the barber a pinch of snuff.

Banish the scent of sherry and cigars,
Throw back the shutters, quench the cultured light,
Let in the air. O fresher than the stars
The rank, primeval innocent smell of night!