Perhaps its their true essence, . This spiced verbena. “Oh it does seem like a refined fragrance” Offer this then to Deianeira, Who knows its sense.
A while after it began to rain, The golden cat streaked across the lawn: The Robins enflamed And there was song.
Rumpled, fashionable, and deliberately poised: Her hat indeed said all that. But what is more and despite the noise, Was, O boys, a perfect love for cats.
A simple music composes a noble look (For so it was) Ever fair, tuned and in time with her Nature. They say, long ago, A sailor, an errant adventurer, once mistook His self-desire for the net of her gentle capture (For gentle it was beneath the rolling above), But deep, his shallowing deep, was her…
“With a style like that Perhaps you should err to prose.” But Derrida had in his hat Lyric enough to seem verbose.
Clouds in early autumn… Obscure the sun, muting its light, Full of dampness amid the cooling air And draw in the early fall of night By caressing the heat of summer’s care.
Two players at chess mind the board, Utilizing the customary forms, To move pieces backward and forward, In hopes of success or reward, And thus are the pieces in a language used, Even when honoring a muse. But language may lack system, And therein a new game is bidden, By philosophical spirits, Who take up the…
With your hard and dense green skin, One wonders where you fall in paradise, Where peaches, full of summer sin, Hang so soft, so ripe.
In a park by the sea, On a day after a storm, A tree-branch rested lightly, Fallen from its prior form: The grass around seemed unconcerned, And the birds did visit sure, While we gazed at what heights it earned Down there by the shore.
Like a cotton dream when seen from afar, A blossom, when taken in hand, is a star: Radiant, touched with spring-time mist, Waiting upon a warmer bliss.
What need is there for preserving these When mangoes, full and ripe abound? And yet, some say, that, by northern seas, A springtime bloom was once profound.
For Dionysus, drinking under the sun: Remember that its rays once worshipped were As the light of reason, and that no one Then thought that light out of tune with nature: For whether beaming upon leaves or on shirtsleeves There is sense and sense amid much nonsense And that not only for one who…