1. DEDICATION

              CHRISTMAS, 1940
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MOTHER,
                DAD, AND DON      [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  2. SINGING IS TO ME

SINGING IS TO ME

AS EATING IS TO MANY;

SO I'LL NEVER BE CONTENT

UNLESS MY DAYS ARE SPENT

IN SINGING ALL MY LIFE AWAY

FOR RECOMPENSE . . . IF ANY.                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  3. CHANT OF A LOST SOUL

War is a shining lance
Lost without a champion
To chance its strength.
Clean as the earth from which it springs
It sings
In the sun until
Taken with filthy hands,
Ordered by childish mminds of Godless will
It becomes a fiendish thing

Against which nothing -
Not light nor love nor truth can stand.
      "Hear my command!
      Be dazzled by my might!
      I am a tool in the hands of men."
Yea:War is a thing of steel and men;
       Swords in the hands of children,
      Spurs on the feet of children,
      And knives
      In the hearts of women.                [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  4. CRUMBS

Despair amid
The trees stands weeping nightly,
And I, who rightly
Should be abed,
Cherish the things you said
And did.

Oh, how
Was I to know love is a fickle thing;
I, who have been taught to sing
From birth, and why
Granted only crumbs from the table, should I
Care now?                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  5. BEAUTY OF ASHES

(Here I have tried to represent some of my favorite characters - and how they entered heaven. The poem as it stands is incomplete and perhaps always will be, for I wish to add to it.)

Jeanne d'Arc
         I have heard the stars speak
         On the earth, the moon;
         I have talked with the angels
         And soon -
         After many things -
         I shall make beauty of ashes
         Accompanied by rolling drums
         And enter on crimson wings.

Lincoln
         "The Lord is my shepherd."
         Yes . . . and I am His apprentice
         Masked in ugliness
         I have walked in rugged beauty,
         Talked in truth and loveliness

         We have much to discuss -
         He, too, is melancholy now.
         Stepping across battlefields and bloody rivers
         I have found the way an agony
         But martyrdom nears,
         And peace.
         "Forgive them, Father."

Robert E. Lee
         I must look my best
         In uniform gray.
         The day
         I ride to meet my Friend,
         The breath of a nation will be stopped
         For the death
         Of a chivalrous South
         Will be instant.
         Yet with firm intent and fervent step
         We will rise again.
         . . . . Will he join me in a julep?                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  6. PROPHECY

Rain and the smell of wood smoke
And I, with a heart of lead,
Watch the dusk gather
And spread
Into night. This will be only
For a time, and only
For a little while
Will I nurse the heartache
Wondering when
You will return to take
My love.
But then
You see I'll get over it,
Autumn will soon be past -
You aren't the first . . . Or . . . . the last.                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  7. CURE FOR HEARTBREAK

The rain beats
Like the sound of tiny rivets on the window there,
Lacing up my heart with strings of silver rain,
Slipping, tumbling, singing down the wavy pane.
The clouds are rifting,
Drifting
To another land where dwells the bright young sun,
Trumpeters announce April begun
While unaware
The wind cries
And runs his slender fingers through the willow's hair.                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  8. STAND - A WOMAN COMES!
(Dedicated to another Mary, M. B. C.)

Four soldiers drowsed
In the new spring sun;
Two were awake, "Stand - a woman comes!"
In mock alarm, cried one.

And even as she walked the path
Fresh wet with April's night rain,
Suffering and tears clung to her knees
And tore at her mouth with brignt pain.

"Begone! I stand for none!"
The youngest said
And, lying alone, turned an aching head
Away from the sun
Against the cool stone.
She too lifted a hand to shield her eyes
Shading them from the blue, blue skies
And came up the hill alone
Her dull gown catching at her feet;
Anxiety, sleeplessness on her sweet,
Sweet face.

"You cannot go beyond this place!"

"But I've come from town, all this way . . . . "

"No matter, you cannot stay.
We have our orders and . . . my head . .
God, how it aches! I wish I were dead!

She knelt - just the suspicion of a tear
Brushed his cheek.
She did not speak,
Only, with a magic in each hand
Smoothed away the pain and,
"Here," softly, "Here is a kiss to make it well."
Sheepishly he stirred, "Go in, but don't tell . . .
"No, I will not have you disobey;
I will return if I may."
And sadly she turned away
And was gone down the hill.
Even still
There was a feel of goodness in the air.

"Where did she go?"
The one returning said.

"Back . . . see, down there . . .
Alone."   "Oh . . . .
She's the mother of the one dead -
Mary."    "I know."                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  9.TOURIST IN CALVARY

"Im told a young man laughed and sang
And mocked the temple bells that rang
In voices loudly gay
The day Christ passed this way.

"And when the noontime came
They say a crimson flame
Split the skies,
And in his eyes
Winging, winging

With a strange singing
As of trees
In the wind
In the April breeze,
With a kind
Smile for the youg men -
Christ left.

"You say
I do not know how the young men felt that day?"
Why, gay
Of course, then strangely silent
Wondering what it meant."                  

[Home]

 

 

 

 

      Sarah Teasdale lived for love and beauty and when one deserted her, she took her life. Her poetry will remain her badge of loveliness on the face of literature. This poem is an attempt to explain her to my friends and an humble dedication to her memory.

10. SARAH TEASDALE

"Whom seeks the wind
As he stirs the willow to a passion
And passes lightly?

"Whom seeks the moon
As she spreads her stars in tentative gifts
And smiles too brightly?

"Those two should meet, I think -
The wind and the moon . . .
But then she would have no light to spare
And I might only stare
Hopelessly at your shadow there.
Anyway . . . one must always die too soon -
My love or the wind or the lady moon

"Whom seeks my heart
As it breaks itself in crimson tears
In the wind and the moonlight nightly?"                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  11. INSOMNIA

Into the night my fancies fly
Out of my sight, and what care I?
If all of them sat in an orderly row
On the foot of my bed
I could tell them all definitely where to go;
But they would jump from my head
And fly around
And jitter and hide
At the slightest sound . . .
While here at my side
Lies a poor little black and blue heartbroken elf
That I nurse and coddle in spite of myself.
Be still, little fool, here comes tomorrow
And sleep won't be wooed with fancies and sorrow.                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  12. WHIMSEY

Shall I reach you a star?:
   I can, you know.
    Heaven can't be very far -
    Even so,
    I'll be glad to try.
    The sky

    Is midnight blue -
    Ink spilled from a painter's cup.
    But in your hair
    The silvery hue
    Of a star would show it up.
    It would shine brighter there
    Away from the skies
    Matching the two in your eyes.

    I won't die for you
    But I'll stand at heaven's gate and whistle
    For a star.
    Please, you come too -
    It isn't very far.                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  13. PEAR TREE

This morning
I saw
Your bright head against the sky
For the last time.
After the rain
All the blossoms were gone. But I
Know you'll spend
The summer
Nodding and talking to yourself of
Past glories
Like a character actress
Or a spinster cherishing a lost love.                  [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  14. DESERTION

Hollow waves along the beach
Insinuating closer and at each
Breath of the wandering wind tonight
The moon turns paler.
Does this light
Treatment leave her wiser
Or does she wait as I do? I wonder.

In shoves the sea,
Wave upon wave,
Sneering at the unprotected, at me.
Then you were near,
All this was beautiful, my dear.

Oh, come back -
I cannot brave
These things alone; I fear
The shifting sky, gray lead
In the sand - the glory's gone,
The laughter's dead -
The music done . . . .
The drums in my heart gone slack.                             [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  15. THE POET'S BURIAL

Vachel Lindsay dies:
And thunder goes walking
Up the heaven road
Through the hushed group talking
Near the grave.

And God plays finale
On a fir violin
In a white-faced valley
While the weak ones shudder
Near the brave.                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  16. WAR DECLARATION (September 1, 1939)

Even as the news comes
I know you must go.
For this, your heritage of fear,
I gave you life, and so . . .
Goodbye, my dear.
For this, in love,
I taught you how to sing;
To bring
The glory of youth
To old eyes gone bare
Of beauty and truth.
But what is truth
And what is love - and God

When somewhere abroad
It is begun? . . . .
And other women cry with me -
"My son, my son!"                   [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  17. THE BROKEN RECORD

The dusk blew down our street tonight
   And I took my heart along
      Wherever it was going - to your door
         Or maybe further . . . I don't know,
I wish I too had gone. The song
   Was made for night, so
     Listen carefully. There will be more
       If you wish. Always in my heart
       I carry music, fashioned there
        To sing the memory
       Of your smile . . . you may not care
        But . . . that's my story
Perhaps I'm wrong;
        Perhaps we harbor foolish pride.
          (If Mohammed
             On the mountain's moving -
        He might have waited 'til he died)
Or . . . . am I right?                 [Home]

 

 

 

 

 

 

  18. CHRISTMAS 1939
Father:
    We come to this, thy house,
    On Christmas day.
    We smile, we bow our heads,
        We pray -
            "Thanks be to God
            Who looks on us with favor."
        (I've heard that eighteen Christmasses -
         The line has lost its savor.
         When Christ was young
         Did he hate the smug?
         When he was even younger,
         Did the frankincense tickle his nose?
         And cloud before his eyes?
         Did he despise
         The clothing of the Kings
         For the rags of the shepherd boys?
         No? You say he loved the glitter and the noise
         And did not see the wide-eyed boys?
         Then how can you blame me
         That I cannot see
         Faces beyond the star?
         That to me
         God remains a shadow . . . and very far?)
Because, my daughter,
Despite the palm leaves and frankincense
Christ grew older,
A thousand years and more -
And that has made all the difference.                   [Home]

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