I Walked Upon A Midnight Cold

I walked upon a midnight cold

Under a white light called desire,

Passing sleepy houses lighted gold

Until my mirth began to tire.


Through frosted windows, blinds undrawn,

Were dancing lights from T.V. screens;

The eyes of a lover which shone;

And a child, tossing his green beans.


Yet out in the soft, cloudy night,

No sound disturbed the crisp, still air

As I reached the end of my flight;

Of an old fence I ‘came aware.


Its metal was barbed, brooding-grey,

And rose unto the boiling sky.

Yet, from a tiny hole, a ray

Of moonlight’s pale and lonely sigh.


I reached and reached but could not touch

The glowing orb in vapour sea,

And found that my length was just such–

Too short, the fence so tall, you see.


Beyond the metal menace hopped

A bunny silver and alert,

Twitching his nose with whiskers topped,

And causing my poor heart to hurt.


With a wink and a bound he flew;

And I took a last, shaky breath,

Turning towards the street anew

Wherein I faced not life but death.


But how could such a thing I rue;

The only life I ever knew?


I Am No Good With Words

I am no good with words at all, you see,

With your bubbling blue eyes and steady sheer

Confidence, as if I a lamb, from me;

And the saplings’ boughs force a blush for fear

My wakening has spread by step of my feet.


But, eventually, the sun rises

With good sense, while I, penniless, hold pen,

Quivering as I am hailed, ‘Shed guises,

For the light doth here falseness shatter

In its sight–the earth–and you cannot, cheat!’


The carp swims upstream, and I am undone

By you who view the same singular pain

Which I peer through; hurtful hands prise who one

Only wished to write the wrong role. My bane

is ewe, if I a lamb, for I am no good at this.

Quite Unnoticed I Am Likely To Go

Quite unnoticed I am likely to go,

While you recall all of the Great Ones past:

Eliot, Frost, Ovid–they shall all last.

In their sentiments, whether joy or woe,

They’ll bring you bright smiles or hot tears to flow.

They will haunt your mind with black horrors cast;

Return and ensure no winter house un-passed;

Metamorph all you had thought to know.


And here I sit, now, a title-less bard,

Crumpling up lines as the sombre town sleeps,

As if I had some special thing to guard

While deep in my breast the armoured heart weeps.

No, I am not Wordsworth, Yeats, Blake or Poe;

Quite unnoticed I am likely to go.

This is the Way the Young Heart Sighs

This is the way the young heart sighs:

Cross-room glances stolen too quick,

And cursive with hearts above the i’s.


At every meeting, joyful-sick,

Held hands to bid body flutter–

Ah, my dear! how so chivalric!


But time forces flames to sputter,

Eros’ arrows thaw like spring–

Dormant harshness starts to utter.


Awake, now, awake! take now wing!

From toes to head, Algea rise,

And in the mind dread songs do sing.


Crack-ing and splint’ring, true love dies;

This is the way the young heart sighs.