Evil is ISIS, evil Islam,
Different name, but one and same.
In the history of our race
Islam holds the lowest place;
Lowest, chosen dark its depth;
Hate of life and love of death.
We must blow it out of being,
Out of sight that savors seeing;
Blow it out of all that is
So we may be free to live.
These aliens of ISIS are
Splint’ring souls that are not whole;
No mind, no feel, demonstrable,
Just cast-off blocks of puppet wood
Strung up to act against the good.
Each has no purpose, has no aim,
But death by fire in virgin flame,
To lie somewhere in virgin ash,
A little bug his head to smash.
Oh Fumigators, let them feel
The holy bombs of their ideal!
Exterminators, spray them well
With bullets of their self-made Hell!
Come live with me and be my love
And we will taste the pleasures of
Glad coffee shops on bustling streets,
With candy stores and all their sweets.
Then we will sit upon the docks
And watch the ships lie still as rocks,
The while their cargoes, rich, unload,
Or see some little boat out-rowed!
And I will buy you from a stand
An orange ice-cream to boast your hand,
And as we walk upon our way
We’ll laugh for such a happy day.
Then if we pass a store of furs
I’m sure to think, “That one is hers!”
And you’ll be wrapped in soft delight,
All ready for the cool of night.
Then at my home we’ll see a flick
Of heroes that are bright and quick,
And calm as spires that rise above,
You’ll sleep with me and be my love.
The morning horns will trumpet fair,
The sparrows tweets will mingle there,
The subway train, no cooing dove,
Will roar aloud that you’re my love!
When Christa swings paintings to waltz on her wall
We cut in with joyance to judge one and all.
The best really thrill us, and some are so great
We’re lifted by passionate pleasure elate.
Then, too, we praise Christa for being the one
To spin through our souls this most glorious sun,
Who’s rays from each wonder strike keen through the heart
All the power of beauty that dawns in high art.
And day after day the sure love of skilled men
Burns ray upon ray through our facebooks again,
And night after night, as our eyelids do close,
With Christa we’re dancing on happiest toes!
Our lives are made fairer, the world’s not all bad;
The glory of art is the great and the glad.
If you would find true man, my Miss,
Then giveth not an easy kiss.
Your world of love will fill with bliss
If you will but abide by this.
Then talk not much of Midas’ touch,
Expecting heaps of gold;
Be satisfied he’s earned his pride
When working hard and bold.
Desire no more than what he is,
As long as he be true,
Then giveth not an easy kiss
And he’ll be set on you.
Accomplishment must be his aim,
Not flighty speakings insincere;
Be sure he treasures your good name
And trembles when he whispers near—
Not fearing, but desiring much
(So much he’s almost bursting)
Your tender palm to lightly touch
And end his hours of thirsting.
Yea, then lift a hand up to his lips
That he may drink your fingers,
And you may sigh and halfway die
While thirstiness still lingers
Along your arm his lips may trip
In such a greedy fashion
You may give in at last to win
The glory-book of passion.
Now pages turn as buttons fly
And all the work’s uncovered;
What’s written there is meant for eye,
Fresh poetry discovered!
The verses of your shoulder’s curves
Will turn his thirst to hunger,
While here and there he slides and swerves,
His ardor swift and stronger.
Then periods will seem to grow
To exclamations sharp and sweet,
And by your index he will know
The whole of you, and end complete.
Yet all will fall and go amiss
If once you give an easy kiss.
If you will just abide by this
Your world of love will fill with bliss.
Your outward beauty has not held, my dear,
But what you’ve in makes outward disappear.
More wrinkles line your cheeks, time takes its toll,
But age can run no ripples through your soul.
Your hair is gray as twilight come our way
With fogs and shadows bringing on the night,
Yet your sweet smile shines brighter than the day
And lends to those who see a loving light.
Your back is bent a little, but none care,
For you are full awake in your straight chair,
Observing all, and judging every speech,
And telling words of wisdom while you teach.
We see a form that’s changed to outward view,
Yet such a girl of lasting youth are you.
If any flower of the land
Should touched be by your hand
I would in envy sigh,
Why not a flower I?
If fairest wind that blows
Should wrap around your clothes,
I would at once confess
To yearn such happiness.
When light from out the sky
Comes beaming in thine eye
Storm jealousy doth stun
‘Cause I am not the sun.
But take my kiss, though less
Than whole world’s wonderness,
And I will be that man
Who loves because he can.
If you would say me yea, my love,
Then will I lay thee down,
And we will make the hay, my love,
Our gown of great renown.
If you should say me no, my love,
And make us wait till night,
Then I will stay in woe, my love,
Until the stars are bright.
Yet pain won’t wear me out, my love,
I’ll master it all day;
For I have not a doubt, my love,
More joy is in delay.
Hard patience is a virtue, love,
Though time goes too much slow,
And yet our love will nurture love
Whose sums inside us grow.