Splendor Sheer

Splendor sheer,
O Shining Splendor,
Man supreme
Above the earth,
Lit with strength
Of sunlight flashing,
High wide brow
With eyes that see—
All the world
A shining glory,
World that waits
What he will be!

Arms stretched out
O’er seas and mountains,
Bronze through blueness
Fingers reach.
All that is, is
His for taking,
Loving laughter
His to give—
To the earth
Of his re-making,
Splendor sheer
While he shall live!

O Golden Feet,
O Gleaming Body,
O bless-ed rocks
They touch to fire,
Earth and sky
In man connecting,
Shine with might
Of his desire,–
First of firsts
Begun, beginning,
Splendor sheer
Of Manhood won!

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Ego Light

May one man live for his own sake
And take through life his mental light
To brighten up his strong long way,
And staying true to his set line
Refine the code of his own mind
And write himself the undersigned.
Then rightfully, what e’er he’s done
Is won for eager Ego’s name
To flame and leap in his self fame.

And may he take no heed of need
In feeding him his profits true,
But use his gold to craft his height—
A mighty place where thoughts are thought—
And naught but ingenuity
Sets free the futures he can see.
Then joyfully, where e’er he wings,
He singeth, “My life’s mine to fly,
And fly I do for things more high!”

He fears no hating men who’re weak,
But speaking clearly fearless goals,
Extols the virtues of man’s mind
That wind him up and keep him wound,
Yet boundless, too, to act and snare
The rarest dreams no others dare!
Then filled with love of man as man
He scans the waiting lights of space
That grace his selfish, happy face.

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A Picture of an Artist

In simple splendor of herself alone
She sees for sake of her own loved seeing;
No selfless seeing is hers to atone,
In simple splendor of simply being.

Alive and quiet, with smile held in,
She takes the shadows and soft fair light
For pleasurable measure in simple win
Of honest feeling in simplest height.

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Wish-For-It

Chip Chippy, the new Mayor, stood up in the town meeting hall and said to the audience of 200, “I have a great socialist principle: the principle is that all of us who make over fifty thousand dollars a year should give half of it to the poor. In doing so we will be good people.”

A man in the fourth row spoke up. “What is we don’t want to be good?”

Chip replied, “Then you will be forced to.”

“How will that make us good?”

“It won’t. You’ll still be bad and will have to be punished.”

“What will the punishment be?”

“Half of what you have left will be taken as well.”

“What happens next year when the wealthy are no longer wealthy?”

“We will all be equal in an equal society.”

“What’s the good of that?”

“You ask too many questions. You are a bad man. Unquestioning obedience is the only good.”

“Who are you obeying?”

“I don’t obey anyone. I’m the leader!”

“Why?”

“Because you stupid bad people voted for me!”

“We voted for you because you promised to bring hope and change.”

“I am. I’m bringing hope to the poor for one year, and change to the economic structure forever! You’ve got what you voted for, now be happy!”

A woman in the second row said, “Isn’t your principle merely your wish?”

Chip smiled and replied, “You’ve got it, lady! My wishes are my principles! That’s why I’m changing the name of our town from Achievement to Wish-For-It!”

“What happens next year when those who haven’t moved away are sitting around with nothing?”

“We will wish for a miracle! You gotta believe, lady; you gotta believe!”

“But I don’t believe, Mayor.”

“Then you are rotten through and through! Only believers are good. In the end days all the believers will pick up stones and stone the unbelievers. Everyone left will be wishful, obedient and good.”

A group of twenty children came out on the stage and began singing “Hope and Change.” Their parents and relatives in the audience smiled and remarked on how “Jeanie looks so cute” and “Bobbie stand so proud,” and “What beautiful voices they all have.”

The next day it was discovered that the one bank in town was empty. The man from the fourth row had been its president; the woman from the fourth row its vice-president. In the underground vault of the bank was a large white banner stretched across the empty shelves. Printed in big red letters were the words, BE GOOD NOW.

Later that day Chip Chippy, the Mayor, stood in the town meeting hall and looked out over the equal poor, who had gathered to hear some inspiring words. Chip shouted, “All those who believe, raise your hands! Remember, those of you who do not believe will be stoned!” They all raised their hands, except for Chip who, being the leader, had forgot. I leave the rest to your imagination.

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Mohammed’s Swill Does Allah Kill

Mohammed picked a pencil up
And drew himself on paper.
The weak pink eyes and snout of pig
Were added to the raper.

He swore, and turned the pencil ’round,
And tried again to draw—
A raving beast with hog-like frown,
The self-limned thing he saw.

He cursed his hand and cut it off,
The blood flowed fast and black.
The pool it made was in the shape
Of piglets back to back.

He plucked his eyes and tossed them out—
They bounced on down the street,
With little sounds that “oink, oink, oink,”
And “oink, oink, oink,” repeat.

He bit his tongue with sharp brown teeth
And hollered like a fool,
Then beat his head upon the floor—
How yellow-green his drool!

Mohammed, then, did somersaults,
And rolled on down the stairs—
A-bump, a-bump, a-bump bump bump—
Now no more beard of hairs!

And fast and fast, and fast he rolled
Into a pool of bleach;
Pure white came out the other side—
His followers did retch.

Mohammed was a naked man,
All hairless skin and bone;
He shivered in the Mecca wind
Where all left him alone.—

Except when Allah spat on him
With poison that could kill,
But that his soul had squealed and fled
To wallow in hog swill.

The Allah saw his power gone
And toppled down the sky,
And all the moslems joyous sang
For evil dreams gone by!

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The Face of Jesus

Jesus Christ loves no man brave,
Loves no man strong or proud;
It’s only weakness he would save
And men with heads down bowed.

A thinking man he won’t admire,
All independence hates;
Inventors he would send to fire
Mid life-forsaking fates.

He’s not for freedom, not for rights;
Great beauty doesn’t see;
But loves the dark of lightless nights
And all foul misery.

It’s not for life he’s have men live,
Or any glad success,
But all you’ve earned he’s have you give
So that you would have less.

His face is blank, and blank his eyes,
No strength of feature shows;
Though some pretend that he is wise,
It’s nothing that he knows.

He said you must love enemies—
Who’d kill your loves, destroy—
And turn your cheek to those who’d seize
Your home and built-up joys.

He’s turned the moral upsidedown,
Made standard life a means
to reach, in death, a soilish crown
Beneath a hill of beans.

There is no life within his face,
Wan flesh but hides a ghoul;
The man who seeks his selfless grace
Too late learns he’s a fool.

The most of men will never learn,
Who pity seek for pain—
The pain they feel when they don’t yearn
Their happiness to gain.

But spirits who give unearned smile
To those who flop and fail,
The riches of themselves defile
In making justice pale.

The eyes of Jesus look straight out,
But nothing do they see.
There’s nothing there to think of but
Pretend reality.

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Solo

At nine or ten, when just a boy,
I taught myself ecstatic joy.
Alone in field, by trees so tall,
I felt my pleasure, knew my all.
The birds sang sweet, the sun shone strong,
My body an intense glad song,
And all the sky seemed ringing loud
For solo me, alive and proud.
Yet this was sin, or so I’d heard—
To me a foreign, empty word.
It was my secret; none would know
That I was star of my own show.
Of my own life I was my light,
My sun of day, my moon of night,
My radiant glory crowning me
With greatest love to breathe and be.
I knew my tool was wholly mine
To drive me to my joy divine!

It wasn’t sin, can never be;
Who says it is, is one not free,
But chained to fear of fearing men
Who to themselves are chained again
With selfless mind of death-linked thought
That follows blind what e’er they’re taught,
Denying that the standard true
Is your own joy in life of you.
The standard false that men pretend
Is life in death that has no end.
It leads them on till each is dead
With emptiness inside each head;
And all for guilt and all for pain,
Pretending loss is somehow gain.

But I, I’m sinless; I am free
To be the being Joy that’s me,
Who lives to live, who loves to shine—
The starry self that’s always mine!
At nine or ten, when just a boy,
I taught myself ecstatic joy.

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