Baby Clouds

High, white, tiny, baby clouds fly.
Through and under blue they flow.
Soft and bright, round or ragged, off,
Soundlessly profound, sunlight crowned.
Through and under blue they flow;
Nowhere going, still they go.
I do follow cross the sky,
Feel their calling, glad appeal
Lift me up with laughing gift
Going, flowing, where I know
High, white, tiny, baby clouds fly!

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Storm For Man

O massive spread of proud, dark cloud,
O thunder low and rumbling strong,
Majestic highest head unbowed,
With bright white lash your breaking song;
O motion mighty, sky’s great train,
O stop-less force that brings wet gain,
I stand, I watch, behold you come,
As drops on drops fall wave on wave,
While sighing acres suck your sum
To end this drought and farmlands save.

Now drenched with thousand songs of you
My spirit’s song sings ever sweet
As mud, once dust, swirls round my feet
And, standing in this field made new,
I vision tractors steering straight,
Each thoughtful row deep thoroughness
En-staffing man’s hard-working state,
Spring roused with spears of happiness.
O massive storm, work on and on,
And be for man a fresh new dawn!

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Matchless Art

The sparrow cheeps from dawn till night,
Then sleeps till cometh on new light.
No sparrow I, who any hour
Gives empty page my lyric power.

There silently my song lies still
Till eyes take in and mind gives will
To lungs’ and tongue’s and lips’ control
And governed songs unloose the soul.

Then some will say, a poem when heard
Mayhap may match a cheeping bird,
But so he cheep (or could he sigh),
He would not match a winging “I”.

All nature’s sounds are not more fair,
And not more deep, or high, or rare,
Than thought and word and speech of man
Who follows through the best he can
To lay aloud his reasoned choice
And with winged art complete his voice.

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True Love Kissed

I stood on mount up o’er a vale;
Beneath me all was mist so pale
The tops of trees were barely seen,
Nor trail nor rock where I had been.
A-blot with fog my past was gone,
A-top the world I stood alone;
And yet the sun was fierce and true,
As fierce as thought I had of you.
Yet not resentful, angry not,
But steel metal molten hot
Whose radiant trail is so damn sure
Nor mist nor distance can obscure,
So that your face, so loving wise,
Was super-‘clipsing golden skies.
And though I stood on mount alone,
And though I stood as still as stone,
The vale below me shrank, it seemed,
As up I soared like one who dreamed.
Like feather, then, my body rose—
Perhaps I tip-toed on my toes—
And I an eagle filled with flight
Screamed this song with all my might:
“You, my darling, you are she,
She the free inside of me!
She the you who leaps the height
To live in me through day and night!”

Far off the sun is sinking low,
Far off the stars do faintly show,
Far off the mount is lost in mist,
But here, down here, is true love kissed.

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The storm comes in with steady swell,
Its joyous strength arising well.
Some trees now bend, while others snap;
Some waves now toss a high white cap.

The gulls now wheel and scream delight
To feel the storm in its great might.
Then suddenly the storm does pass
While Blackie snuffs the long wet grass.
Then sun does burst and blaze and shine,
And this dramatic day is mine!

Oh weather calm, oh weather wild,
Oh ever-changing, wanton child,
Now sleeping be, now boist’rous, free,
And dream, or shout, the soul in me!

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What Insanity!

In Heaven, the Christians say, god has prepared a better life for man. Is it better to never be hungry or thirsty, or in need of clothing or shelter, than to work for and earn these things? Is it better to never have to think about what you are going to do, and never have a desire to do anything? But you will be happy, they say. Happy for what? For never choosing to do anything, for never exercising ability, for never learning or improving? Who really thinks that sitting around all day, day after day, year after year, will result in anything but boredom? Is boring happy?

So, up in Heaven God will be able to look down into Hell and watch men suffering in constant pain, and also be able to look around him at men who are constantly bored. This is a proper goal for God? Who ever thought up this insanity? What insane man ever feared hell or desired heaven? What insanity has flourished in the human race! As for Allah, after 77 days have passed and all 77 virgins are used up, what then? Nothing, nothing, nothing. Sheer insanity!

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Bomb Islam

It is bomb, bomb, bomb,
Drop a bomb into Islam.
Now we go bomb, bomb, bomb,
Into a tomb, tomb, tomb!

There is a place, there is a room,
There’s a wasting space of doom,
And it is down, very far down,
Under a boom, boom, boom!

Islam is mud, Islam is goo,
Islam is underneath your shoe;
Give it the mighty best of you
Stamping a boom, boom, boom!

Lift your voices, sing your song,
“Islam here does not belong!
Islam fights for all that’s wrong;
It will feel our right so strong!

“It will go down, very far down,
To that place deep underground,
As we go bomb, bomb, bomb,
Bomb a bomb into Islam!”

What is high, high, high?
It’s our banner in the sky.
Now it is high, high, high,
For America won’t die!

We’re its light, we’re its youth,
We’re its freedom speaking truth.
We will march and we will fight
For our independent right!

Yes, we are tall, yes we are proud,
Heads and shoulders still unbowed,
And never be we cowed
Stamping a boom, boom, boom!

Throw your voices with a dare,
Throw your planes into the air;
We will fight for what is right,
Bombing Islam out of sight!

It will go down, very far down,
To that place deep underground,
As we go bomb, bomb, bomb,
Bomb a bomb into Islam!


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