We Are Right

The leftists, they are losers,

The rightists, they are right.

The rational men of reason

Are living for the fight.

They fight for truth and beauty,

They fight for joy and love;

They march, inspired by music

That soars like wings above.

They’re focused full on values,

On positives, on good.

They answer “Why?” with “Give a try,

And do all that you should!”

They fear not any battle,

Cold logic is their sign;

The height, the light, the mindful might

Tells each one “Life is mine!”

The leftists, they are losers

The rightists, they are right;

We rational men of reason

Are rising in the fight!

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So Pretty

To hear you laugh is blessing.

I see silent “Hee hee.”

“Ha, ha!” is next.

So loud a softness.

You are so pretty.

Your happiness–caressing.

I feel “Hee hee.”

I echo “Hahaha!”

We bless with kisses, too.

Oh, you’re so pretty.

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Ye Singers

Oh, ye singers who live, unforgotten,

In grooves of our minds held so dear,

We sing praises out loud for your beauty

Which carries us forward each year!

Yea, you carry us on through the shadows,

You lift us straight up to the light,

And our ears and our eyes are enormous

For the joy you have shown with your might.

True singing is praise for love’s living,

Great singing is bright with Joy’s tears.

The singers who gave are still giving

And he is a blessed one who hears.

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Diva Of My Heart

I am a true believ-a

In my chromosoming diva;

She is sharp, she is fast, she is cool.

And when she starts a culture

There is nothing will escape her;

She was a great detector in her school.

Where the dead ones lay in quiet

She had guts enough to try it,

And the hearts she held were happy for her touch.

They would sigh and almost beat

Out of total death complete,

For they loved the hands that held them very much!

I am a true believ-a

In my chromosoming diva,

For her competence I truly do admire.

And though I’m very lonely for my one, my one and only,

My dreams of her are rising ever higher!

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Apart (Sept. 30, 2017)

O dear, my dear, your picture glows,

You are the sweetest, full-blown rose.

If I could touch you with my toes

Who knows what else might upward go?

O schemer-dreamer, my whole heart,

I’ll press your hand upon my part.

We’re not too old for love divine;

Play you your part, and l’ll play mine.

O lovey-dovey, meet me true

And I’ll beat all my joy through you!

Oh, I must stop here, where we are,

For you are distant, still so far.

And yet, my love, though far we be,

I deeper fall in love with thee.

I am a flame; oh, see me, dear!

My blaze of day to you does steer!

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On The House

To be a beautiful bee like me

Your stinging must be great.

When Clarinda Nancy Lee is free

Sting, and do not hesitate.

Then if she slaps you off her rear

Be dauntless, and don’t shed a tear.

Just buzz around, get in her blouse;

She’ll pinch you, but it’s on the house!

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Bee-woken

Clarinda Nancy Lee

Came up and said to me,

“My honey, will you be,

Will you be my honeybee?”

I stung her on the lips,

I stung her on the cheek;

I stung her on her be-hind—

She slapped me very quick!

And now I am bee-woken,

But oh well, what the hecks.

I thought when she had spoken

She really wanted sex!

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All About

I will be with thee,

Thou wilt be with me.

That is all I care about,

Know about or see.

Holidays are two:

One for me, one for you.

Both together sent

For our love’s merriment.

Spend! Freely spend!

Flying kisses!

Arms devout holding

What they’re all about!

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Day Is Mine

The clouds large fall upon the land,

Your lips drink up fom my cupped hand;

The bended trees, your eyes a-shine—

I love the wild when you are mine.

The wind blows fierce, we find a cave,

Here sit and hear the strong storm rave.

There is no light, but we bear shine

From kisses that burn yours in mine.

The clouds now part, the sun lays clear

His fingertip upon your ear.

I see the truth, I love its shine—

The dawn is you and day is mine!

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Towers

Up from under, rising fast,

The tower shoots in silent blast

Past cars and buses, buildings small,

To tower, tower, over all!

And up ride I in outside lift

To see the city’s far-spread gift

Of motion, and of stillness new,

Sparkling in the sun so true.

Up from under, rising high,

Through earth and air, into the sky,

A finger pointing—“That’s the way!

Sweet baby blue is yours today!”

And so we dream, and work like fire

That lifts self-flame of self-desire

Higher, to an endless height

Of leaping stars in tow’ring night!

Over the under the world towers,

The world of thinkers, achievers, Rand,

And we stand happy, our reas’ning powers

Giving us glory to understand!

Our knowledge rises, towers beside us,

Our friend ever giving of beauty of soul.

Principle’s towers all around guide us,

Whose selves are the guiders in self-control!

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Your Own Boots

You don’t need a leader for living your life,

You don’t need some orders to trust;

You need but your mind to see clear through the strife

And your own pair of boots for the dust.

March on, you can do; it is all up to you;

Adventure awaits on your voice.

Step up, be you kind to your own kingly mind;

The world is awaiting your choice.

You need no Pretender to draw you apart

From all that you’re planning to get.

You need but your love of your singular start

And your own pair of boots getting wet!

Tramp on! You can win! Going lone is no sin.

The world is your ball to be trod!

Be glad in your knowing that where you have been

You came all alone as a god!

You don’t beed a leader to circle around;

You don’t need ineptitude’s rust;

You need but yourself thinking clearly and sound

And your own pair of boots for the dust!

March on! You can do! Go ahead with your new!

True boss of your fate you can see—

Looking back from the glass of your life that you pass,

So leaderless, joyous and free!

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Great Face

Great face of hard gray stone,

Risen, standing with the sky,

Blind, yet holding, and throwing—

Sun and wind, storm and darkness,

Stars look up at you, loving,

Planets gasp in awe,

And again the sun and the morning air

Find you, bind you, kiss you.

Yes, and I, I press hands on you,

Yes, and I see for you,

And we together dance as one—

You and I and the blazing sun!

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Rush

Fearless and strong was he,

Mind set not in mush.

Said his say freedom’s way—

Loud, with no hush.

Loved his America,

Loved earning much.

Love highest competence,

The truth-gilding touch.

Stood he for liberty,

Stood he for light.

Sun-stormed the darkness,

Crashed through the night!

Forefathers love him,

Smile from high tomb,

“Up, now, our brother,

For you there is room!”

Tears of us trailing,

Now, all is hush.

He never failed,

May we be like Rush.

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Individual Preciseness

Political correctness is a mass of mush;

Individual preciseness—a diamond, tough.

Political correctness, but a sloppy brew;

Individual preciseness—make that you.

Political correctness—what a waste of time,

Lying and lazy, slipping in slime,

Fearing the hearing of anything true,

Hiding your thoughts out of sight of you.

Political correctness is a mush of mass—

The group, others, brothers—‘fraid to pass!

Individual precisenessā€–ah! Breathe free!

A hero! Life’s soldier! You can be!

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The Plot (for a painting of Wilkie Collins)

This is the plot,

From A to G.

Who knows it not

Gets lost at C.

For twist, l can,

The logic ’round,

Till not a man

Knows what he’s found.

And then the plot

Goes E to L,

Where all is hot

Right next to Hell.

But at the end

All truth is shown

As Wilkie—friend—

Me–makes all known.

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Painting Day

You scraped some old paint off the door;

I put spackle in holes in the wall.

We took a break, smoked cigarettes,

Then back to work we cheerly went.

You scraped and swore at something hard;

I sang “Home On The Range” so gladly!

Then, paint cans open, brushes poised,

We attacked the kitchen like mad!

Your pony tail bobbed as I glanced and smiled;

You were fast and not too wild.

I finished the ceiling while you were kneeling

And didn’t splatter you even once.

We sat down for lunch—coffee for two,

Your white-tipped chin the soul of you.

Then into the dining room—it was small—

We got out rollers and chose a wall.

And up and down and up we sang,

“She’ll be comin’ round the mountain in the rain!”

We laughed and laughed at our freckles new

Till I left my soul on the lips of you.

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Adventurer Alpheus

Oh, dear Alpheus is active,

He’s rolling all around!

He’s on his back, now stomach—-Lo!

This baby boy knows how to go!

He swings his legs,

His arms swing, too!

Sweet Alpheus knows what to do!

And now he kicks a happy tune,

Like blast-off to the happy moon!

One day with Musk he’ll go to Mars

And play about with all the stars!

But now, just now, he’s set to burst

Into a playpen—that comes first!

Adventurere is Alpheus, and may he rove around

Till everything he’s looking for

Is in his grip so sound!

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For a fountain painting.

I saw her at the fountain,

She knew not I was there

Behind a pillar watching.

My love had froze me there.

It took another minute

Until I melted free—

Out I walked, looking,

And she smiled back at me.

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Stand Alone

Do not atone

For your “stand alone,”

It’s virtue, not a vice.

Climb, and rise,

And stand alone—

And never sacrifice.

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I Soar

I stand at the corner of Fifth Avenue.

The Empire Building is soul of my view.

(I raise and raise my eyes,

I raise and raise my eyes)

Thirty feet sixty feet, upward I see,

Windows a-flashing flashing at me.

Eighty, one hundred, calling for me.

Three hundred, five hundred, nine hundred more,

Over a thousand in majesty soar!

(I raise and raise my arms,

I raise and raise my hands,

I glide up with my spirit

In joy that man commands)

I fly in the triumph of Fifth Avenue,

Man’s greatness is towering, clouds going through.

Mind-stone majestically spearing so high,

Taking my beauty into the sky!

Feet on the ground now,

Head up in space,

Still so connected

Right here is home place.

For man is the builder,

Creator supreme,

And I’m going higher,

On top of the dream!

On top of the dream

I’m going going, on and on and on!

I fly in the triumph of Man-is-Brand-New.

His greatness is towering, clouds going through.

Mind-stone majestically thrown up so high,

Taking my beauty into the sky!

I stand, I stand, I stand, I stand,

I stand at the future—soul of my view.

Empire mine on Fifth Avenue!

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Utterly

I am the flower rising to your lips;

You are the sun that roars to mine.

I the butterfly at your fingertips;

You the hand of delicate design.

Burn me to my roots, O Mighty Sun;

I will catch the fire from your brow.

Or touch me till I’m utterly undone

And l will bite the hand that feeds me now.

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Just Like We Should

I come to see you in the morning, dear—

Fried eggs and toast– two pieces, kaya kind.

Then, quick! Two breads to Bingo—disappear!

And coffee for my tongue and for my mind.

But first! Yes, this! A loving, tender kiss.

We have our spying program—what a show!

It’s small, yet vibrant, beautiful—just so!

As long as we are happy, it is good!

We do the things we love just like we should!

Take care your knee, my dear, and treat like new.

We have a lot of spying left to do!

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On Top

A hill of green,

Blue sky above;

Sitting on top—

There’s my love!

Orange leaves fall;

Ground is gold.

A-top her throne—

My love so bold.

Wind whips hair,

It’s caught a leaf!

Fall so fair

There is no grief.

She turns then smiles,

Her face the sun!

The hill, the sky,

Bow down to one!

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Malay Man

Maid of Malay, sixty-six,

I have payday from your lips.

Cheeks Malaysian, Cheras true,

Maid Sekuci, I have you.

Tesco market is the place

Where I find your happy face.

Maid of Malay, sellers say,

Is the bargain of the day.

Pay with kisses if you can.

Yes! I’m now a Malay man!

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Oh Mama

“Oh, mama started me off right,

Sent me to school, where there was light.

The shining books I learned to read,

Their flaming poems became my need.

Oh mama, mama, you did well,

Gave me a pathway out of Hell,

A road toward beauty and success,

A highway up to happiness!

Oh, mama, I’ve worked as hard as you

To make a better life come true;

My sons, my daughter—good and fine,

And they are yours as much as mine.

Be proud of me, my mama dear,

Let all your blessings strong appear,

And help me love my poet, too,

Who writes these words of me and you!

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