This Is My Love

This is my love, this outward song I share,
Now played by orchestra, now violin most fair;
Now sung by two or three, now one alone,
Now simply spoke as a simple poem.
These paintings I here post, this art divine,
These, too, are my soul’s love, are wholly mine.
This sculpture, so heroic, speaks for me,
Shares all the strength by which I live and see,
This perfect force of beauty that is I,
Live splendor of my love that stands so high.
All the flowers, all lovely flowers, these
Too, I share, and all the swaying trees
Awake with winds and birds and sunset flare.
This is my love, and is my love to share.

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So Many Foul Bad Men

So many foul, bad men mouth lust of bad,
So many low, base mind-cuts malice show,
Loved ignorance grows evil more than mad,
While intellectual ‘posters smirk for show.
They cling to evil, they, as rot clings rot,
These nihil-leftists with their fake-smiled fronts,
Who pile up garbage in their know not pots
To poison boys and girls with selfless wants.
They sin against good life, against mankind!
Break first the thought, laugh lies into the mind!
Stuff mental defecation in young ears
Till youth flies out bat hallways screaming fears!
Oh, had I hate’s professors in my hand,
I’d squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, till less than sand!

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Because Of You

Because of you my wings are stronger now;
I fly and soar in word and speech and song.
All triumph springs from purely taken vow,
And this of mine is ‘ever to be strong.’
Because of you and my great love for thee
Do all my poet’s tools more brightly shine.
My singing speech becomes a rising sea
That leaps with seeking waves around thy shrine,—
Their white froth joy, their winking bubbles light;
Their splashing sprays glad plays of love for you,
Who are my stainless isle of virtue’s sight.
A bird, a wave, a sky-king made of earth,
Now, more, a man in full man’s might
Who sings the beauty of your sacred worth!

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You Have Such Power

You have such power to open so my mouth,
And with your lover’s wand turn words to birds
That, flying, flying, flying ever south,
Intend themselves to change again to words
And in your tender ears to softly say,
“Magician mine, now spell me joyous curse,
That I may swear, “You are my universe!”
Then fly I will forever round you there,
A breeze to scent your breath, caress your hair,
Or fall, all quietness, while you piano play.
You have such beauty’s might to murmur
Winning force of love’s maturity,
Where spell “infatuation” knows but cease,
And graduated passion’s warm as peace.

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Type, Type, Type!

Today we’re living far apart,
Yet Facebook brings us near;
Your fingers on the keyboard there
Respond to mine right here.

You type an “I”, I type an “I”,
For we are I-types true.
And then we type L-O-V-E,
I finish fast with “You!”

But oh, you’ve typed a different word;
Your “Chopin” knocks me down!
So I must sing as keyboard bird
To swing your keys around.

But on you go, your fingers fly—
“I must some practice do.”—
I touch in light another line,
Repeats of “Y-O-U.”

Oh, fingers of her hands, unite!
Rebel against the foe!
Let master Chopin have his light,
But post me King of Glow!

Then you are back, not feeling well,
Rebellion’s hurt your heart.
Oh dear, my dear, I know it’s hell
When Facebook lovers part.

Just type an “I L-O-V-E,”
And let me type the rest.
The fingers of this doctor’s soul,
They always know what’s best!

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If Good Men Would Be Free

If good men would be free then must they fight,
Must raise a day of deeds against bad night,
Wave banners of the truth o’er low’ring sky,
And speak, to spear the evils crawling by.
These wretch-ed mobbing bugs of low-heads vile,
Who hate the sun because the sun doth smile,
Their squint souls must be lit, their wholes to see,
That they then shrink themselves for fright to be.
Otherwise, force must head them dead to grave,
Yea, force of right make their foul night behave,
For where there’s reason there is might the most
To make a parasite depart his host.
Then judge them, yea, oh judge them unto death;
The air will purify when they are past last breath.

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I never ask, when I’m alone,
“Does she love me?”
Always, in true serious tone,
“Do you love me?”

I never think of you as she,
For in my mind you’re always here,
My ‘magination’s company
That drinks life’s toast to you, my dear.

And now the day goes slowly on,
And now the rain does fall and fall.
My pen could write the coming dawn,
But real is real, and “Wait’ is all.

Imagination—Say! You’re done!
Oh, you, my you, do you love me?
Come fast, clear day, of rain have none!
My sun, arise, and light me free!

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