Good Night, Dreamer

Sleeping sweetly through the night,

Giving darkness your dear light,

All the house is comforted

By your dreaming in your bed.

Comfort, too, does come to me

While l watch across the sea.

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Self-Blessed

So big, so large, so vast, so very great—

The sky. Then you–unlimited within

My arms. Your giant heart of love makes me

To sigh, to sigh with happiness that gains

Your charms and seems to fly beyond all bounds.

I fly! Oh yes! I soar in rapture true

So high in highest ecstasy the heart

Of harm, it cannot touch or beat us—nay!

You, I, twin rafts of flowers on a stream,

Float artlessly along as in a dream,

And wisely, proudly, let the dream prevail.

The sky was big, that now is very small.

Our arms we raise, enclosing us in flesh.

Our high ideal is real, and we’re the best.

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Sweet Practical You

Oh, what will I do

With sweet practical you?

Your practical style—

It just makes me smile

Till I’m practically sweet as you!

But you’d never believe

I am practically smart

Unless I stayed true

To the beat of your heart.

But I do

And I’m …almost…

As practical as you!

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My Dear Beloved

My dear beloved sleeps all night

While I read on in sunny light.

I see her face in place of words,

I hear her breathing sweet as birds.

Alas, but no! She’s far away!

Yet in my heart she drums in play—

And I am happy all the day!

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Dear Little Giant

Alpheus wakes up, raring to go;

Baby shark swimming, yo, ho, ho!

Alpheus stands up, he’s gonna run!

All around playpen; boy, he has fun!

Alpheus laughing, “Ha, ha, ha!”

Dear little giant loves his ma-ma!

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I Love You So

I think, I do,

Of you, I do,

And that does make me glad.

And yet you’re far

Away from me,

And that does make me sad.

But then I think of you again

And gladder I do grow.

Oh dear, my dear,

I love you dear,

I love you, love you so!

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Lover-Bee

With these two lips

I give thee this—

Sweet peach to thee

Of bonus kiss.

I press like this—

Press-pressing well

To be a bee

A-buzzing soft,

Then stinging light,

With passion’s eyes!

O bonus, bonus, bonus time!

To be a bee is so sublime!

I am the bee;

You… be… mine!

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Complete

Oh, darling Nancy, granma sweet,

I fancy you are so complete

There’s none on earth, so true and fine,

To stand for worthy fortune–mine.

Your common sense is purest gold,

You do your chores intensely bold.

Your lively spirit shines, complete,

My darling dear, my Nancy sweet.

From early morn till late at night

You’re up and going, doing right,

Smart and focused, sharp and true—

Earned a nap! It’s here for you!

I love you dearly–oh, so strong!

My admiration wings my song,

And as I sing your praises sweet

Before my eyes you stand complete!

You stand complete, you are the one

Who loves so true her dear grand-son,

And if I’m loved a little bit

My earthly soul, momeee, is lit!

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Factory

Each day is a brand new day.

Made in factory?

Yes, factory of true love.

Shining, strong, and full of song.

Made in factory.

Yes, factory of deep truth.

Straight-lined, unbreakable.

Manufacturer’s lifetime guarantee.

Pure as a diamond.

Made in factory.

Factory of you and me.

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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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