Saucy Soul

Such beautiful poems I wrote last year

For you, and only you, my precious dear,

With love so genuine, deep and true,

And my whole soul in love with you,

And every thought and feeling said

I love you from your toes up to your head,

But mostly I love lips and eyes ideal

That make me spin around and reel,

Till I am almost upside down,

A lover like a funny clown,

Who yet does love you for your soul

So beautiful, wonderful, good and whole,

And yet that saucy look you give

Is my whole reason why I live.

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The Reasons

Pleasure of eyes and of lips and of hands,

Of the mind that seizes and understands

That the joy of the senses bears no ill

To the hands that take for the spirit’s fill,

As the lips of two lovers inclosing meet

To agree in a moment on aim so sweet,

In commitment to goodness of life made great

By their nakedest beauty and holiest state

Of the man the god and the goddess she,

Who are starters and ends of morality.

These heroical two who out-leapt the crowd

And were never made ugly with guilt and shroud,

And who never accepted that joy was bad,

Or that pleasure was cover for deeper sad,

These most splendid and clean and out-laughing two—

These are the reasons the world is new!

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Crack!

Oh, the day was hard and the hours long,

And the ringing hammers all our song,

But with steel we spoke till the rocks were broke—

With steel bars and muscle,

And an aim of mind that was not kind

In the fierce, titannic struggle.

We wedged straight in, we hammered deep—

Crack! The rock was breaking!

Now load the cart and haul away;

Strong houses we’ll be making!

Oh, the day is past the halfway point,

Yet we are almost dine here.

Our labor does our sweat annoint,

And now for a glass of beer!

The earth glad giveth all it can

To aid the day of working man,

And we give joy of loving truth

That in all ages smiles its youth.

Now, one last strike into the heart

That laughs and laughs with breaking!

Earth’s broken heart’s a happy heart,

For man, her true love, shaking.

She leaves the ground where she was bound,

Now free for architecting!

She’ll stand, be tall, outshine them all,

Life-proud in man’s inspecting.

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At Kilchurn Castle

At Kilchurn Castle in days gone by,

When clouds swept down ‘tween mount and sky,

Remember, then, we took a boat—

So easy on that lake to float—

And out with swans did oar our way,

So glad for such a perfect day.

We saw the whole sky darken; oh,

The castle hid from view! Thunder, then,

Sounded loudy all around! And then,

White lightning! Splitting, breaking free!

All this over and on the castle! But we

Were safe in our little boat, enjoying it.

At Kilchurn Castke, in days gone by,

When you were eighteen, twenty, I,

We did strange things no others dared,

Free and open and unimpaired. And not shared

With anyone.

But I shared you and you shared me,

And here we are, still strong and free,

A perfect storm of harmony—

A living truth, a prolonged day

Of dawn through dawn gone all the way!

We’re killing it at Kilchurn Castle!

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Columbus

Columbus in the soul of man

Is soul of progress, too.

If you would do the best you can

Let heroes sail in you.

Be not dismayed by those who doubt

The light of progress new;

Your dreamer’s flame will not go out

As long as you are you.

Just be yourself, heroic, strong,

Each way and day you are;

Your lips will sing the sovereign song,

“Ahead, my earth, my star!”

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My Next Door Neighbor

My next door neighbor was so fair

I couldn’t pass her on the stair,

But only stopped to stare and stare!

Then she went down as up went l,

My heart a-pound, my head in sky,

Till right behind the door l stood,

My heart a-knocking , for no good.

My next door neighbor was so sweet

I could but bow—repeat, repeat—

Till she was past the window seat!

Then she went on as I went in,

My head a top, a-spin, a-spin,

My elbows hurting where they knocked

Against the parlor door that blocked.

My neighbor was so smart and kind

I think she must have read my mind,

For we have wed, and I’m resigned!

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Poetry

Still, so still. Ten seconds, twenty.

She’d read and spoke the words.

They were—everything, more than that!

On her tongue they’d been,

In her ears, her mind.

She knew they were now a part of her.

Knew it without knowing.

So, this was poetry! This!

“Poetry Of Olden Days!”

No, no, not old! Brand new!

And now her arms moved

As she pressed the book to her stomach

And a tear of pure happiness rolled.

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