Once, we ran in the rain and leaped high over puddles
With laughter of joy on our lips.
Now, we walk in the rain and steer round the deep puddles
With warmth in our hand-in-hand grip.

Out of youth, into age, with our love center stage,
Are we hero and heroine supreme,
Who with glimpse of the past may slight limp at the last,
But with smiles the high style of our dream.

Once, we climbed the steep hills to the top rock, up there,
Where we hung on a pole your gold hat;
Now, we look up and see a gold shirt flying free,
For loves young make tradition of that.

Then in youth, now in age, as we turn a new page
That is ready for true hearts to write,
We took, take, a pen, you sign “De” once again,
While beside it I scribble out “light”.

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When Do I Love Thee? (after Elizabeth Browning)

When do I love thee? Let me count the times.
Minute by minute by minute flies on past
And still and still I love you, most, not last.
Hour by hour by hour I’m still in thrall,
And days and days, and still you are my all.
Months and months and years, and lone-trip tears,
Then back again with joy that hugs and sears;
When time has lost, yet stands to win e’en more
When seconds are the present we adore;
When I am I and you are you, like rhymes
That ring each other with a clinging bliss,
And kiss the eager ear and never miss.
Here’s when I love you—when “when” is frothy shore
That gathers waves in timeless, countless times.

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Good Tiger

Tiger, tiger, turning right,
In the forests of the night,
How could thinking, caring mind
Desire thee not fair food to find?

Lambs are sweet, and pigs are, too;
The right path is the best for you—
To have your fill in innocence
And not be hated for good sense.

The law of nature rules thy soul—
In strength to have the most control,
Nor sacrifice to weak and tame,
Nor let a “kindness” take thy game.

Tiger, tiger, don’t turn left,
Or you’ll be of your life bereft.
Democracy will feed with fear,
And next you know you’ll not be here!

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You picked a gorgeous, perfect flower today,
Your perfect hand with gleaming scissors’ snip;
And then you spun about in dancing play
With perfect petals at your perfect lip.
The perfect time was noon, the perfect place
Your perfect garden waiting your soft pace,
As gold and purple blooms you looked upon,
Deciding which would be the perfect choice.
Then one you stopped before, like radiant dawn,
And soon, to happy song, I gave my voice.
Now sit we close in perfect, cozy chair,
Inside our bedroom, bracing light.
Your perfect flower stands with kingly air
And waits perfection of a perfect night.

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Is There?

Is there a lively light within your eye
Which only I do see and love and cherish?
All others deem you need feel somewhat sad
To have a poet-lover always by,
Yet verse of mine will never let you perish.
I’ll keep you buoyant, as a ship most glad
That sails eternal waters of high fame
To happy isles that praise with joy your name
With torch gigantic of heroic flame,
Unique and wild, that winds cannot make tame!
For you, to me, are free yourself as this,
And give uniqueness in a fast-foot kiss,
So sudden, yet I cannot help espy
There is a lively light within your eye!

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Religion Is…

Religion is a vision of man lost in pain,
Unless he sacrifice his every joyous gain;
Religion is a vision of man crawling, dread,
For having used one thought of his own head.

Religion is a hunger for man’s full defeat,
Changed into sheep that can but eat and bleat;
Religion is the hunger for a man made mad,
Who feels completely guilty, completely bad.

Religion is that hate/resentment of the soul
For anyone who stands alone, high and whole,
Who seeks approval of no coward priest,
And fears no man-of-god, who is the least.

Religion is the immorality of mankind,
The demon driving stakes into man’s mind,
The God and Satan that together lie
And all man’s hopes and loves and joys defy.

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Castro Cast Out!

Yes! Now is Castro cast out for his crimes!
Yes! Though e’en death holds his nose at the stink of his spirit,
While he shoves him far down out of sight
Where the red teeth of Mao and of Stalin clasp round him and gash him
To gorge themselves full with each bite.

Yes! Now their poisonous bellies are stricken with pain—
The pain of life hate everlasting—
And they howl and they moan and they screech and they yell,
Till they throw up his thugly remains,
And one eyeball rolls round for the praise of progressives,
Who bow to their butcher in Hell!

Now Stalin and Mao and this Castro
Look greedily up for what’s here—
For Obama and Hillary Clinton,
And Death they urge toward them to steer.

For they yearn these red worms to be dying,
So to fill up their bowels with great pain,
And the dark wings of death are out flying
To bring down these losers again.

Bring them back under rocks where they started,
Bring them under the dust and the mud,
Where they twisted and crawled broken-hearted,
In their longing to taste human blood.

But Justice is strong, he is patient,
And evil he fears not at all.
Now Castro, soon Hill’ry, Obama,
Is cast out, will stumble and fall!

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