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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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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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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If You Can

If you can keep your eyes wide open

When all about you are closing theirs,

If you can look beyond the hopeless

And give back Fate unflinching stares,

If you can face resenting evil

And judge it rotten to the core,

And with a mind that’s logic level

Crush its maliced falseness more;

If you can hear the mad ones boast

That all their zeroes add up whole,

And communistic care’s the most

That man can feel within his soul—-

And cross it, stamp it, spit it out

As utmost evil without doubt,

Then lift, above these dead-souled fiends,

The songs of free-born, free men’s glory—

And prove in action what that means!

And be the hero’s self-made story,

And rise and shine on manly beams!

If this, and more, you raise and praise,

Then you will own the heart of light,

To shine through you with all its right!

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Let Me Rest

Ugliness in Lover-Dover? Nay!

Oh, my dear, what things you say!

Must be a plot, may be a scheme;

If it is not, must be I dream!

I know you, dear; you want to hear—

You’re beautiful beyond compare!

And so I whisper in your ear,

“Your beauty is a thing so rare,

It’s in your lips, your eyes, your hair;

It’s all of you, your everywhere!

It shines from you a spring-ish light,

Surpasses sun and May-leaves bright.

It smashes me with such a force,

I’d crash if I were on a horse!

On through my eyes, up to my brain,

I’m washed away in beauty’s rain.

I’m drowned and pounded, lie on floor

Till I can’t take your beauty more!

O Lover-Dover, be you kind,

And let me rest one minute blind!

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Sunny Avenue

Oh, I went down to meet you on the sunny avenue,

The buildings pulled ne taller just looking for you.

I was so very happy that we were gonna meet,

I don’t know how I did it—staying on my feet.

I was all set to fly away with you to somewhere great,

Alone with you to kiss and woo

And love appreciate.

Yes, I was set to ho somewhere,

But baby, this is fine—

Behind this wall and waterfall

I’ll kiss and make you mine!

When love is in the city there are places oh so neat,

To catch your lovey-dovey and sweep her off her feet.

When love is in the city you’re never going blind,

Cause everywhere’s a good where to find!

Behind that tree, that pillar tall,

Or in that elevator—

We’re goin’ round and up and down—

We catch up soon or later!

But baby, this is best of all,

On this sunny avenue—

To kiss you first

And quench my thirst—

Yes, baby, this will do!

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Selfishness Triumphs

Oh, my son, my son, my son,

I am so proud of what we’ve done!

Four years it was to get you through

And I, mom, you, we did it! Yes!

The music college of your choice—

A violin—-and not your voice!

Oh, but yes, you loved it so,

Although we’d so little money, oh!

So I took on an extra job,

And she became one great saver,

And you, you studied day and night—

Such egoist behavior!

The violin was a sacred light.

Inside the sound-proof room you played,

The room my extra money made.

And we gave you encouragement a ton!

And then, that day you said you wanted—

Wanted what? A tutor, a mentor?

Oh, I got him at a fat, fat price!

But don’t think I was selfless!

Doing it for you made me feel proud!

And now, you are near master of that beautiful violin!

And this is the greatest thing—you love it! Oh, yes, you love it!

Oh, what a reward for me and mother.

You really, really love it!

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For Kristi Noem

I write this praising poem

For Governor Kristi Noem,

Who steers her freedom state

Past Fear, low Evil’s mate.

Past hate that’s communistic

She guideth strong and true.

This Governor Kristi Noem

Knows fully what to do.

For man’s individual rights,

And Honesty, their sire,

Governor Kristi Noem

Is giant in desire:

That American freedom

Will stand up long

If but one state rise

For love-of-man more strong!

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Love Of Beauty

Softly, slowly,

Deep and holy,

Love of beauty

Glides along.

Always flowing,

Truly going,

Peaceful loving

All life long.

See it, hear it,

Feel it, know it;

Hold and mold it

All day long.

Into midnight

Sing its power—

Ocean, flower,

Hair and sky.

Moving, proving,

Man is holy,

Song of beauty

Gliding by.

Never pausing,

Not abating,

Beauty waiting

All life long.

Tender being,

Eyes agreeing,

Golden smile

All life through.

Lips a-shining,

Mind surmising,

Joy surprising,

Beauty’s song.

Softly, slowly,

Deep and holy,

Love of beauty

Glides along.

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I Fell

I fell, I fell, I fell for you

Down into the beauty of your eyes.

I was free up on a mountaintop,

I was strolling right along.

Light as a bird at a fountain-stop

A-singin’ an easy song.

An’ then I turned a corner—

An’ lo! what should I see—

A great big cliff and an ocean

Gazing up at me.

I fell, I fell, I fell for you

Down into the beauty of your eyes.

It wasn’t a case of gravity,

It wasn’t a case of glue,

But I was struck with Paradise

When I looked at you!

I fell, I fell, I fell for you

Down into the beauty of your eyes.

It wasn’t a case of “I am lost”,

It wasn’t a case of pain,

But when I looked upon your face

I knew that I was slain!

I fell, I fell, I fell for you

Down into the beauty of your eyes!

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A Song For Ella

Like a song in springtime

When a lover gets his start,

He might not have the words yet,

But the tune is in his heart.

He might not have the climax

Of his little symphony,

But the end is just beginning

When he’s looking at me.

Oh, like a song in Winter,

Or like a song in Fall,

The words are just a label for—

“You’ve got it all.”

And like a song in Summer,

That never stops at night,

The tune’s the full moon

Of love’s might.

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In The Bright

In the bright bright light of day

When the good men go to work,

All the town is feeling gay,

Happy as the month of May,

Lovely as a holiday,

When the good men go to work!


In the dim dim light of night

When the good men go back home,

All the town is proud to be

Center of life’s victory,

Leader of joy’s mastery

When the good men go back home!

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Grown Desire

Pure is the low note, stronger than love;

Nothing is so low, Hell is above.

Deepest acceptance, holiest bliss,

Selfishness selfish—nothing like this!

Low, it is lowly—down in your gut!

Wholly and holy—you are the what.

What-for and wherefore and why is your “I”?

You are the the reason meaning won’t die!

Stronger than stronger, lower than low,

You are the highest wherever you go!

Wings from Olympus, rockets past Mars,

You are the purpose nobody bars!

Now is the low note longing to be

One with the sun that is never off “See!”

You are the thinker, low in the shade,

Musing and pondering, all unafraid.

Truth cannot shake you, Falsehood not move;

Time is you waiting your spirit to prove.

Spirit that’s reason, logic your pyre—

Sacrifice naught but an unthought desire.

Up comes the low note, up from each lung—

Waking and breaking, glad to be sung!

Selfish with self-love ringing so bright,

Ego that’s shooting day over night!

Low flows, goes low, stronger than fire!

Lower, so low—-Lo! Grown Desire!

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