Trio: a harmonious blending of three voices.
Poems on this page are meant to be justified on the left side but this does not happen on all computer equipment.
R.II
(a trio with W.S. and W.Wordsworth)
May I compare this prison to the world?
And will my cross be freshly planted in
the ground? This pallsome moment is absurd!
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
and tell sad tales about the death of kings.
As that grim Jester mocks me in my dreams,
let's talk of worms and graves and epitaphs.
So moved by flatterers and parasites,
getting and spending, I gave myself away!
I wasted all my powers. A sordid boon!
And all this flesh, decrepit flesh, shall rot
away, all memory of me will die.
The worst is Death, and Death shall have his day.
God save the King! Will no man say: Amen?
5/14/12
DEAD
(a trio with W.S. and E. B. Browning)
here's much to do with hate but more with love,
but love did prove too tyrannous and rough.
imagine how her rosy fingers stroked
his cheek then rested on his soft, slack lips.
oh, lovey-dovey, kissee-kissee.... DEAD!... DEAD!... DEAD!
and now the cold, gray dugs of heaven sag
and weep their sallow froth. back foolish tears!
back to your native spring! this hopeless grief
is passionless, begot of nothing but
vain fantasy where nothing changes but
the bitter saw of old and tired men.
we have a certain moving function here:
grieve for the dead in silence like to death.
love is not kind. death is the end of all.
6/23/12
Até Proprio Motu
(a trio with M. Rukeyser and W.S.)
This day all things begun come to ill end.
I smile as I feign my mock surprise.
God turns awry in exile from Himself.
His great, sad eyes are closed. His promise fails.
He mouths His silent, bitter wish and stills
the sighing quiver of a monk's last breath.
So much my conscience whispered in His ear
which none but Heaven, He, and I could hear.
I move. And God becomes a thorny wreath,
a chattel craved and bound by royal wills.
I plot His masque. I parse His holy frail
commodity. I shout : Aha! My Soul!
and force His cry: No more Mythologies!
The fragments fall as God last lifts His hand.
8/24/13
HENRY V
(a trio with W.S. and A. Bronte)
The only road unto the realms of Joy?
Believe not those who say the upward path
is smooth. Cast useless loads away! Then love,
then labour, pardon and endure. For he
that dares not grasp the Thorn should never crave
the Rose. The Gardner will with ordure hide
the Root that first will stir in Spring and be
most delicate. Thus baser forms do churn
the Earth and goodness from the vile grows,
becomes a thin and thorny slender stem
to blossom as the Crimson Bud of Youth.
Thus many thousand parts do make a Man.
All seed will cast the many colors of
the Truth. Let Sweetest Flowerets gleam!
5/19/15
rev. 5/12/19
rev. 5/15/19
'The Narrow Way' Anne Bronte
THE FUSTIAN RIDDLE
(A trio with W.S. and E.A. Poe)
My mind so greatly flattered by my eye.
O Time, you must untangle what I know.
A knot, I am, too hard to be untied.
I cannot know what I should fear to find.
My mistress should have better loved my dream.
Disguised I was by wickedness, and so
with bitter words she struck the heart of a
poor man turned such a dire fool as I.
Mere instinct and desire prompted me
on flailing dreams to turn into the fool!
As great a fool as dreamt to hope at all.
It was despair that shattered my poor way.
Now left with vengeful anger I have sworn
to settle in my mind my hope to mourn.
9/13/19
rev. 1/28/20
'Descent Into the Maelstrom' by E.A. Poe