Once we heard the song the Sirens sing
Come sit with me and let us talk of days long sped
When light was green and gold upon the hill,
And Sirens called us from the road ahead.
We will drink away the hours and listen for them still.
Mountains were for climbing, wars were there to win,
Youth did not fear the cup of life to spill.
And the song the Sirens sang made light of sin.
We will drink away the days and listen for them still.
Fill up your cup and hold it high again,
And let us mock at death’s gray chill.
When we were young we heard the Sirens sing.
We will drink away the years and listen to them still.
We’ll fight old fights and laugh and talk and jest
Until the Sirens sing us to our rest.
L’Esprit de Geometrie et L’Esprit de Finesse
Yes, we are all
By gin or thought
Distraught.
The violence of reason rules
The subtle Schools;
A dependent clause can curl yer cowl.
I know such men
Of strange conclusions.
Martinis
Cold as the serpent and as wise
Have unfocused my eyes.
Their icy depths have moved my pen.
~apologies to J. V. Cunningham
A Christmas Triolet
Christmas comes but once a year
Or we could not our bills all pay.
To the children we must explain
Christmas comes but once a year.
Nevertheless they all complain
No matter how many times we say
Christmas comes but once a year
Or we could not our bills all pay.
CINQUAIN
Abyss,
Bottomless pit,
Calling us from below:
Death is beauty sleeping without
An end.
Sestina for W. H. Hudson
I
Many years ago the builders built the road.
It went from there to here and back to there
With frequent missing steps along the way.
To reach the end was not to begin again,
And few there were so supremely able
As not to miss and fall from off the path.
II
How many times to fall from off the path
And once again to re-begin the road
Does it take to make the wise one able
To understand the reason it is there?
And must he never say, "Not, not again!
"I will not pass again along this way!"?
III
Some few are born upon the wilder way
And do not choose to take the common path.
They worry not to never pass again
And hurry on to go beyond the road,
Seeking from birth the there beyond the there -
Are they sad that most are not so able?
IV
Is he not among the clearly able,
The mounted man who rides the wilder way
Through the Purple Land from there to there?
He does not slip nor stumble on the path.
His thoughts unturned and keeping to the road,
He stops to talk but starts along again.
V
Returning to the
Purple
Land
again
Quells the doubter’s fears and makes him able
To rise up and continue on the road
Behind the horseman on his fearless way
Thinking not while following fast the path
About the endless there beyond the there.
VI
Who walks from there to here and back to there
And reaches the end need not begin again.
Who never slips nor falls along the path
And undismayed continues able
To keep the path and question not the way,
Alone he wins to find the further road.
VII
Able are they who choose the wilder path
Never again to pass along this way.
Alone they find the road beyond the there
Forget the Time
Forget the time we lost the joy
And learned that life was but a toy?
We spin and spin until that day
Old joints do slow our youthful play,
We sharply shush the neighbor’s boy
When noisy youth he does employ.
Not much is left that we enjoy.
But we are careful not to say
Forget the time.
Trembling does our grace destroy,
Old friends are gone and ills annoy.
Regrets for loss we chase away
And clutch the hours until we may
Without a qualm the thought deploy:
Forget the time.
A Fourth Epitaph
MacDiarmid knew not pride.
He did not know the things of worth
And helped to feed the rising tide.
Hawkwood knew the score of things
And wrote his own before he died.
Would that he were here today
To face the jihad … and save the sum of things for pay.
[see www.jamesrmaclean.com ]
