"Father's Prayer"

I cannot hold you to my breast,
And offer you the drink of life,
Yet my womb--a spirit one--
Shall nourish you throughout your life.

I cannot always keep you in
The clenching shelter of my arms,
And hide from you the sacred treasures,
Buried deep in pain and harm.

I cannot draw a waking breath,
But with my hopes in each exhale.
Yet more intoxicating air
Is watching you chase your own grail.

I cannot carry you for long,
Or walk with you when old legs fail;
But I shall teach you how to fly,
Without this earthly shell or sail.

I can't bequeth you more than this
(All else I paint will flake and fall):
I'll love myself as I love you,
And love your mother most of all.
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"Bedtime Prayer"

Vesuvius, Vesuvius,
Pray still thy evil lavan laughter.
Retract thy molten magma fingers,
Snuff out this stench of death that lingers,
Slip on thy whitest icy glove,
And let us dream this night of love.

Vesuvius, Vesuvius,
Beneath thy watch, in bedtime chambers,
We'll cleave in all-consuming passion,
A death-defying lover's ration,
As though the morning should not come,
To rouse us with its rising hum.

Vesuvius, Vesuvius,
Should not thee stay such execution,
And choose to ooze beyond our sashes,
Herculean forms and ashes
We pray shall rest in huddled grace,
With faith, not fear, on every face,
That clutch not selves, nor gold, nor charms,
But sleep-filled infants' precious arms.

Vesuvius, Vesuvius,
Thy threats shall but develop us!
Vesuvius, Vesuvius,
Thy earthen hell shall not envelop us!
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"Someday, as the Wren Sings"

Someday,
As the wren sings,
In the highest cool and misty
Mountain morning frost,
Foggy pillows--
Airborn willows--
Shall enwrap and float away
Darkness-drowning, dewy days.

Someday,
As the clouds lift,
And the sunlight finally finds me,
Deep within this haze,
Warming showers--
Healing powers--
Shall at last be free to fall
On my spirit, not my wall.
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"The Front"

Whether or not the weather is hot,
The facades are the same for the bearers of brunt.
Though the souls may be bruised, and the wrapings quite used
The word will be warm when it comes from the front.

The north winds that blow bring the numbness of snow,
To the ones underneath bound in brown earthen blight.
But the vision above, of the winter's white glove,
Is the picture of heavenly placid delight.

Blessed jet stream of hope, on your promise we cope,
As we stiffly await the arrival of spring,
In the form of a breath, born of winter's own death,
To revive sinking spirits and uplift weary wings!

If it's true that the warm front precipitates cold,
And youthful smiles always hasten the old,
How still can a man or a woman regret,
Refuting pain others would rather forget,
In a world where insiders spend the least time inside,
And the least-sought possessions are courage and pride?
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"A Fine Day to Die"

In a cathedral, a Dubliner grew
From but an infant, to boy whom Christ knew,
Who shunned his own will, to serve only Him
Who vowed to return to rule once again.
"'Tis a fine day to die, God,
'Tis a fine day indeed".

In same cathedral, this lad now a man
Stood with his woman, and took her small hand,
And uttered these words, "'til death do us part,"
And with one gold ring, encircled her heart.
"'Tis a fine day to die, lass,
'Tis a fine day indeed".

In a great castle, this man now of means
Knelt down in reverence, before his great king,
And pledged all his lands, his servants to fight--
He knelt as a knave, then rose as a knight.
"'Tis a fine day to die, lord,
'Tis a fine day indeed".

When came the battle, he surveyed his foe--
Thrice his own army, the outcome was known.
He took up his cross, his ring and his sword.
And turned to his boys, and shouted these words,
"'Tis a fine day to die, lads!
'Tis a fine day indeed!"

Now no cathedral, just graveyard instead,
Where Dubliners flock to honor their dead,
A tombstone implores, to whom may pass by
To live not for self, but for sacrifice:
"'Twas a fine day to die here,
'Twas a fine day indeed".
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