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WE WANTED WATER AND THE TREES

WE WANTED WATER AND THE TREES We wanted water and the trees That day by Lake Albano:             With liquid green             To cool our feet And, to colander the sun, leaves Arching into Lake Albano.   It was near noon when we left The road up from Albano,             Where silent men Were making cairns Of wood, and took the path which led

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Birdshit one

Birdshit one          After cleaning out the cage                                                of my frail exotic birds          I fantasize that they  don’t see                                                the bars all round them          And that they too  have pets                                                they keep in cages          which I  don’t see                                                And that for them          I  am the thunder and

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Fairground blues

Fairground blues Just like the big dipper          if you don’t catch me when I’m up          you certainly won’t                                      when I’m down          And vice versa                                                               even more  so  

Be not  burdened  Ruthie

Be not  burdened  Ruthie                             Be not burdened Ruthie                                                         least of all                             by your own sighs Oh I know there are people                                                         who will always                                      bring their burdens to you                                                         as if living                                      for you too were not burden enough But sigh though you may                                                         be not burdened

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A  plea  for  speed  in  dispatch

A  plea  for  speed  in  dispatch Look let’s get on with death                                      Time’s running out So let’s not waste it                                      dotting i’s and crossing t’s   Once you’ve lived it once                                                                   what’s the point                                                                                                              what is the point                                      So let’s  get on with death

Ocean-sounding

Ocean-sounding Oh Mooni          you’re so good at making people think           you’re superficial when you’re not                                                                 And how quick you are to hide from view                    so much that’s ancient in wisdom                                                                               Perhaps that’s why                                                                   you hide it                                                To make people think                                                                   you’re immature                                                when

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Tentative  approach  by  a  middle-aged  lady to  a  middle-aged  gentleman and  his  rebuff

Tentative  approach  by  a  middle-aged  lady to  a  middle-aged  gentleman and  his  rebuff What a young hand                                                            you’ve got                                                                              Yes the skin’s                                                                                      still young                                                                            it’s the touch                                                                                       that’s old

Essences

Essences Everything is a poem –      except             the analysis of one,                                     just as             anyone is a poet –             except             he who is sure                                 he is one…

Degrees of goldenness

Degrees of goldenness Poetry’s                                    talking                         to the world                                    in whispers…                         Dreaming’s                                    writing                         without words.