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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Absence, by Thomas William Heney
Ah, happy air that, rough or soft,
May kiss that face and stay;
And happy beams that from above
May choose to her their way;
And happy flowers that now and then
The Dust of No Return, by Paul McCann
After the war was over,
I returned to Australia and wed,
with severance pay to kick start,
we looked to be getting ahead.
We checked out this land in the country,
Stung Right, by Joe Hill
When I was hiking 'round the town to find a job one day,
I saw a sign that thousand men were wanted right away,
To take a trip around the world in Uncle Sammy's fleet,
I signed my name a dozen times upon a great big sheet.
CHORUS:
Quis Separabit?, by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
All my life's short years had been stern and sterile --
I stood like one whom the blasts blow back --
As with shipmen whirled through the straits of Peril,
So fierce foes menaced my every track.
But I steeled my soul to a strong endeavour,
An Upper Chamber, by Frances Bannerman
I CAME into the City and none knew me;
None came forth, none shouted 'He is here!
Not a hand with laurel would bestrew me,
All the way by which I drew anear--
Night my banner, and my herald Fear.
A Nun, by Odell Shepard
One glance and I had lost her in the riot
Of tangled cries.
She trod the clamor with a cloistral quiet
Deep in her eyes
As though she heard the muted music only
The Blind Boy's Pranks, by William Thom
MEN grew sae cauld, maids sae unkind,
Love kentna whaur to stay:
Wi' fient an arrow, bow, or string--
Wi' droopin' heart an' drizzled wing,
He faught his lonely way.
Mater Dolorosa, by William Barnes
I'D a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
Of my little lad,
Eidolons, by Walt Whitman
I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons.
Put in thy chants said he,
De Massa ob de Sheepfol', by Sarah Pratt McLean Greene
De massa ob de sheepfol'
Dat guard de sheepfol' bin,
Look out in de gloomerin' meadows
Whar de long night rain begin --
So he call to de hirelin' shephe'd:
Harbury, by Louise Driscoll
All the men of Harbury go down to the sea in ships,
The wind upon their faces, the salt upon their lips.
The little boys of Harbury when they are laid to sleep,
Dream of masts and cabins and the wonders of the deep.
The women-folk of Harbury have eyes like the sea,
The Farm, by Sherry Asbury
If you hike in the Oregon outback,
You will come across it unexpectedly.
Old scabrous house is a lonely site.
crooked and rotted, under a tree.
The land around the house
The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2012 by Timothy Keith Bovee. All rights reserved.
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