The Yeatsian

Poetry & Lyricism "A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught." WB Yeats "Adam's Curse"

My Photo
Location: at the Singer's Microphone, United States

I'm in my second marriage to a wonderful woman, my beautiful wife! I thank God everyday He brought her to me! "Restore us, O God of hosts: Cause Your face to shine, And we shall be saved!" PSALM 80

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Spanish Holiday

I know a village, south in the Spanish hills,
Above the green sea, waving and warm,
Where jasmine flowers scent and sweet the air,
And singers wander among winding streets.

Together there my love and I will dream
A dream, in unison, on a winter's
Afternoon, a dream to wash our eyes
That we may know with new intensity
The taste of pungent oranges hanging
Ripe and heavy, ah, just within our reach.

Far from England's dreary skies, and far
From its louts and stifling traditions,
My love and I will walk along the shore
Imbibing the air and each the other's eyes;
Gently dancing, as it laps at our feet,
Our hearts will sing with the voice of the sea.

September 19 - 23, 1990

The Knowing to Come

One day I'll sing my love a song
To burn away the bitterness
That's broken down these bones so long,
And I'll numb my loneliness.

She'll hear the song and know my voice,
That strange, that caged-up beast,
She'll laught to recognize the choice
That led us each to each,

Mine to her breast, heer breast to mine,
Each water to the dry,
She'll se and she'll know the flaming sign
Free-falling through the sky.

August 7 - 9, 1990
adapted to music, June 1996

Golden Image

A book somewhere has said,
or someone dreaming has written:
"The moisture of a man's soul
can dry and can evaporate,
rising invisible to the blue,
there to form a cloud and float away,
beyond the hills, beyond the seas,
beyond the lands of his sons,
and fade and dissipate;
but the moisture of a man's soul
can collect itself and precipitate
the purest image of its desire,
no golden calf to idolize,
no fantasy to mock the beholder's eye
no, just an image of clarity
like the moon swimming in a sea of blue,
just an image that would draw into one
the lines of his seeing and the curves of his knowing."

I read the book but would not believe,
until I saw your eyes,
until I saw your golden eyes,
and felt your golden thighs.

September 3, 1990
adapted to music, June 1996

Peerless Paramour

"And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes" John Keats

In the shadows of the nightfall light
as the waters of the soul collect in store
there glows a flame peerless and fine.
Like luminous jewels hanging
green in a field of silky black
are her eyes;
like emeralds lighting a moonless sky,
daring and proud, resilient, extravagant
are her eyes,
mistress and queen of all she looks upon
with her peerless eyes.

Black is the color that her voice rises out of
like the shades of blue that glide along her voice
pure and clear in line and timbre, a silver-blue voice
rich in the joy of its own performance and power.
The voice of an angel exulting in its own perfection
would only mimic the spirit of her melodious strains
that pour forth like an artesian spring
bearing green life to dry desert stones.
And the passions that rise articulate from within her
strip away the scaffolding so patiently erected
to repair and rebuild the heart.

Peerless eyes and silken voice
together perform a dance enchanting eye and ear,
turning the pale hues of muddy earth
to watery splendor, to breath light and airy,
to fire golden, sublime and divine.
Thus do her emerald eyes and passionate voice
sweep away all comers, sweep up the fortunate
and sweep over hearts longing for a little sweetness
to lighten the burden of the desperate journey
that ever rolls before our bloody dust.

April, 1994

Time Traveler

For ten months now, with a dreadful tread,
Have I beaten the boards, cudgelled my brain,
And cried and prayed, to know the mercy of the gods,

But all I have to show, for the madness in my veins,
Is your name on my lips--the sound of my hope--
And tears of shame.

July 26 - 28, 1990

Friday, January 20, 2006

Dawn in the Evening

With a pizza in the plaza dawn began,
Culminating long past midnight
With tea beneath the pines and the stars,
And as the sun rose in our hearts,
Music swelled and rose in our blood,
Beckoning us to a new promontory,
A golden fire, a vision resplendent,
Like the dancers that spun around us,
Weaving shreds of life into light.

A human soul is a fragile god,
Guided by a destiny of its own invention.
My own soul, aching for its counterpart,
Had wandered aimless, desolate, forlorn
Among shapeless crowds of human shadows.
Loss seemed the natural state,
The pain of loneliness the first sense.
In a slumber had the will lain,
Dormant under the pressure of a memory,
A memory so sweet and refined that a starling
Would blush at such perfection.
For month upon empty month
Have I not come home
To an empty flat and an empty bed
Without a lover's arms to warm me,
Without even the indifferent arms
Of a wife to act the pretense of a love?

The jealous sun partook of our power,
The ecstatic power of mad dancers,
With a massive transfusion of heat and light,
As the midday revival pulsed with rhythms,
Burgeoned with melodies, and gushed with harmonies,
Seizing, fusing musicians and dancers
Into one reckless, indomitable one.
It was a frenzy that smashed mere limits,
An American chaos of passion and purity,
A resurrection through music to light,
A coupling with the darkness of feeling and fury,
And out of the one there rose a voice
Persuasive unto itself, wild, enchanted,
A voice that sang of the moment as holy
As silence, a miracle of pure affirmation,
And the voice burst within the hearts
Of the dancers and all at once they knew.

The sweat of the dancers precipitated a cloud,
A shadow washed over the crowd,
And the voice became an echo receeding through the hills,
As I found that I had crossed to beyond.
Ah, sweet silent release.
And from that moment the darkness of the night
Ceased to oppress, as a figure divine
Appeared from out of the cool night.
She danced, we danced, like rolling waves,
Like savage beasts, like gods immortal.
And the moment of speech came upon us
Like an embrace without a cause.

At the Banquet Plato's sages spoke
Of desire and origins, the cleft in our being,
And the pursuit of our counter-souls,
High theme of Romance and the quest
For wholeness, fulfillment, and the gold of the soul,
A guitar will tempt you to the edge of the cliff,
A dance will sweep you up and away,
But a woman's body will take you down
To the depth of the mystery that haunts your nights
And divides your days into sadness and pursuit.
At the threshold you stand, aching and longing,
As love and power coalesce
To an image felt more than seen or heard,
And a veil slips from the face of the moon.

The differences and the distances
That constitute this fallen state
Return to plague me, and give me joy,
And the memory of the festival sweetly fades
Into the common light of struggle and sorrow,
And yet I pray that this revival might linger
Like a kiss, like a touch, like a kind word,
To renew these eyes, to empower this voice,
That I might dwell in the illusion of immortality,
Embracing bitterness as equal to joy,
And turning sadness into a golden lamp
To guide my slow descent to mother earth.

September, 1993

Library Queen

The queen bee holds her court
Among the short-loan stacks.
Many visitors their homage pay

And with their queen cavort and play.
Loud and long they act,
And, for a bit more sport, they f**t.

January 9 - 10, 1991


When it appears,
the smile that flows from your eyes
and dies along your throat,
that perfect relaxation of your face,
a goddess dwells in the form of your flesh,
in the curve of your cheekbone.

This is the smile and the curve
transumed in the eye of the artist
as his chisel caresses stone,
kissing cold marble,
until flushed as with a living image,
it blushes, glorious and divine with desire.

December 20 - 27, 1990

Sonnet for a Rose

A smile flashes from out your eyes--
Golden-brown and warm, your eyes,
Aglow with a sweet secret joy--
Your beauty a sparkling dancing sky.
Lighting a candle of fragrant incense,
Your guardians are the elements:
Air caressing you, nursing your sleep,
Water refreshing you, wet and deep,
Your breast breathes the scents of earth,
Expanding your dreams, expanding your worth,
Fire brings you truth and vision,
The holy form of your strength and passion,
The engine of the stars of love,
The engine of the stars you love.

February 15, 1990