Twilight

Sweet is the cool of meditation after
My tasks are finished in the sun's warm glow.
My silver hours hold music of young laughter,
I joy to watch my children's children grow.
Their love about me like an accolade
I walk to meet the night all unafraid.

One Gift

"I can't see why Paul married Jane,"
My wife remarked to me.
"She has no talents; she is plain,
Yet everyone can see
He worships her." I said, "My dear,
She has one gift--a listening ear."

The Sage Brush Saint

In love we gave the name of Saint to him
Because he wrestled with the stubborn sage
In this new land yet spoke no oath ... His wage
Was paid by robin song-gifts; by the slim
White birches swaying near the river's brim;
The slough bright-stitched with Mallards. Each day's page
He signatured with kindly deeds. His gauge
Was love within the heart, not strength of limb.

He knew the ways of wildlings ... Tenderly
He mowed around a clump of grass. To those
Who watched he said,--A flute-song was released!--
"I would not silence a lark symphony!"
When a killdeer rang "God's curfew" at day's close,
He bowed his head until the chiming ceased.

I Love the Old

The hills no longer echo songs I sang
When copper glow announced the break of day.
The winding trails where children's laughter rang
Are concrete walks; and all along the way
Where pink wild roses, modestly yet gay,
Lifted their faces to the sun are found
Their cultured sisters flaunting an array
Of brilliant color. Thirsty, parching ground
Is now a greening carpet where abound
Tall junipers with pfitzers at their feet.
The loved old rambling home, enlarged and gowned
In luxury, is leisure's calm retreat.
Upon my soul the homestead left its stamp
For still I love to light the coal-oil lamp.

Not Far from Earth

I ask not for the highest, brightest star
On which to dwell;
But give me a little twinkling one
So near the earth I love
That I can smell
The pines upon the mountains
And the sweet breath of wild roses
By the lanes;
And hear the gentle lowing of cattle
In clover meadows
Where timid new-born foal
Toss their silken manes--
A little star so near to earth that I,
When looking down
At dusk upon a quiet town,
Can watch the stars come out among the trees
And name them, lingering long
Upon the one I love.
I ask not for the highest,brightest star
But a twinkling one not far from earth, not far.

Where Dreams May Grow

Love keeps
A place apart
Where little dreams may grow--
A memory garden with a gate
Of tears.

He Will Be Waiting You

The son God loaned you for a few short years
To love and cherish while on earth he trod
Is living still, so dry your anguished tears
Saying, "Thy will be done," nor question God
Who in His love and wisdom called him Home.
Could you but lift the veiling you would see
Him with the chosen ones on Heavenly loam
Walking through meadows of Eternity
Caressing the white lilies, with his hand
In that of Jesus, seeking lambs that stray
In fields of Paradise ... There in that land
When you are called at closing of your day,
He will be waiting you ... This truth will bless,
So let your tears be prayers of thankfulness.

To Blazen Peace upon the Rising Sun

Let the skilled fingers strum the silent harp;
The proven voice ring out to batter down
The blinding walls ... Let man, too long the clown,
Cease now his foolish mimicries, and leap
To learn new patterns from the stars, to build
A nest for eagles--not for the timorous dove--
Men lion-couraged--not the rabbit-willed--
Strong men whose passion is the strength of love:

The voice that thunders for the Mighty One;
The thought that lightning-swift will stay the hearse;
The arm to build the shattered universe,
Will blazon PEACE upon the rising sun.
Trenches were strewn with sons too long caressed--
Birth MEN OF FLAME within your eagle nest!

Will a Robin Call?

Can Heaven be more beautiful than this,
My country garden that I soon must leave?
I wonder, will there be a dark abyss
To cross, or will I simply step--nor grieve--
From earth to Heaven? Will a robin call
And wild canaries flit through willow trees?
Will laughter echo in a waterfall
And lilacs ballet with a canyon breeze?
Will butterflies adorn the golden cups
Of daffodils? Will there be rambling lawns
To lure my footsteps where a bold bee sups
On clover honey? There, will coral dawns
Be pierced by crystal lark-flutes? Will there be
A garden such as this to welcome me?

Eagle Wings

I would be an eagle
Soaring,
Exploring
High, wide immensity.

But time's merciless scissors
Clipped my pinions:
The ancient raven
Craven,
Perching on the rim of desire,
Mocked me,
Shocked me
With its hollow "Nevermore!"

With the first wailing of my "swan song",
A lotus-pool
Still, cool,
Drew my far eyes--
In its crystal depths
Was cloud-high sky ...
And eagle wings.

Upon the Lap of Spring

Youth kneels to death
not daring to shake off the binding gyves
and stand free.
(Why search for an oasis in the desert
with only the spectral Joshua-arms outreaching?)

It is a tragic thing
to see youth, dreamless,
walk with the step of an old man
while April violins are calling
and stars are singing in their courses.

It is a tragedy
when autumn lies dead upon the lap of spring.

As Robin Lyrist

O master Poet, help me sing
My song, whose offering
Will light dull eyes,
Still cries
Of pain
In soul terrain.
Let me call blithe and free
As lyrist in my willow tree.

Lark-Flute

    I hear a lark!
How drab the blackbird symphony!
    I hear a lark...
    A splash of stars illumes the dark.
A flute that spills a rhapsody
Awakes the dormant joy in me.
    I hear a lark!

Chromatones
First in Rondelet Contest

Would I Find Bluebirds

If on some clear spring morning I should wake
To greet the dawn in that Far Empery,
Would I find bluebirds in a willow brake,
Or hear a lark-flute in a symphony?
Would Heavenly skies wearing a copper veil
Announce the drama of the thrilling story
Of loved Apollo coming up the trail
Driving his chariot with blinding glory?
Would bees sip nectar from each fragile cup
Of Mountain Bluebells on a greening hill;
Or jeweled silver wings poised lifted up
Adorn the bonnet of a daffodil?
If I would not find beauty such as this
Let me awaken to my earthly bliss.

Chromatones

Green Thumb

Why envy me for my green thumb?
My garden was not made
Just wishing for the beautiful--
I used the hoe and spade.

In Your Desert

Plant little acorns
Of kindliness to enjoy
The shade of great oaks.

I Still Have Wings

No more I fly with eagle wings
High-soaring when the bright dawns break,
But oh, the joy to be a swan
Upon a quiet lake.

To My Son (Leaving for Korea)

O pilot now your ship of days or years
Unerringly to reach a promised goal.
The Master Helmsman will allay your fears
And still the tempests that would scar your soul.
You leave the haven of a citadel
Which greed would now destroy; so let a song
Rise from your heard that you may break the spell
Of avarice that moves a Judas-throng.
Wearing white armor, go and give release;
Brave terror's henchmen on the death-strewn plain;
Bid earth to sing a canticle of peace,
Become a sanctuary--love's domain.
Your shield is youth's clean strength which you have won--
God's arm is long to reach to you, my son.

The Improvement Era

We Dare Have a Son

My dear, your letter said,
"When I return, if we dare have a son ..."
Darling, believe me, we shall bravely dare.
I hear you saying, "But she does not know:
She has not seen the fiendish face of war.
Still in the swaddling clothes of innocence,
And cradled in the arms of apathy,
How can she know?" My answer is, I know.

I know the curse of war.
But this I also know: that we who toil
Unceasingly for peace, and toiling, glimpse
With prophet-eyes, the glory of the dawn
After the long, dark, anguished night; who view
The Holy City rising tier on tier,
The last one touching Heaven--we must bear
And nurture sons for peace. Our sons, my dear,
With sons of those who likewise toil and see,
Will build and grace the new imperium
Whose soul is love; where every race and creed
Will meet as brothers, and will drink the wine
Of deep compassion, and partake the bread
Broken by Him whose hands are scarred, whose lips
Will speak the code to close Gethsemane--
So smile my darling, we dare have a son.

To My Son

I've watched you grow--beyond me--son.
The shield of manhood won,
Emblazon now
Your vow
To climb
The Mount of time
Where you may know and view
The Sire of the immortal you.

The American Bard
Second in Pendulum contest

Dream Your Dreams, O Youth

There are crystal-flame worlds to conquer;
There are kingdoms no king has dreamed;
For stars are worlds without number--
Forested ... peopled ... streamed.

Men who resemble earthlings
Will someday meet you in space--
Not forms into humans evolving,
But men with the Gods' own grace.

The sky with its crowds of planets
Is yours, O youth! Let your veins
Be plunged with adventure's fire--
Dare! Grasp the cosmic reins

And from planet to planet space-travel!
Till then, though the distance be far,
You can saddle the tail of a comet
And lasso a shooting star.

America Speaks to Her Children

"America decadent!" do you say
Of me who nurtures you, who gave you birth?
In tears you pray for my return to worth?
Rise from your knees. Let your hands keep my hearth
The clean and sacred shrine it was the day
Your nation's reverent fathers knelt to pray
For God to guide their minds, and through them sway
The destiny of freedom on the earth.

You are the banner of the Royal art.
Then clothed in robes of tolerance and grace
Drive "money changers" from my holy place.
From your own eyes bid beams of lust depart
That you may view the Temple in my heart
And see God's image in a brother's face.

Magdalene and the Child

"Child, with wonder in your eyes,
Why have you come to my garden?"
                                                                "I love gardens."
"Then you will love mine
For it speaks to me in understanding silence,
And the soft laughter of the flowers
Comforts me in my loneliness."
                                                                "You are lonely?"
"Lonely! Always I have  been lonely--
But you are with me now.
You do not draw away from me;
Your little hand, your clean little hand is in mine."
                                                                "I love you."
"You will love the mirror-pool in the moonlight.
See, the full moon of summer is rising--
Beautiful, languid summer!
I remember when the moon spoke of the 'flesh pots;'
Of fear and shame ... then of forgiveness,
And now of peace--The full moon of peace!
Here is the pool, child."
                                                                "I see our faces in it."
"The face of innocence beside my own
Where once reflected the faces of princes and nobles--
Men who bought my flesh with jewels,
Bound me to their desires with necklaces and bracelets.
I shall not be afraid to look in the pool now
For I shall see your face
The face of innocence--no scarlet jewels."
                                                                "Jewels sparkle."
"I had jewels to throw to the beggars in the streets,
Jewels with their scintillating light,
But never did I know the white fire of love
Till I had felt the searing flames of remorse and shame."
                                                                "Your face is sad, Can you smile?"
"My lips are smiling--always my lips have smiled."
                                                                "Can your eyes smile?"
"Tomorrow, my child, for with dawn I shall forget--
Your gift to me, the power to forget--I must forget ...
Scarlet ... to be white as wool ...
I must forget, all but ONE."
                                                                "Which one?"
      (The moon shone full on her questioning face,
      Full on the wonder in her eyes.)
"The One whose eyes met mine with compassion.
Desire I had seen in the eyes of men but never compassion."
                                                                "Tell me."
"From the street came the music of children's laughter,
Their dancing footsteps; their glad cries and shoutings.
Rushing to the doorway I saw, walking in the midst of them,
A man with a strange new beauty who drew me with a strange new power.
I started to follow, then remembering, I stopped.
                                                                "That did you remember?"
"You would not know, my child; You are a pure white lamb."
                                                                "Did you follow Him?"
"Yes, my child. Draping the cloak of my slave about me
I ran eagerly forgetting my hair was loosened
And my feet bare, nor felt the sharp stones.
"When He reached His destination, with a word and a smile
He sent the children dancing back to their homes.
I watched them go, their steps light
As only freedom from sin could make them.
"When I turned to Him again,
The Friend of the little ones was surrounded
By the Pharisees who had awaited His Coming.
Oh, the beauty, the beyond earthly beauty of Him!
I pressed through the group
And worshipfully touched His mantle.
I forgot who I was! The cloak slipped from me
And a whisper passed from lip to lip,
'Harlot! ... Harlot!' "
                                                                "What is a harlot?"
"Listen, my child,
The Man turned and looked into my eyes,
Compassion and sadness, not reproach, in His look.
Sadness ... compassion ... and love ...
High white flames plunged my veins,
And my eyes and soul knew the blessed release of tears,
Sweet, cleansing tears.
I fell at His feet and my tears bathed them.
I dried them with the hair of my repentant head.
Still kneeling, I waited, listening.
The jeering of those who reviled me ceased
And He who loved little children said,
'She loveth much.'
Then to me He spoke, 'Thy sins are forgiven.'
O blessed words!
O blessed, blessed compassion!"
                                                                "Your sins are forgiven."
"My sins are forgiven!
There is light ahead, ever a light ahead.
Now I must forget ..."
                                                                "Can you forget?"
"I can remember His eyes.
I can remember, 'Thy sins are forgiven.' "
                                                                "You can remember."
"But oh, my child
Keep wonder in your eyes;
Keep holy wonder in your eyes!"

I Seek a Child

How still the house when no child calls
As the velvet curtain of dusk slow falls,
With the sun's robe trailing still in the west
While all of the wild things seek their nest.
I flee from rooms too immaculate
With a yearning glance at the little white gate,
Wishing a small boy were swinging there,
That children's laughter would cleave the air
Too silent now ... Yet the silence speaks
Of five who came trooping with wild rose cheeks,
Their arms filled with bluebells, to wait in bliss
To receive my smile and thank-you kiss.
I walk through my gardens: Not a flower is crushed
By little feet. The breeze grows hushed
And the river's song is lonely-themed.
Though I have the leisure of which I dreamed,
When a killdeer-chime rings overhead,
I seek a child to put to bed.

Childhood Worship

I heard God's velvet footfalls in the grass
And felt His hands caress my golden hair.
I saw the shadow of an angel pass,
And breathed, in awe, the cool lark-anthemed air.
The greenness whistled, joy called everywhere.
By apple trees that showered petaled-snow,
I reached to Heaven and cried, "I know ... I know!"

Good Night My Son

Good night, my son, may you enjoy sweet dreams
And wake refreshed from your sound, restful sleep.
Your face shows manhood's strength, and yet it seems
But yesterday since God loaned you to keep
Until he called you Home. I still can see
Your golden curls, your deep-blue laughing eyes.
I wonder if in immortality
Our thoughts will reach you there beyond the skies;
And if your prayers, "Bless Mother and bless Dad,"
Will help us live that we may come there too?
Tonight my heart is filled, my grown-up lad,
With gratitude to God for sending you
For us to cherish for a few short years.
Good night, my son, my eyes know thankful tears.

A Boy, a Dog, and Immortality

A staccato bark
and a small boy's laughter
danced through my flowers.

Long months after
the laugh was stilled,
the collie would wait
with hopeful eyes
at my garden gate.

When a careless gun
rang the dog's death-chime,
the small boy died a second time.

That night through star-blossoms in the sky
danced a collie's bark and a boy's glad cry.

My Little Boy Returns

My little boy came home again tonight--
My little son who stands full six-foot-three.
Within his eyes the eager, dancing light
Marks him the same dear little lad to me.
How happily he used to climb my knee
His baby hands caressing arm and face!
I see his golden curls ... Now musingly
I scan my grown son's countenance. No trace
Of babyhood is left save in his warm embrace.

Those Lovable Boys

I sing this song
To glorify those lovable small boys
With roguish imps refusing to be soothed
To stillness in the very souls of them;
With music lilting from their laughing hearts;
(The joyous hours a whistling boy recalls!)
With breeches torn from climbing over fences;
(For what lure has a gate!) with wayward hair
Smoothed down in front but left untamed behind;
With faces glowing islands in a sea
Of darker waves in front of sunburned ears
When heads were reverently bowed before each meal.
(Why wash too thoroughly when hearts are clean!)

Remembering the lads
Who grew along with me and made a game
Of each day's living, playing hard and square;
Remembering perpetual appetites
That scarce could wait for hands to be hygienic;
(That tempting bread and jam! Those boyish grins!)
Remembering all the exhuberance bottled up--
The dynamo within each childish form--
That found release in dancing feet, in hands
Swinging an axe, creating willow whistles;
In tongues that were incessant babbling brooks
With every leaf-boat thought kept shining-clean.

Remembering how perfect they could be
In church each Sabbath day ... and seeing now
Their manliness in daring think and speak
Against chaotic treadmill apathy--
Remembering all this, I dare to say
I hope I find a few such lads in Heaven.

The American Bard

It Is a Tragic Thing

Man is drunken
Yet thirsting still for stronger potions.
The wines of milder vintage
Mellowed by love and beauty
Cannot intoxicate the mind that has tasted
The liquor of its own inverted power.

Mind is master;
Yet eyes dimmed by cataracts of greed
Can see no signposts of the Master Mind
Nor torches of the avatars
That flame disaster;
Ears tuned only to earthly kingdoms
Hear not the guiding carillons of angels.

Ceaselessly, triumphantly,
With merciless, sword-thin laughter,
Man builds his slaves--
Robots with the strength of Atlas
Purring annihilation
Forgetting that he, himself,
May be food for his own mind's gorging.

It is a tragic thing
When man lights the fuse
Of the bomb that will level his own house.
Would he but look up,
He might walk with Gods and travel by star
To the kingdoms of forever.

The Relief Society Magazine
Second in MFCP Clinic Poems, Spring 1953

March Came Riding In

Bold March came riding storm clouds in today
To place his farewell kiss on winter's cheek.
He pondered why he willingly gave sway.
Though loathe to leave, he yielded, strangely-meek,
With countenance benign yet sadly-bleak.
Now he would boldly rule--no soft replies,
But blusteringly-tempestuous he would speak.
Departing winter, old and season-wise,
Knew March must soon give way to April's sunny skies.