The Fragrance of Lillies Lingered

There among the crosses

The great, gaunt commoner

Knelt in grief and supplication.

God, in his shadow, touched him saying,

"My son, arise and behold!"

Where once the crosses rose

Was a field of lilies;

Walking through them, the living forms

Of the crucified, One among them

Like unto God who said,

"Behold, my brothers, not in vain,

Oh, not in vain we died,

But to bring undying beauty."

God spoke again,

"My son, have patience--

Look to far horizons

To see the glory of America,

And beyond, the glory of the world."

There among the crosses

God and the commoner were gone

But the fragrance lingered.

So May the Goddess Speak

I am the Goddess--welcoming you home.

Your death-strewn pilgrimage is ended when

You see my arm uplifted. On my loam

You are a kingly commoner; all men

Are peers. No feudal lord, here, has a place.

There is an alchemy within my farms,

My shops and temples, that will leave no trace

Of hunger-specters--or of war-alarms.

With eagle-pinioned valor keep my hearth

A citadel for true democracy--

The chrism of whose love will heal the earth

And planet-far erect an Empery

Of Peace. So bid me live and wave unfurled,

My Glorious Banner over all the world.

Poet's Reed

Sonnet Sequence, First in Democracy Contest

Love the Alchemist

Doleful is the world and dark;

On its rim an ancient one

Weeps to hear the wind blow wild.

Love, a laughing little child,

Carries sheaves of golden sun

To the hoary patriarch,

Takes his hand ... a dream is spun.

Shadowed ways are sunlight aisled,

Earth is singing! Hark! On, hark!

Would There Be Room

If Christ should come to Bethlehem tonight

And ask for lodging at the blazing inn,

Would there be room? Or would He know the plight

That came to Mary? Would a stable's din

Fall on His ears? His bed be fragrant hay?

Would He be mocked and spat upon and die?

Would some new Pilate wash his hands and say,

"I find no fault, but you may crucify"?

Or have the mills of time in grinding made

His own to know; to hear again His voice--

"Let not your hearts be troubled or afraid"?

If Christ should come tonight, would they, through choice,

Inscribe their banner--wave it high, unfurled--

"Jesus of Nazareth, ruler of the world!"?

Soundless Sermons

Though lips rebel not at the treadmill path,

The eyes, from deep within their smouldering pools,

Can give the lips the lie, and in their wrath

Speak soundless sermons never read by fools.

The Archer

A Sixth Door Opens

Sometimes after a day

of hearing the dissonant voice of the world,

beneath the stars I watch the moon

silver the ebon shade till all is silence;

then I step lightly into my many chambered mind

and close its five doors.

Noiseless, a sixth door opens--

a door forgotten when the five are wide.

To the patterned rhythm of the spheres

I drift back aeons to a time-forgotten kingdom

and enter, not as a stranger:

Old friends embrace me and I speak with the Gods I knew

before I breathed the Lethean vapors of birth.

Again I see the PLAN:

the beginning ... the now ... the ending.

(I sang for joy in the beginning.)

Tuned to the mysteries I hear strange music:

the strains in thunder chords and lightning flares;

in winds and quakings of the earth;

in the steel-winged sky ... in death ... and know

that the dissonance of war and tears

will blend into eternal melody.

Slowly I return.

The five doors open ...

His Were Patient Feet

The feet of Joseph, walking mile on mile,

Were willing feet. The donkey following

His lead avoided every stone: He bore

The unborn King.

Mary, who saw their feet were tiring, knew

She must reach Bethlehem to bear her Son.

She smiled at Joseph, knowing he too dreamed

Of the Little One.

The Babe's first cry dispelled his weariness

When resting in a stable sweet with hay.

He thought of the waiting cradle as he knelt

Where the Infant lay.

Oh, his were patient feet, not hesitant:

When an angel bade, they crossed the desert sand

Fleeing to Egypt. Wearied, Joseph touched

A little hand.

And was renewed--Time passed. Returning home,

The Little One would often coax to walk

Beside him; leave small footprints by his own.

The Wee Lad's talk

Awoke his father-love: What joy to work

Together in his shop ... until He grew!

All wisely would he guide those little feet,

For he knew ... He knew!

Betrayed

The earth is an old woman

In travail, in throes of agony,

Birthing, not the shining god she dreamed--

Her rightful heritage--but a horror-child

Sired by lust and hate and greed.

The earth is an old woman, weeping

For she has been betrayed.

The Searchlight

Rock of Silence

The rock of silence

Shatters the gruesome structure

Built by calumny.

Shine Softly Stars

Shine softly little lamps of night

That God hung in the sky;

O cooling breezes, gently blow

And hum a lullaby;

For on the road from Bethlehem

The radiant Mary smiles.

Her baby's tiny fingers cling

And joy illumes the miles--

Remembering the strange new star,

Once more the angels sing;

Again the Magi bring her babe

Their costly offering.

While silent Joseph standing near

Bows reverently his head,

Again the lowly shepherds kneel

Beside the manger-bed--

The little donkey's feet are sure.

Led by his master's hand,

Does he not bear a sacred load

Across the desert sand?

The baby sleeps in Mary's arms;

Her eyes, with wonder, shine.

A kingly little son is hers

To love--His sire divine.

Moon-Mother, veil the face of night

With moonbeams, sheer and thin;

Shut out the harsh world from her heart

And keep but joy therein.

O radiant Mary, dream your dreams

While little night lamps glow;

The road that leads to Calvary

Tonight, you need not know.

Giant-Slave

I journeyed in the valley of despair

Where stalked the spectre of the yet-to-be.

While terror bade my faith and courage flee

I waited for the atom's deadly flare.

I visioned a chaotic dying earth

Wearing the sackcloth in its misery.

Then came a flashing from Eternity

And eagle-pinioned hope achieved rebirth

I saw a giant slave with gentleness

Working our farms and mines; whose touch will bring

Freedom from toil and pain ... and give the stars

To man, his master, by his power to bless,

The strength of Atlas in his whispering.

I walk with faith beyond fear's prison-bars.

Midwest Chaparral

Third in Citrine Contest

Walls of Her Own Griefs

She builded walls

to keep out the neighbors' children

lest footprints mar the proper decorum

of her lily beds,

and a childish shrill

disturb the singing of her caged canary;

and she must keep free of slang

the language of her parrot--

High walls hold the secret to coerce time

to creep by at a snail's pace

while loneliness hears

the high heels of indifference clicking on the streets.

Even compassion fails to notice

when the pattern is broken and the gate left ajar--

She waited--taut was the thread of hope--

only to hear a perfect diction,

"Closed in by the walls of her own griefs."

"Hush!" she said to her parrot and wept.

Illumed by a Star

Since I am the pilot--

My ship built of days--

I sail for an islet

Beyond the earth-ways,

Its lighthouse a Temple

Illumed by a star--

The bells in its steeple

Call "Peace!" from afar.

Song for an Infant Son

O little man-child, sleeping on my breast,

I pray the carillons of peace will sound

Before the doleful drums disturb your rest;

Before a cross for you marks hallowed ground.

And yet my son, this grim, chaotic world

Whose greed's strong henchmen ride on crimson sod

Will some day see the flag of peace unfurled

And build a great imperium to God.

I wait the dawn to follow the dark night

Of horror, with the cross of Calvary.

You may behold, my son, the growing light.

One of the chosen builders you may be.

So sleep my darling, in your infant bliss,

For you may never feel the sword's sharp kiss.

The Emancipator

Hon. Mention in IWL Contest

I Shall Walk

Father, when Thou callest me,

Let it be in some still dawn,

Pearls of dew upon the lawn,

Love, my staff to lean upon.

Let the breath of dawning be

Fragrance from a wild rose lane--

Memories will ease my pain,

Love, remembered, heals again.

Death is kind and leads to Thee--

I shall walk, not bowed, but straight,

To the tasks that, for me, wait--

Not a harp--beyond Thy Gate.

A New Star Rises

Old carols--

Peace ... good will ...

Are worn threadbare.

The words:

Angels, shepherds, Magi,

Stable and moving Star

Obsolete.

My gifts:

A new pin-up--my girl in her wedding gown;

(She married the fellow at home.)

A new rifle.

The cry of a child dying--

(Not of the Babe, new-born)

The footfalls of communism in the distance--

Not receding--

And two years in the army.

I am only a soldier--

But a new star rises in Nevada,

Holy and Chill.

When You Meet Frustration

Walk with sure feet and bear your heavy load,

And when you meet frustration on the road,

Fear not his chill embrace or Judas-kiss--

Ahead, there lies a new Acropolis.

Anchor in the Wind

Forked tongues of lightning lashed the sky

That split then closed in thunderous roar;

The boy clung to a swaying tree

Until he saw the open door

Of home outreach its arms to him--

Wise-guiding arms they were, love-strong.

He learned to face each hurricane:

Head high, he answered song for song,

Then when the wind brought sounds of war,

The cries of wounded, dying, slain,

His were the tender, healing arms

To hold ... and ease a comrade's pain.

For he had learned--time-disciplined--

Love is the anchor in the wind.

Let Your Black Tears Flow

Weep black tears

for the fallen hero,

for the uninhabited mountain from which he fell.

Weep, for he lies at the foot of the mountain

wizened to a dwarf with his spine curved

like the willow.

Weep, and pull the sword

from his bleached heart.

Let your black tears flow

till the sword corrodes with rust

and the soaring Eagle sky-writes PEACE

with the ashes of the war-stallion.

No Light of Bomb

The flag of peace will be unfurled,

The light of hope illume the sky,

Vast reels of selfless-love uncurled.

The flag of peace will be unfurled

And God's own fingers clasp the world

When man decrees that greed shall die.

The flag of peace will be unfurled,

The light of hope illume the sky.

First in MFCP Triolet Contest, Fall 1952

He Steps from His Worn Moccasins

The Red Man slowly, surely has been shoved

Until he stands in sorrow on the edge

Of vast primeval prairies he has loved ...

Must he relinquish all his heritage?

He stands uncertain, stoic, stubborn-proud--

Does this mean death? Then comes a burst of light:

New grasslands yet to roam! Gone is the shroud!

For reaching out, in love, are arms of white.

How haltingly he takes the outstretched hands

How slow he plods through unknown tracts of mind

And climbs the culture trails ... then understands

That he is part of one great humankind.

He steps from his worn moccasins and hears

The song of progress-music to his ears.

Leave Me This Last Shred of Hope

Let us leave the answer

For the historian to record

We who have not prophet-eyes

To read the future

Cry with a terrible wailing

The senselessness of the last warring struggle.

Backward in history

Like-wailings were heard,

Yet time built a monument to freedom

On the graves of its martyrs--

The cross of Calvary

Transposed a song of death

Into a timeless symphony of life.

So may the fields of crosses

Blossom into the beauty

Of freedom for all men.

Leave me this last shred of home

For my son was killed in Korea.

Sesame

White-winged gulls of hope will rise,

Peace descend, when man shall view

Christ within a brother's eyes.

Pears will be as pearls of dew;

Mountains will resound with grace,

Valleys sing a symphony;

God will hold the spheres in place--

Love, the magic Sesame.

Chromatones

Second, Precision Poetics--Trochaic Octave

Seedtime and Harvest

A child knelt to pray

Beside his mother's knee--

Their cabin on prairie sod.

A man lights the way

Leading humanity

Through fruited valleys to God.

Young God

From the burning stubble of civilization

Beneath the mourning Heavens

Will arise a young god

Nurtured by the queer people, the dreamers.

He will revive the dying Eagle;

Empty the witches brew of hate;

Refill its casks with wine of ruth;

Build altars from the fragments of dead dreams

And light thereon the tapers of forgiveness.

Then will the thunderous echoes

Of the hooves of the stallion war

Die in the distance;

And again shall be heard

The triumphant screen of the Eagle

With never the clang of chains.

O queer dreamers of destiny,

Nurture well the young god

Whose name is love.

White Carillons

Rivers of grief are swelling, flooding the soul's mute sanctum;

Quivers of fear are shaking its depths at the curse of war.

Weeping, we see the crosses over our soldier-martyrs

Sleeping at last, while terror rides on his crimson steed.

Praying for war's cessation while on our knees we worship,

Saying, "Thy will be done," then leaving the rest to God

Never will bring right's triumph, lighten our cross of sorrow;

Ever we all must toil our utmost to bring release.

After the long dark night when dawn is breaking in glory,

Laughter will flow from hearts erasing the spirit-scars.

Winging to Heaven, our joy will be an anthem. The angels

Ringing white carillons will sound the Millennial Gong.

The Archer

First in Arabesque Div., Head-Rhyme Contest

In a Hospital Waiting Room

Apologetically through open doors

She came, a few spring flowers in her hand--

Somebody's mother, sweet as mine or yours.

To see her was to feel and understand

The bond of sisterhood. How lovingly

The years had lined her face and bent her form!

A trim nurse entered: There began to be

A smile like April sunshine after storm,

"For you, Miss Nancy!"--Eyes like sun-up glow--

"You made no difference. Your touch was light

As winds in southern gardens breathe and blow.

You held these hands--your smooth ones pearly white."

Her voice held mellow flute-tones of the lark--

What matter that her chrysalis was dark!

I Heard a New Bird Singing

(To Lilith Lorraine)

On the rim of chaos

my ear was cupped

to hear hoofbeats on a country road

but I heard a new bird singing.

Piercing as a naked scimitar

cleaving the housewife warblings of the wrens

came its new song.

Its tongued lightning,

its sundering bass,

deep with the thunder of the gods,

shook my Jerico-walls of apathy

until they crumbled--

Through my trembling skeleton

I saw the world.

I heard a new bird singing,

merging its song with the Eagle's scream

until in exultant crescendo

it mingled with the shriek of shattered patterns.

Yet Man Heeds Not

The coyote, trapped, escaping, keeps a wary eye;

The mother robin learns to wait the stealthy tread;

Yet man, divinely sired, heeds not the warning cry

Of nations, buried, but sins on then mourns his dead.

The Relief Society Magazine

Till All Doors Open Freely

As school doors in the South grudgingly open

Where eager ebon-faced youth enters,

In the faint echoes lingering on southern winds,

We hear the pistol-shot of a long curling whip;

The soft swish of the fan a black boy swings monotonously

Keeping the flies from the dinner table in the Big House--

He mutely sings, "I'll walk all over God's Heaven;"

The mumbling of the exhausted slave in his sleep--

"Swing low, sweet Chariot"--swing low in mercy.

We see the burden-bearers--meek--in the Sunday churches

Listening to the praises of a God of love and justice--

"All God's Children Got a Heaven."

School doors are opening grudgingly--

"Swing low, sweet Chariot" till all doors open freely.