Legacy

He looked around the room and saw his ten--

A few short hours was all he had to live--

He smiled, "Six stately women, four tall men!

To you I leave no lands or gold but give

An honored name on which you each may build

Your cherished castles, live your dreams and find

No breath of scandal that must needs be stilled--

No specters that can haunt your peace of mind;

For though I have but walked the lowly road

My thoughts have been as high as yonder star.

My love has lightened every heavy load;

And I have watched you climb to where you are

Pride in my heart--Now my short trek is ended.

Continue choosing pathways, broad and splendid."

Granny's Rosy Glasses

Dear little granny with her charming way!

How very often have I heard her say

About some person I had frowned upon,

"My darling, put your rosy glasses on."

Let Her Dream

Walk gently little donkey for you bear

The patient waiting Mary as your load.

The silent Joseph breathes an anxious prayer

And, pondering, walks beside you on the road.

O little lamps of Heaven, softly shine,

Reveal the wonderment in Mary's eyes:

A kingly little, son, His sire divine!

Remembered angel-words still bring surprise.

Dreaming, she smiles and sees a path of glory.

The night is brightened by a strange new star,

The angels have begun to sing their story,

The Magi journey from their lands afar.

Ahead lies Calvary. Stars, softly gleam.

Walk gently little donkey, let her dream.

Midwest Chaparral

I Shall Keep Faith

Though Christmas may not be within my heart,

I shall keep faith with my brave son who died

A martyr on that far Korean shore

Where terror's horsemen ride.

Then hang the holly and the mistletoe

And light the Yuletide candles; trim the tree--

Dear God, pin back death's curtain with a star

That he may see.

The Archer

First in Archer Christmas Contest

Country Doctor

When duty called

Me from my home, my work, where tranquil skies

And smiling hills gave benediction-peace,

I wore rebellion's mantle on my soul.

Why should I thus uproot my feet from loam

That knew my easy tread, and go afar

To heed the cries of those already doomed?

How I am here

Where I, myself, behold the face of War

And feel his cruel arms, and breathe the air

Made foul by his hot breath; here, where I lead

Your sons through strange dark corridors of pain,

And prune their shattered limbs, and ease their shock.

While some but mutter curses, others weep

Like homesick children that they are. Last night

A lad so like my own was brought to me--

So young and fair and suffering, that I prayed

That God would grant me healing. Then I knew

He would not live the night. I saw his soul

Naked and bleeding: in its primal need

Craving the chrism of a mother's kiss.

A hardened country doctor! Yet the tears 

Rivered my calloused cheeks. I held him close.

As his eyes dimmed, I kissed his ashen brow.

He murmured, "Mom", and passed death's portals

To find, at last, the Holy Grail of Peace.

Now as I stand

In this vast auditorium of death,

War's grim face softened by the lamps of night,

I cast aside the mantle I have worn,

And place about my new-awakened soul

The robe of thankfulness that I can give

My holy gifts--the frankincense and myrrh

Of deep compassion, understanding love--

Illume the way to life, or death, for these

Our valiant sons whose birthright has been sold.

The American Bard

Let Me Waken

Tell, oh tell in joyful numbers

That this day is but a dream.

Let me waken from my slumbers

Resting by a lotus-stream.

Surely I must now be dreaming,

Man could never be so blind

As to throw an atom screaming

At the rest of humankind!

Chromatones

Love's Alchemy

From the plane his comrades bore him,

Placed him gently at my feet--

Maimed and wounded, scarred and suffering.

God in Heaven! Could I meet

All the need for love and solace

In those haunted eyes--that face?

With a cry I held him to me

Sheltered in my heart's embrace.

I could feel his wild heart beating,

Clinging to my very soul.

Looking then I saw but beauty,

For love's alchemy makes whole.

Montana Poetry Quarterly

The Sea Is Singing

Since I have heard the music of the sea

I cannot bear to hear the voice of man

Mumbling discordant tones, for clear and free

The waves are chanting of a master-plan--

The earth a great Democracy of Love.

They sing the timeless lyric, "Peace, be still!

The God of Heaven watches from above

And wind and wave and man obey His will."

War drums will cease. The strength of wrong shall fail.

Wearing His shield, we shall erase the bars

Of hate and greed that right may yet prevail

And WORLD DEMOCRACY outlast the stars.

Above the clanging of the tongues of fools,

The sea is singing that the great God rules.

The American Bard

Hon. Men. World Peace and Unity Contest

Repentance at the Holy Gate

Smiling cadaverously he knocked. The gate

Swung open and he said, "May I come in?"

I know the empery of Hell. Too late

Perhaps, I feel contrition for my sin

Of compromise with evil on the earth.

I might have reached a godliness of soul

But ruthlessly wrought chaos. Grant rebirth!

My cowering conscience pleads to be made whole.

My heart is now a crucible of fear.

Would that my soul had dared to seek the Fount

Of Light! With avatars and angels near,

I could have been a savior on the Mount.

The Emancipator

Desecrated Shrine

Always throughout the years I saw the Master

Forgiving, with compassion on His face;

But now I see, swift-flashing through disaster,

The javelins of anger cleave His grace.

Within His hand the very whip is lashing

He used to drive the money-changers out.

He hears the clink of coins within the clashing

Of swords that make the world a crimson rout.

Would that today we might retell the story--

The tables overturned, the changers fled;

Too many now defile the Temple's glory,

And God rebukes us for our martyred dead.

He stands majestic, as He is divine,

And bids us cleanse His desecrated shrine.

The Lyric

Second in MFCP Clinic Poems, Fall 1951

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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