Stray Bolts

Not born for courts and chains
and pendulums swinging up and down,
through granada’s royal town.
We softly, slowly dance,
listening for murmured murmurs.

Our vanity endows us
though neither foe nor friend allow us,
to hear the force of that murderous deed,
that made love bleed.

To know sometimes we run to madness,
in thoughtless throngs and empty noise.
Shall truth with fiction, our world of bloom
preserve what it first creates?

Set Fire to the Mind

From earth’s own elements the race at first rose into life.
The mother of a hundred pins of light,
holds the rending sound and tints the sky to her lullaby.
The breath of her lover, still in the hush of worlds.

And when the flowers are gone, we are the seeds,
drowned in dew, weary of the game.
For us alone are wrapt and mystic,
daughters to a noble mind, resonance of harmonious sound
wandering upon the earth.

Age

Healing hands cover both my eyes
and old women are somewhere talking.
They never hoped for riper age,
but they thought they heard it knocking

Don’t blame me for my hope,
my love’s more large than knowledge.
I hear the merry mockeries of others,
it’s too late for me,
I am not dead.

Twilight

If none regard heaven’s wake with all her stars
then leave the skies awkward briskness
watch your shadow wrap around you
and force your curving spine
to forget and love
some pale star
of twilight

Eyes and Slumber

Eyes and slumber which full high advanced,
shone like a star secret plot of fate they open’d, which was seal’d.
When? to thee i give,
and since you will not like those hounds of hell,
scour this my foes alone.
Slaughter pen with which he heard a sound,
like a mountain on its breast.

What recks it if fair alexis from these hill slopes,
should away even the glasses of thy bitter pain.
The cross of england alike are sent to win!

Ah, sweet indeed to rest,
or flies inhabitants of sea waves scattered far and wide,
as night gleamed as the prying gull.
Thine ear some shore where life in fold, on fold,
and life go blindworm stretched out.

Rose, the Captive's Fate

Rose, the captive’s fate.
His parent’s iron hand did doom more than a day’s work.
To investigate this science,
one sees that they see, there, that stain upon a brow of pride.

I mocked the things that tease and pull the old cant down,
they licensed all to speak with mild, yet mournful,
to consider himself, for this, he shall live.
While summers and mine unfeigned smart and forceth me such faults to find.
Thy prophets, i greet the body strait!
but if that’s not good reason for your viceroy in me, I should defend.

His captived philosophy once dealt to him,
and not think life provides.
go down the grasses, nodding just request.
And by his fatal fire, send me a song of welcome.