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On travel . . . from Parisian Impressions

Ah, the air of the Parisian night sky
That blows a quaff to suggestion
The bright lights and rush of cars whisking by
Create a stylish congestion

Here’s to the joy of the life in their loins
Here’s to each shop girl and heiress
Here is to love where in each heart it joins
Here’s to the power of Paris


On politics . . . from The Fault of Faith

Among the ones who look above and deeply feel a god of love,
I tremble but to think that they would sooner wait another day,
For recompense for pain they’re in from having caused a daily sin.
What thoughts do they conveniently amend from grace most leniently?
To make them selves a better man in making sport a godly plan?
They are consumed by one desire, avoiding death in hellish fire.
They play the game of hopefulness when all they need is thoughtfulness.


On love found . . . from Soul of the Sensuous

Waves of bliss roll like the sway of the surf
In our salty and sweetness of heaven and earth
Each breath is a sigh gliding through us with ease
Every kiss a surrendering, irresistible tease

Silk skin of the lily, white soft and hailing
Eyes blue of day sky in spring ever sailing
Far seeing the resolving to be ever giving
To pleasures of touch so fleeting in living


On love lost . . . from Love Must Never Stop

My life is a net, stretching black all around,
A matrix of models, bonded, and bound.
I am trapped by the circle, enraged, and repressed.
Sung like a dirge with each thought in duress.
Blind as a mole that crawls through the earth.
Where is the growing? Where is the mirth?
And feelings like worms crawl through me hidden.
What blight has befallen? What monster is ridden’?
What’s this burden I’m hauling, this threatening dire,
This nowhere in sameness, this suppressing fire?


On magic . . . from A Puja for Babalon

A masterful spell of lightness and dark
Formed through the ages to witness and mark
The coming and going, millions of miles,
Knowledge of the fertile feminine wiles.

Encampment of brother and sister sworn
To not leave that place ‘till honor was born
With all of the chosen goddesses seen
All brought before the great Babalon Queen.


On special moments . . . from The Rendering of Joy

May joys be as bright as the morning bold,
Your years numerous as all of the stars,
Your troubles but shadows that fade away
From healing sunlight streaming reservoirs.


On poems of length . . . from The Late Chance Meeting

I know a place where light is fair
where clouds know not the sky.
Where lakes are blue and swans are white,
their swimming a delight.
Where flowers all in perfect hues
and sweet scents fortify.
It’s there I left my lover’s smile
with her hair shown golden bright.