book xi - could gravestones speak (to scribd 07-07-09)
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.(BOOK XI FROM WLM: DISJECTI MEMBRA POETAE)
WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK
by
Warren L. McClure...........................(Latest Revision 08-08-09)
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WLM : IN MEMORIAM JPL SUMMER 1992
When a loved one diesthings of a nature undreamt of before
become things undreamt ofaspects of things not common to mind become objects on which
one's thoughts dread to dwelllay heavy on the will like a slab of stone
over an abandoned wellJustifications that would justify the fabulous saws we poets would live by
dry up like ink in an old unused penThe Sum of All Things teeters on the brink of summing it All up
with nothing left over to start it All upall over again
gives grotesque intelligence to the poems one would fashionpoems that no one else can possibly understand
pallid words wander across palimpsest pagesas tho they were to be the last lines of poetry
ever to be writtensighs issue forth from the heart
as tho they were the last soundsever to be heard
when a loved one dies
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And then again maybe not.......
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TABLE OF CONTENTS FOR WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK
(BOOK XI WLM : DISJECTI MEMBRA POETAE)
01. Title Page02. Preface Poem (When a loved one dies)03. And then again maybe not04. Table of Contents
05. Li Pos06. That of a Reever07. That of an Octogenarian08. Epitaphs for NS, Sam, a Martyr, a Poor Man09. That of a Wino10. That of a Once Eminent Star-Gazer11. That of One Who Died in Delecti Flagrante12. Old Stones13. That of an Existentialist Who Has Ceased to Exist14. That of a Poetaster Killed by a Falling Brick15. The Gravestone of One Who Died a Bit Obese16. That of a Free Spirit Dying Young17. The Terror That's in Frost18. Farewell Farewell
19. That Death Has Come to Hummingbird20. Ask Me Not My Father's Name21. That of a Misanthrope22. The Voice in the Empty Urn23. Isadora Duncans24. An Inadequacy in a Philosophy and A Funeral Chant25. There26. Till Now27. Unless28. Thoughts on a Broken Wine-Glass29. I watched you in the window30. That of a Malcontent31. That of an Old Actors Who Never Made It Big32. Siddhartha Gautama Buddhas
33. Charles Darwins34. TSEs35. John Miltons36. A Billet-Doux from Heloises37. Lord Bacons38. That of a Squire who had a Fool for a Knight39. That of Sisyphus40. That of a Vituperative Critic41. An Epitaph For One Who Died Too Soon42. Comrades at Arms43. That of a Critic Not Famous For Tact44. A Musing45. Oh to have been a famous poet46. That of a Writer of Epitaphs47. End Page.....
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WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK
LI POS
(AD 701762)
O Poets to Comeshed ne'er a tear o'er my demise but quaff
half a bowl and dump the rest on thisthe thirsty Urn that holds what's left of me
the pickled ashes of my flesh and bonesAnd someone write a book of poems about
my bout with Life's intoxicating charmsfor I died as I had lived
a poem on my lipslaughing like a loon
drowning in the Lake of Lifemy belly full of beer and pinion nuts
my arms about the Moon
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993
THAT OF A REEVER
To all ye who might wander nigh to thismy final resting place
and think to shed a tear or two for menote the sheaf atop this stone
and know the Reaper who never restswho cut me down in prime of life
now whets his scythe and waits for theeGrieve for thine Own
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993
THAT OF AN OCTOGENARIAN
Friendreflect on this odd headstonethat marks my aged bones last stopping placethis simulacrum of an uprooted tree
of whichonly the stump is leftand sigh for no more yearsthan mans allotted spanof three full score and ten
lest Time too tear you limb from limband trunk from rootshould you live so long as I
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993..
EPITAPH FOR N. S.
As a dull sea does not descrythe earth below that tremblesso a crass world has passed him by
with muted drums and cymbals..
EPITAPH FOR SAM
Sam used to run our neighborhood storebut things arent the same as they were before
cause Sams not there anymore..
EPITAPH FOR A POOR MAN
All his debts are quit save one.
.EPITAPH FOR A MARTYR
All you who are oppressedlift up your heads
as you pass me byhere I lie asleep
a friendwho gave her life
turning the other cheekso your lives might be dignified
in your eyesand the eyes
of your
Fellow-Man
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993
THAT OF A WINO
My God I know Ive often bothered youfor in my time Ive turned up quite a fewand if it be your will to send me down below
dont expend a lot of your precious wit
mulling over my hapless fatefor I hear the Devil now and then
enjoys a jug
My God thy will be donemove over Lucifer here I come
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SPRING 1999
THAT OF A ONCE EMINENT STAR-GAZER
Why cast you down your distraught gaze my friends and wonderhow goes it now with me within this humble urn
Lift up your eyes to the vast panorama of the night skyLook you there to the stars among which my thoughts
were once so wont to wanderI sought to bring them down to earth
but there they are no nearer now than ever
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WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1993
THAT OF ONE WHO DIED IN DELECTI FLAGRANTE
O Curious Wonderers yewho would disturb my sleep
weep not for mefor ere I died
I came I saw I conquered Lovethat someone else held dear to Life as I
And Fate was on his sidefor he drew first and ran me thru
while I was occupiedelse here he'd lie
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1981
OLD STONES
Dotted about the countrysideunder staid stones and the shade
of old oaks and cottonwoodsthose from whom I am begotten lie
victims of the Light and DarkContests of
the Seasons
pawns remanded to the Windsthat I might be
here in their steadhunting unicorns among the Stars
Whither will I
These weather-beaten graveyard metaphorsseem answer enough
thither will Ifor thee
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SPRING 2003
THAT OF AN EXISTENTIALIST WHO HAS CEASED TO EXIST
Impudent Lecteurwhy do you stare at this stone
If you must read something go read LEtre et le NeantOf course I enjoyed not eating not drinking not loving
and I stayed in bed till noon each day and smoked cigarettesAnd then I died
What else is there to sayDeath is the most important question
But that too is meaninglessso completely beside the point
that I dont know why I ever said itor why anyone would have ever bothered
to put up this stone
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 2003
THAT OF A POETASTER KILLED BY A FALLING BRICK
O Sensitive Perusers of sad words on tombsknow that I was presumably brought low by some careless wightwho knocked over a brick from the Tower of Learning
while I was innocently conversing with my Muse
in the Garden of the Moon belowSigh for the Grand Works thus lost to the World as you must
Nor let the trite manner of my death pass lightly by as it werefor it came from on High
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1998
THE GRAVESTONE OF ONE WHO DIED A BIT OBESE
You Perspicacious Passersby may notemy grave is twice as wide as most
where others of my friends requiredsix or eight stout-hearted men
to bear their biersmine took ten
for I was of a portly weightO how I enjoyed a plate piled high
or two or threewashed down with a tankard of this or that
or two or threeand afterwards a pieand perhaps a cake
Still were I to be given my lifeto live over again
and promised a full score more yearsthan I lived in the last
if for the nonce I were but to change my ways
I'd not back away from the table once
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993
THAT OF A FREE SPIRIT DYING YOUNG
You Proud Young Prudes who would shrugat my quick demise and then resume
your grim treks up and onwards alongthe path to Riches Glory Fame and Death
might find it wise to pause a nonce to notethat tho my days were short I reaped much joy
while that you sow is griefthat soon or late you too will come untodroll graves like this
You Proud Young Prudes take heed from onewho lived and had no truck for gainlighten up a bit and have some funbefore your blossoms too are blown and gone
You Proud Young Prudestho you thrive to hoar old ageand change not your ways
the eulogies your kin will singwill never ring so trueas this my owntho I died youngfor there'll be nothingfor your stones to tellother than this
That you were born onceyou never livedand then you diedand thenthat incommensurable wishthat now perhaps your souls might rest
in peace
in Erewhon
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FROM WLM : EPITAPH FOR A COUNTRY POET WINTER 1979
THE TERROR THAT'S IN FROST
You see me here a rugged vinethat's cast its seed and passed its primeI've been fenced who's left to careMy thistles keep away the kine
For flush of color friends left me hereThe Scythe-Man blind held me dearbut they are gone and I but waitthe cry of ice-flakes flurrying where
I can but lie and see them takethe measure missed by scythe and rakeLike mulch I'll sweat from sweet to sourand none will come to weep my wake
And after that a hoar frost bowerand after that the Winter's hourOh to have been forever a flower
Oh to have been forever a flower
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1965
FAREWELL FAREWELL
Out go the lightsas the Sun rises
above the treesacross the river
The snows come lateDeath cannot wait
till afternoonFarewell Farewell
the bell must tolltoo soon too soon
one's day is donethe Bull has won
over the Old Mancome to the Mountain
from out the Sea
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1962
THAT DEATH HAS COME TO HUMMINGBIRD
Awake SparrowListen Bee
Ant go tellthe Butterfly
what once hadthrilled
the Hummer'swings
a Stillness stealsa Whiteness
wringsfrom out his form
This morningbrings
all coldness wherehis warmth
had beenand gay before
that Stillness came
Awake SparrowListen Bee
Ant go tellthe Butterfly
THAT DEATH HAS COME TO HUMMINGBIRD
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1962
ASK ME NOT MY FATHER'S NAME
Ask me not My Father's nameHe was not of this time
In a different agehe would have been an honest peasant
Or perhaps a repentant thief
If you think all peasantsmoved into town in the 17th Century
or the 18th or 19th evenyou've not bothered to look about
The Industrial Revolution hasnt endedInfernally the process still goes on
surely slowly grotesquely it still goes on
My Father was somewhat knowledgeableat one time early on he taught school
at another time
he supervised a shiftat an electroplating plantwhere he was poisonedIn between these times
he tenant-farmedfarm after farm after farm
He was totally unable to graspthe Totalities of the Age of Flight
His Weltansicht fell to pieces
His brain burstNot all at once
but a little at a time
It took four years of this burstinga little at a timeto come to an end
Death found him in a little green roomafter the fourth breaking
in a long long daylife literally squirting blood-red
from his world-worn eyes
It was one of his more coherent later daysand he passed it with resignation
somewhat forgiving and unafraidFor several years he had been afraid of everything
When we disposed of his meagre belongings
we found a small Biblemarked appropriately with an unpaid bill
at the first verses of Lukeat the passages about the man possessed by demons
Ask me not My Father's namefor his name too is Legion
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FROM WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1998
THAT OF A MISANTHROPE
(WERE ANYONE TO EVER PUT UP A HEADSTONE OVER HIS GRAVE)
You Feckless Fool who would rather stroll among the Shades at evethan truck with others of the Human Race
nor frolic with Family even before the common hearthbeware lest you stumble over my grave
this humble mound of earth a mole might makeunkempt, unmarked, unwept upon
and thus have cause to ponder who it is that herein liesO Feckless Fool even I while still alive like you
hardly knew myselfFor I was born
no one cares to remember when or whySans kith sans kin I must have lived
I must have diedfor someone buried me
O Feckless Would-Be Misanthrope take heed the statemy friendless bones lie in
and seek to alter your own fateere its too late
ere its too late
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1994
THE VOICE IN THE EMPTY URN
O Haughty One I seeyou gaze with awe on this empty Urn againwhere it waits in its sacred spaceupon that secret Shelf
you fashioned for it above your HearthYou admire its blues its greens its greysand thank your lucky starsfor that auspicious day you first acquired it
Ah how Fate seemed to turn your way that day
But list to me this Voice Within and learnno matter how tall you stridenor wide the swath you cutnor the little or much youre worthwhen your time on Earth is upburned to a crisp your flesh and bonesthe ashes you once called your Self
will scarcely cover overthe bottom of
this Urn
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FROM WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1995
ISADORA DUNCANS
To dance was my one obsessionMy regrets
twoFor had I not loved
fast carsand long scarves
Id still be dancing
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1960..
AN INADEQUACY IN A PHILOSOPHY
Cogito ergo sumDescartes echoesfrom his tomb
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.A FUNERAL CHANT
Cease timeDeath hoverLife endSnow cover
Wind blowRain fall
Bud blossomNever Never
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT SUMMER 1960
THERE
I remember you Majoryou and Iwere sittingThere
like thispassing the timeof day
Thousand-leggedvermiformswove themselvesin and outour uniforms
One surprisedslithered excitedlyacross my forearmover the bones
Your jacket openedat the neckand embarrassed youbecause of a teartherein your skinthat allowed me to seethe emptinessinside youwhere your heartshould have been
Where was it
we wereDo you rememberDo you remember meWhat were we doingThere
When
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT SUMMER 1960
TILL NOW
Till nowIve spent
my time afloatat sea
while promontoriesfell
to right and leftof me
but noneRimbaud
has rockedthis drunken boat
this bateau ivre
Till now
And nowI must come in
at duskto Inverness
an inner strivingdrives me on
to shore again
There Chauras lieshis head chopped
off
I must take uphis talmudic task
his poetic missionwhich I too
can never expectto ever finish
to ever
abandon
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1965
UNLESS
Unlessyouve made your mark
in better dayswhen you are old and grey
no minds will changewhen men hear you speak
no hearts will leapwhen they hear you sing
no tears will fill their eyeswhen you pass away
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1965..
THOUGHTS
ON
A
BROKEN
WINE
GLASS
Often my image have I seen in theeWill it too
some dayso shattered be
that those following after cannot seethe
faceted
essencethat
was
me...
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FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1966
FLIGHT #431
I watched you in the windowWhile you were near
And when you were far awayAnd I could no longer see you
I watched the windowFor I knew you would be sitting there
And you were awayAnd up
And I watched your planeAs it disappeared into the haze of distance
There to flickerLike some black star
At the extremity of visionAnd then you were gone
And I was left waiting on the rampDeath must be a little
Like that
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993
THAT OF A MALCONTENT
You Droll Pedestrianswho dare to tread nearby this homely graveYou who perhaps thought you were once my friends
You who now may stand with mouths agape
and wonder how it goes with mebelow this sparse cold mound of earth
Droll Pedestrians I wonder for your sanitiesOf one who was never satisfied with Life's rewardswho always hoped for nothing less than something more
how could you expect of one such as Ito be otherwise in Death
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1996
THAT OF AN OLD ACTOR WHO NEVER MADE IT BIG
You Callow Friendswho come here now to stare at thismy final sticking placewho never once while I alive
would grant the chance for me to playthe weightier parts upon the living stage
but forced me there to wearthe jester's cap and ass's ears
to provide relief by foolish words and comic faceand bear the butt of the audience's jeerswhile you so greater thespians than Iwallowed in pathos up to your noble crestsknow that I have had my chance to wear
the tragedian's mask at last
Oh how I wish I had againmy jester's cap and ass's ears
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1996
SIDDHARTHA GAUTAMA BUDDHAS
Humble Supplicants
Let my protuberant abdomenbe admonishment enough for you as to the effervescence
of worldly whimsthat the social milieu even we saints must suffer thruis built like an old toiletits foundations laid on the accumulation of four thousand years
of feces and urine
Yet eat drink fornicateFor enlightenment doesnt come from moderationStill I wish I hadnt consumed in totoall of that spiced dish of sukara-maddavanor especially the bamboo sprouts
trodden by pigs
wlm
08-20-94.............
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1996
CHARLES DARWINS
My Dear MournersI didn't in the least mind dyingit's as much in the nature of things as taking a crapAnd after the joys of aging
heart palpitations vomiting migrainesboils chills tics tremblings insomniayou name it what can I sayOr my physicians going about in white dragBut this beshitting by my favorite pigeonsof my headstonehas got to be put to a stopPlease shoo them away
wlm11-22-96
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FROM WLM : SHOULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1996
TSES
O Ye Crits who still turn the Wheel and look to windwardand feed the gulls that hover o'er my tomb
and like them let your liquid siftings fallA pox on thee who never writ a kindly word
in my Poetry's defenseMay you rot in Hell among the turds
of those who never raised their penwithout misquoting
my intents
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1998
JOHN MILTONS
A word or two for those of you who wonder overmuchover the ins and outs of Theology
I languor now in Hell My Friendson a throne of sorts
for having painted a more likeable portrait ofOld Beelzebub
than God
who was highly displeased to say the least
thank Heavens thothe Devil liked it
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1998
A BILLET-DOUX FROM HELOISES
Oh Abelard AbelardHow my spirit pineshere beneath the sodbeside the nunnery
Godspeed the hourwhen you and Iare reunitedin Paradiseand youagainhaveallyour
parts
wlm0111
06.............
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1995
LORD BACONS
You blissful Passersbywho blithely skip along the Merry Way
of Life and Art and Sciencethat circs the Slough of Deep Despond
I implore you do not ignoremy Novum Organum
and as for that unfortunate experimentwith the chicken
that I did lastI summarily wish to High Heaven
and by the Grace of God Abovethe less be said the better for it
or better yetwere it forgotten
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1998
THAT OF A SQUIRE WHO HAD A FOOL FOR A KNIGHT
Having spent my life on Earth being faithful to a foolnever asking for any more than a little barley for Old Dapple
and a bit of bread and cheese for myselfI'd hoped to fare better
in my afterlife in Hellfiguring I could keepa jump or two ahead of the Fire
if given a leagues head startbefore Old Scratch turnedhis Hell-Hounds looseI fare me well so far I guess
given the nature of the gamehaving ill-used no one I know of except myself
And have I done ill inadvertentlyto anyone else
take it up with the Devil if you wishjust don't take it out
on my poor Old Ass
wlm08-27-98
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1998
THAT OF SISYPHUS
Perplexed Muserhere I lie at last beneath this pebble
which was once that huge boulderI was by Dis condemned
to roll uphill foreveras penance for my evil dayswhile yet alive on EarthPerplexed MuserTake careand mind thy ways
toward friends and neighborslest the stone that awaits you in Hades
be not neat and round like minebut square
wlm08-23-98
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SPRING 1997
THAT OF A VITUPERATIVE CRITIC
Why stare ye thus with mouth agape Poetat this my open grave
Did you expect the Earthto hold me fast
to stay my tonguewhen that last breath I took
was to curse your Book of Poems
Such trash
Stand down
Youll not escape my wrathIll haunt you from this grave
from Limbo Heaven HellIll heckle the Devils Keeper till He wills
to still your feckless musingslest you forswear for aye
on this open grave to ceaseyour silly scribblings
wlm04-11-07
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SPRING 1999
AN EPITAPH FOR ONE WHO DIED TOO SOON
Soft soft you mourners round my urnwho oft before I know were wont to muse upon
the lives of mice and menand the flowers of the field
and those too of butterflies and mothsI had garnered much
and planted moreAll I had wished for
that I had notwas well within the reachof my outstretched armsfor the gathering inAnd now Im goneto rest amongthe myriad whowere whisked awayere they had reapedall they had sown
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT SPRING 2002
COMRADES AT ARMS
Heroes are but men like each of usof blood of flesh of bone
yet they possess a little more of something elseEsprit
the stuff that bondsComrades at Arms
to overcome their Country's foesas Fate decrees
Today we honor one of thoseour stouthearted Company Commander
Colonel William BarberFox Two Seven First Marines
who fought beyond where Duty callswho wrought the best from each of us
at Toktong Pass Korea
Here at this last muster under his aegis
we lay to rest his flesh and bonesthru which Life's blood no longer flows
but that Esprit he shares with usstill marches on
Comrades at Armslike Fox's lines at Toktong Pass
the bond still holds
wlm05-22-02
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FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1999
THAT OF A CRITIC NOT FAMOUS FOR HIS TACT
Pity-pity Pathetic Poet you who to earn pence enoughfor purchase of your daily pint and loaf would prey upon
the Sympathies and choose to dwell unseemingly longon that unhappy happenstance that has or will befall
each and every one of us who bears the name MankindI would have you take a glance at a sobering scene which
except via myth and lie no ones been able to descryOn this Stage no sound is heard not even TimesBeyond an efferential scrim the Light dimsbecomes a black pinprick in a mise en sceneIts as if you were being anagogically turned offIts as if you were caught in a horrible dreamwhere in the midst of it you never wake up
Its as if you were viewing a series of framesfrom an old movie strip that suddenly snapsAll human beings fat fit fair lean or worse
are fated for just such a Final GlimpseHow far removed do you think you are
from playing the Star in such a scenetwo years three years maybe four
Can you imagine yourselfoff that Stage into the Wings
by promising to clean upyour Act
after the Curtain drops
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : FLYTINGS SPRING 1997
A MUSING
Of all the beastie forms with whichwe have been by Nature blest
if someone said some have to goI think Id miss
the mosquito least
And next I thinkwould be the roach
or perhaps the anttheyve both survived
far past the span of mostI wouldnt sorrow overmuch
were they to go
along with flies and fleas and lice and gnatsand mice and rats
But most of allId like to see
the critics of my poems deceasebefore I lose my lease on life
so that I might writetheir epitaphs
And next in line the beastId like to see drop dead the mostwould be that ass the parodist
who cant express his inmost needto show his lack of wit
without plundering someone elsesmasterpiece
And after that
the pseudointellectual clownwho laughs at antics
such as thisI think the World would be
better off withoutI doubt Id share a tear
over his demise
wlm01-11-06
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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT SUMMER 1996
Oh to have been a famous poetand to have written with authority
to have had every fabulous wordthat ever escaped my pen
posted for posterityto be read in awe
by future witsas examples ofthe Absolute TruthsI once found
in Poetrysagely saws which
long after my demisewould still draw oohs and ahs
from hoi-polloiwho only think in prose
and giggles from the cognoscenti
wlm06-27-08
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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT - WINTER 1994
EPITAPH FOR A WRITER OF EPITAPHS
My Bemused Testators
Many a line I've writto celebrate the passing on of some poor wit
with never a thought that itwould some sad day
come down to thisthe writing of my own
But why not
Who knows better than I of thatto which I should atone
or that I'd care to be remembered byThe list for the first too long to fit
any stone I know ofthe list for the last to short to waste
a chisel on
So
To those I've hurt bear me no illTo those who've hurt me I bear none
To those who loved me all my love
Yet why bother having some ass defaceanother stone when I pass on
You who would read droll epitaphsread those on which the words I wrote
for star-crossed lovers and fools are carvedand those for poetasters
who never learned to scanand those I wrote for prideful souls
and other clownsfor they apply as well to me
And you perhaps
Or no
Then time were better spentto write your own
than pondering overmuch on thislast Will and Testament
of mine
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WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK
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