Dear, Dear, Dearest
and
Population

POETRY

FICTION

ART

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Poems  by Sea and Moonlight

A Smile
I have a SEED
Somewhere within I am
Hugo
Letter to My Brother Frank
Dictation for a Dictator
An Open Door; Heed It
Toast to You
Gleaming Eyes
Said Ken to Me
Count to Satan
Loneliness
Reflective Voyage
Pick up the Pail
Death Today
Quick Life
Old Man's Whistle
God Is:
Each Season
As If Infinity
One Hears the Tune
Have I forgotten Jesus?
Signed to my Sister
Brain Damage
Church Description
Den
Death in a Jungle
Ten Lines
Nature's Law
It's Still Sad
The Flea Tree
Gain or Lose
Going Away from Here
Nightmare
Talking about People
Towns and their People
Dear, Dear, Dearest
Population
Top Line
Mountains Reach
Upon these Grounds
A Ship?
Let the Timbers Shake
Wladyshaw
Winds of Fate
Sweet Young Girl
Fingers of Nature
The Lord Spoke
The Celtic Told Me
Mary
Poem to Pat
A Free Man
Poem


I'm off to meet my friendly foe, the one who bows
  and begs, "Don't go,"
The one which whispers into my ear, coining words
  that are warm and clear.

He speaks in circles to no end, then stops and starts
  all over again.
He pours his tea all over me, then sits and borrows
  my largest sea.

He's off to make a fool of me and sing my brain far
  off key.
Oh, friend, rest your weary head; oh, con-man so evil,
  please drop dead!

Population

From the green trees so gothicly staged upon all hills,
To the old forgotten stream by the water mill,
To the ivy perched gracefully along a windowsill...

From the fenced-in yards of this suburbian world,
To the ancient valcanos who have forgotten their toil,
To the small dotted forests around the world...

From the lonely country roads along the sea,
To your mind and miles too far to see,
to miles before, under, over and after me...
There is man.

Man is the admirer,
Whatever illusion he possesses, it is false.
Man is the admirer.

Nature struggles day in, century out.
Pruning her branches and strengthening her spouts.
Seeing nothing and possessing all.

Man is the admirer.
Whatever his illusion of natural selection may be.
Man is the admirer.

No castle has nature, no arboretum is man's.
Nature is cooled, but not by electric fans;
fish of the sea and birds of the air.

Man is the admirer.
Whatever illusion has sidetracked him is false.
Man is but the admirer.

I think, I build, I sweat, I bleed, I swear, I destroy,
I have conquered nations.
Nature has conquered nothing -
but has won over all.