Villanelle: Shizuka

Peace, Shizuka; it is done.
I know you will never admit
the enemy has won,
but you will exhaust yourself if you run
forever and never quit.
Peace, Shizuka, it is done;
the dance that blotted out the sun
belongs to them now, all of it:
the enemy has won,
and now there are none
but you to balk at the bit.
Peace, Shizuka, it is done.
You knew it as you labored, as you spun,
as you stung them, as they took him, as you spit:
the enemy has won.
History will return what you lost; it has already begun,
so die calmly, your belly slit.
Peace, Shizuka, it is done.
The enemy has won.

Villanelle

Because I was never allowed
to smudge it with my dirty hands,
I treasure that lavender cloud;
I chase away any who crowd
too close to its reflective sands
because I was never allowed
to touch it myself. I am proud
to live if its bright sunlight stands.
I treasure that lavender cloud
because it is all he endowed--
that god who gave us sacred lands.
Because I was never allowed
to ruin it, stitching my shroud
with emblems of its shining brands,
I treasure that lavender cloud
and cherish the vows I have vowed,
protecting all those shimmer-strands.
Because I was never allowed,
I treasure that lavender cloud.

The Firefly Also

The firefly working at night
dies early, and your life
is torn by human tongues,
for you are vulnerable;
real beauty always is.
The firefly working at night
is calling out for its mate;
you focus as your face
is torn by human tongues
and never wander; they search
for substitutes and find you.
The firefly working at night
is shoved in carriages, fed
rich nothing that in turn
is torn by human tongues,
a gift for bored connoisseurs.
Like you, using its tail,
the firefly working at night
is torn by human tongues.

Floating World

This beautiful world
is fragile.
Love with all your heart,
a thousand times in succession,
and cherish
this beautiful world:
for each beloved dies like a butterfly,
or cannot
love with all his heart,
or grows out of beauty.

How lovely,
this beautiful world--
how sad and how sacred!
What joy to
love with all the heart!

And I would give everything,
protecting
this beautiful world,
though my kind are not welcome there.
But I can
love with all my heart,
a thousand times in succession.
To remake
this beautiful world,
love with all your heart.

Villanelle

That light, forever,
in whatever guise it is,
as always, follow
to anywhere and
everywhere it leads. Behind
that light forever
and reaching toward it,
follow. Even in the dark,
as always, follow,
and catch the sorrow
that will purify you for
that light. Forever,
or 'til the end of
time and all we see, stay close.
As always, follow
without a single
question, praises on your lips,
that light forever
your guide. Believe, and
if he leads you into death,
as always, follow
through worlds and lifetimes.
Faithful, worship god within
that light. Forever,
as always, follow.

At that Benkei wept aloud

The battle is ended.

All have fallen.

I wanted to see you
once more in this lifetime.

If your life ends
before mine has ended,
please promise to wait at
Shige Mountain
until I can see you,

but if I precede you,
I will wait at
one place when it's ended:
the River of Three Ways.

Wait for me, Lord,
and surely I'll see you
there where the road branches
off into Hell.

When this life is ended,
I will join in the next
world and the next
with you--

--I will see you
until we reach purple
paradise, but

this time we'll have ended
while I could not see you.

Taira no Shigemori

How unfortunate to be born
tangled between my lord and my father
in these latter days of the Law!

And I ask, how long must I live,
watching the country sink into chaos?

How unfortunate to be born!

As ten thousand gems is the debt
which I cannot repay to my master
in these latter days of the Law.

It is twice-dyed, deeper than red,
deeper than twice-dyed silk; it is crimson.

How unfortunate to be born,
to forget my father and home
simply to serve and honor my lord
in these latter days of the Law,
for they tower high as the sky,
mountains with eighty-thousand league summits.

How unfortunate to be born,
that I must turn false to my lord
just to avoid unfilial conduct
in these latter days of the Law.

In the end, I think it is best
quickly to fall upon my own weapon.

How unfortunate to be born
in these latter days of the Law!

Better or Best

People mean ‘better’ when they say ‘best’
because we’re in this place.
I think of something perfect or blessed.
I want to fail the cruelest test,
but we’re in this small space;
people mean ‘better’ when they say ‘best’.
People get tired, abandon the quest,
abandon the good race—
I think of something perfect or blessed.
I want to lose with wellsprings of zest
belying the long chase.
People mean ‘better’ when they say ‘best’.
None of your comrades may have confessed,
but I think they lose face;
I think of something perfect or blessed.
I want to tell the secrets I’ve guessed
for I have no real grace.
People mean ‘better’ when they say ‘best’;
I think of something perfect or blessed.

For Dulce

Virelai

Every moment of my fate
works on me with shame and hate:
this because I did not wait
but accepted second best,
and I hate and thank the trait
that rules of late,
sensible, resigned, unblessed,
that prevents with rapid rate
of verbal freight
all I want at my behest--
and I wanted her to bait
fates and fairies as my mate.
Now I am no longer great,
which I know and have confessed.
Every moment of my fate
works on me with shame and hate:
this because I did not wait
but accepted second best.


Rondeau

Everyone loves to love her;
everyone aims,
frantic, for her attention.
Everyone tries to shove her
into his games--
everyone loves to love her.
Everyone aims
to put themselves above her,
action that names
any I wouldn't mention.
Everyone loves to love her;
everyone aims,
frantic, for her attention.


Ballade

Everyone knows the blood and heat that tease
under the skin that sheathes her frozen bones.
Everyone knows that I would like to seize
everything my imagined darling owns--
but I would never risk her pouts and moans.
Everyone knows how hard I work to please,
answering strictness with a cheerful fist.
None of my labors can repay my loans;
everyone knows that she does not exist.

Villanelle

her leg is
shaking and um
and you just
get nervous
watching and numb
and all your
pieces just thrum
in the dust
her leg is
shaking and um
you wonder
is she this dumb
and you must
get nervous
watching and numb
break through the
language and drum
with a thrust
her leg is
shaking and um
you wonder
where is she from
with a gust
get nervous
watching and numb
and ask her
why did you come
don't you trust
her leg is
shaking and um
get nervous
watching and numb

Villanelle

Everything washes off:
all stains, all disease,
sympathy, passion, time.
Nothing can stick to skin;
the skin from the bone--
everything washes off.
Insight and sin and love,
the dirt of the road,
sympathy, passion, time,
muscle from silky blood,
the self, the beliefs:
everything washes off.
Nothing can stick to us,
for everything falls:
sympathy, passion, time.
Nothing can stick, and so
we're nothing but clean.
Everything washes off:
sympathy, passion, time.

Villanelle

Come, let me comfort you
with gentle arms.
Don't touch me; go away.
I must not abandon you whom I loved.
Come, let me comfort you.
I cannot breathe or drink;
you are too much.
Don't touch me; go away.
As I pull back, you push
up against me.
Come, let me comfort you.
You say you anchor me:
you tie me down.
Don't touch me; go away.
Will it hurt you too much
to know the truth?
Come, let me comfort you.
Don't touch me; go away.

The Nixy

I. Ballade

I can feel everything there is to feel:
slow-moving waves within the weedy pond,
hands brushing, soft against my wrist and heel,
graspings and snatchings of determined frond;
sympathy, guilt, and joy make me respond.
All of the pain you shared with me was real:
do not forget how I returned your cry.
Do not forget the forging of our bond.
Do not dismiss me; do not pass me by.


II. Rondeau

Until my two arms enfold you,
I will wait on,
too powerless just to take you.
I cannot reach out to hold you
while you are gone.
Until my two arms enfold you,
I will wait on.
Will you not do what I told you
when you were drawn
from waters that tried to break you?
Until my two arms enfold you,
I will wait on,
too powerless just to take you.


III. Virelai

They cannot release their sighs
where the soundless water lies,
but their cold and lifeless eyes
still reproach each time I kill.
I would like to leave this guise.
Stop me and rise
if you have a sturdy will!
Yet another victim dies,
soul-pillaged, wise,
and I watch him in the chill,
but the ruling still applies,
given me by Nature's ties.
I endure their frightened cries
and am punished for it still.
They cannot release their sighs
where the soundless water lies,
but their cold and lifeless eyes
still reproach each time I kill.


IV. Villanelle

Cum fossa et furca they fall.
I watch them drown,
and I hold their legs as they sprawl,
for I am the undertow’s doll.
I force them down.
Cum fossa et furca they fall.
The cold slows their hearts to a crawl.
I kiss each frown,
and I hold their legs as they sprawl.
The world is increasingly small,
a silent town.
Cum fossa et furca they fall.
They swallow and try to recall
their old renown,
and I hold their legs as they sprawl.
They struggle to try to forestall
the pond-scum crown.
Cum fossa et furca they fall,
and I hold their legs as they sprawl.

Exercise

I have not forgotten him
singing among the stones
though the words are growing dim
and each graceful, well-formed limb
dwindles to ghostly bones.

I have not forgotten him--
his expression, sweet but grim--
numinous, precious drones--
though the words are growing dim
with the days and months that skim
over abandoned thrones.

I have not forgotten him.

Every note that built his hymn
presses and softly groans,
though the words are growing dim.

Not with any passing whim
will I forget his moans:
I have not forgotten him
though the words are growing dim.

You'd Think You'd Think Something About It

About that--what do you think?
You'd think you'd think something about it.
It's a word drowning in ink;
it's a stare, and it's a blink:
the dictionary is without it.
About that--what do you think?
So forgiveness on the brink
makes everyone seeing it doubt it.
It's a word drowning in ink.
You can eat, and you can drink,
but only there if you can shout it.
About that--what do you think?
And the child--light blue or pink--
not bleeding, not breathing, so flout it;
it's a word drowning in ink,
and the lies lying in stink
have grown in your lungs. If you scout it,
about that--what do you think?
It's a word drowning in ink.

Four Poems for Ganymede in French Renaissance Form

Rondeau.

I wish I could be you, truly
taking your place,
be wonderful as a duty.
I envy the curls, unruly,
stroking your face.
I wish I could be you, truly
taking your place.
I want to be lovely, duly
covet your grace
and worship your godly beauty.
I wish I could be you, truly
taking your place,
be wonderful as a duty.


Virelai.

Tell, what does it mean to be
orbiting the Father’s free
love? And did you try to flee?
Of these wonders, do you tire?
Does it please you still to see
that you were the
object of his heartsick fire?
Is there power, knowing he
moves earth and sea
just to quench your whim’s desire?
Is it worth its galling fee?
When you’re dandled on his knee,
can you grow, like star, like tree?
Must you always call him Sire?
Tell, what does it mean to be
orbiting the Father’s free
love? And did you try to flee?
Of these wonders, do you tire?


Villanelle.

Around, around, around you go,
following close for the heavens’ glory-gift,
reflecting back the Father’s glow.
The red, like blood, a constant flow,
covering you like it did that day, thus, swift,
around, around, around you go.
The path you travel lets you show
all of his glory. It shines on you; you drift,
reflecting back the Father’s glow.
You’re treated like a child, you know;
know that at least he adores you and will shift.
Around, around, around you go.
How sad the child who’s weak and low,
yet has a lover who does not give or lift.
Reflecting back the Father’s glow,
you pity them, and, loving, grow
in every beam that he gives you to sift.
Around, around, around you go,
reflecting back the Father’s glow.


Ballade.

You might have been a hundred other things
if he had left you there to tend your sheep:
perhaps the brave progenitor of kings,
perhaps a peaceful prince who’d sow and reap
and sing his cattle to a quiet sleep.
Perhaps your heart would feel its share of stings,
and someone strong would leave you, torn and wrecked,
and all the innocence and youth you keep
turn to a need to comfort and protect.

You might have found an object of your own,
who could receive the presence of your soul,
all your adoring glances, every tone
of burning anguish. You might play this rôle
like you were born to it and reach your goal.
Instead, he froze you, and though time has flown
since then, you’ve kept the energy of youth,
all its enthusiasm, and the toll
for such a road as rape is losing truth.

Villanelle

If the world is a mass of phrases
--and I think it's so--
then the names that we give are precious.
Every purr, every cry we manage,
tears us inside out
if the world is a mass of phrases.
I believe that the earth is changing
inches by the hour;
then, the names that we give are precious,
and the Universe, as we will it,
paces fast or slow,
if the world is a mass of phrases.
Thus, my lips bring forth lonely children,
different from me.
Then, the names that we give are precious,
and, remembering this, I carry
care in every sound:
if the world is a mass of phrases,
then the names that we give are precious.

Villanelle for Ganymede, Hebe, Dolores

I follow an endeavor that always runs late--
I am not concerned with sex.
I must preserve their Perilous Magic, their Fate.

Though anyone on earth can imagine that State
(animality; and flex),
I follow an endeavor that always runs late.

The blush of Hebe, Ganymede's god-tempting bait,
trembling hands, and slender necks:
I must preserve their Perilous Magic, their Fate.

Though I have stolen youth, it will never equate
with the beauty Knowledge wrecks.
I follow an endeavor that always runs late.

Revoltingly conventional; but if I wait,
they are charming while they vex.
I must preserve their Perilous Magic, their Fate.

To seize and freeze their innocence--ignorance--straight,
whole, in halves, in tiny specks,
I follow an endeavor that always runs late:
I must preserve their Perilous Magic, their Fate.

Villanelle: Phyllis

Phyllis friendlessly searches in the Pale
where her beloved is going.
If she wishes it, can she pierce the Veil?

He is ageless, eternal princely male:
gentle and icy and knowing.
Phyllis friendlessly searches in the Pale.

Though from infinite sorrow is her wail,
out of the void his growing.
If she wishes it, can she pierce the Veil?

Even mountains and ocean waves are frail
when winter Wind Lords are blowing.
Phyllis friendlessly searches in the Pale.

Her beloved will float above the gale,
endlessly, steadily glowing.
If she wishes it, can she pierce the Veil?

She is singing: How could I ever fail
aught to perceive in his slowing?
Phyllis friendlessly searches in the Pale.
If she wishes it, can she pierce the Veil?

Villanelle: Prince lointain

You are the apex of my sky,
although you are too far to reach.
So, Prince lointain, I say goodbye.

Could I but hear and never spy,
then would I love you based on speech.
You are the apex of my sky.

Defending you, I know thereby
I rectify the lies they teach,
so, Prince lointain, I say goodbye.

My actions are made to comply
with my desire to please with each.
You are the apex of my sky.

Yes, you are better far than I
at following the rules we preach,
so, Prince lointain, I say goodbye.

Because it would be wrong to try
the man I marry, blush, and bleach—
you are the apex of my sky—
so, Prince lointain, I say goodbye.