KATHLEEN

With a baited wish from Ingonish 
I cast my net in the eye of the moon, 
where every fish was a pirate fish 
and my scaly smack was a frigatoon, 
where every fish was a dancing dish 
and every scale was a gold doubloon 
cut from the purse of the lordly moon 
who bends the knee of the cloud in fee 
and smothered the stars in his dusty train, 
walking the night in revery 
of proud and introspective pain 
scorning the valleys of the sea 
and the hills of the earth with a cold disdain 
until on a night of mist and rain 
they vanished all mysteriously, 
and the moon, too proud to wax or wane, 
was caught in the love-swell of the sea. 
(Nothing is nearer to loss than gain 
or closer to love than love's disdain.) 
Then out of the water a white-limbed daughter 
leaped from the love of the moon and sea, 
and there in my wish-weighed net I caught her 
(the waves were asleep and the moon couldn't see) 
and home in my silvery smack I brought her 
and now she's the daughter of you and of me, 
sly as the moon and sleek as the sea!
 

ROSALEEN 
(two and a half)

Rolling gait has Rosaleen,
rambling down the swale, 
a little ship in a big sea, 
staggering to the gale.

Socrates could never guess
the thoughts of Rosaleen; 
Napoleon could not abash 
her glance of blue serene.

Gloria is serious
and Kathleen is gay; 
but when you deal with Rosaleen 
the devil is to pay!

TO A RADIO-FAN 
(for my son)

Well then my boy, 
what is Buck Rogers doing, 
riding what asteroid 
in what unheard-of places?
Is someone lost 
and is great danger brewing 
by villains in the void 
with terrible empty faces?

Tell me, explain 
the way he solves the crime, 
using what new invention 
and faithful rocket-ship, 
the way he foils 
the villain just in time 
catching him in the vice 
of his own bad intention.

Never forget,
my son, my own right hand, 
never forget he's there 
in every storm and trial, 
he's coming fast 
to take the high command 
and drive away despair 
in true Buck Rogers style.

But tell me this: 
What can Buck Rogers do 
when a man's heart is sore 
for a shrill voice of joy? 
Has he a trick
to bring back eyes of blue? 
Time-machines - will they restore 
agarrulous small boy?

DEATH * BIRTH

Laugh, and by laughing so 
Be true to those who weep. 
Wake, sing and so be true 
To those experts in sleep 
Who went down into the earth. 
For they proclaim your birth 
And plant and build and shine 
Drunk with creation's wine.

PEACE IS PASSION 
(to Nora)

The river's peace is in its flowing, 
the traveller's peace is in his going, 
peace is passion unrestrained.

Rather hate and riding death 
than quick eye and bated breath, 
peace is carefulness disdained.

Love, to hold its own dear law, 
found true peace on Golgotha. 
Peace is loving uncontained.

THERE IS A MAN WITHIN


There is a man within, a sure one. 
He having taken your heart will hold it ever, 
will hug and hold his treasure ever and ever. 
You may wander and lose yourself, you may return, 
you may forget him, you may betray this lover, 
but he will never mislay the heart you have given. 
He will hold his treasure forever and ever.

 TIME

Said mamma:
Time is a dress-maker, sewing 
as if to break her heart, 
then, just as the dress is finished, 
ripping it all apart.

Said the child:
Time is a train, gone whizzing past 
a town we'd like to stop at; 
time is a shutter closing fast 
a store we'd like to shop at.