Lightly child of the Ocean

Lightly child of the ocean
Come to quell the witch's tide,
Instill in me the ancient's notion
To meditate, reflect, and bide.

A tragedy in twenty acts
Was set against the summer sun.
My burning wish was to attract,
But she, the mermaid, didn't come.

Zelda in her blooming years
Cut a figure much the same.
Gatsby, did he shed a tear
When Tom his rival spoiled the game?

I take myself to moonlit beaches,
Absorbing waves from far and deep,
And think of Gatsby as he reaches
To hold what he could never keep.

And I lay on the dark sand
As I try to weep.

Assuming a Grip

Man and she were put on Earth, as 'twere,
To celebrate bonds twixt him and her?
Such is the gift the Lord has wrought,
Confining love to a single spot,
The public arena for private affairs,
A boxing match for splitting hairs,
A hug-a-thon for subduing tears,
A mirror to reflect a tome of years.

The good Lord peopled his lands with differing types:
One to fish and one to wipe,
One to love and both to gripe.
I suggest it was under the Tree of Eden,
The titular sense of good and evil,
That lovers first quarreled and determined one to be regal,
The other, heathen.

Can a smothered sense of commonness,
An ignorance of universal duress,
Or total lack thereof,
Be the fount of universal love?
No son of damnèd Adam
Has found a Madam
Worthy to betroth
On the merits of her tenderness alone
I suppose.

Romanticism isn't in ditches,
Just occluded by some new school,
Which is...

Out back one May noon

Out back one May noon,
How the sun shone down!
I fashioned a cocoon,
Hotbox! then knocked the sack around.

Stoner Sonnet

To stone begets the urge to stone,
No poem need tell you that.
When home alone my eyelids groan
And land upon a sack.

I hit the bong of summer's song
In morning revery.
I hide it in a cluster-throng
In the attic, cleverly.

And what to do when all is through
As far as smoking goes?
I grab a pen and mark the page
With lines, as I suppose.

Yet what were need of hitting bongs?
O! What I would do!
My love if you but let me touch your soul
And give mine you.

Transitivity

The only thing that matters me
Is poetry

Outro

The greatest burden left undone:
To seal two things into one,
To split up one thing into two,
To realize what's I and you