NEW WORDS

they have been friends of mine these many years
often they came from somewhere deep inside
welling up as water released like tears
rivulets of thought o’er blank sheets they’d slide
much as if they played with their own beauty
we cannot live without words nor want to
a sword to use against our enemy
people are learning yet all this is new
often borrowing words from Cervantes
allows me to tell of this wondrous place
knowing words is not always knowing thoughts
most happy while held in their warm embrace
worn by elusive words I would master
if I sleep tomorrow will come faster

unseen

While our curate made his speech

the disguised woman stood as one half asleep

now beholding the one now the other

without once moving her lip or saying a word

just like a rustical clown

when rare and unseen things to him before

are unexpectedly presented to his view

Sancho

our jaded squire spent

not his time so vainly

having his stomach well stuffed

and that not with succory water

he carried smoothly away

that whole night in one sleep

if his master had not called him up

neither sunbeams which struck on his visage

nor melody of birds

which were many and did cheerfully

welcome the approach of a new day

could have been able to awake him

VIEJO MOLINO

molino is a Spanish word for windmill

they have been known to appear as giants

it would be most ignominious to assault one

stationary tho they be helpless they are not

such folly as befell that noble of la Mancha

waits beneath those wildly flailing arms

remembrance rules my early morning ritual

as I pour yet another cup of Viejo Molino

Stop!

Stop!

There was first a game of blind man’s buff.
Of course there was.
I no more believe Topper was really blind
than I believe he had eyes in his boots.
My opinion is, that it was a done thing
between him and Scrooge’s nephew
and that  Ghost
Christmas Present knew it.
The way he went after that plump sister
in the lace tucker, was an outrage
on the credulity of human nature.

Robbing Cervantes

e’en tho he being gone four hundred years plus two
close perusal of his scripted thoughts still lead
to speculate could this be me if not then who
asked do not we share that same time-ravaged steed
shared curiosity and folly has come to pass
brought to my house as many as ever could get
fruitless dreams were there to chase ‘til alas
I dried my brains in such sort I lost all judgment

my fantasy has filled with those things that I read
wherein I give my account of my misfortunes
yet whiles they speak not their own native tongue
yon author of that great work is likewise my friend
purge certain base things that lurk among our conceits
it will not be amiss to remove this stumbling-block
observe well this caveat which I shall give thee
that herein I shall be most punctually obeyed

RETURN

this past year has been a constant struggle
my words became well versed in evasion
I find  I must return to my distant past
and draw suppressed thoughts to attention
from sixteen hundred and five and so cast
before curious bloggers without shame
that which is needed to lead back my words 

delusion

inflamed by need
I feel unacceptable
incensed by dread
wounded empty
confused by delusion
a hideous reflection
obsessed by mind
draining self seeking
completion outside self
I abhor my afflictions
overcome by them

for others affection
standing at a crossroads
which way should I go
for such affliction of both
from burning experiences
feeling pain and grief
my truth is something
I’m not able to accept