Poppy Trigger [Lyric Poem]

Two hikers on a mountain trail
pass a solitary Poppy.
One remembers a lost loved one;
one, feeling high and floppy.

“I was born upon thy bank, river” by Henry David Thoreau [w/ Audio]

I was born upon thy bank, river,
My blood flows in thy stream,
And thou meanderest forever
At the bottom of my dream.

Mugger Mugged [Lyric Poem]

The river runs through the birdlands.
   Each isle is alive with their nests.
 The course is skimmed by pelicans,
   snatching fish to later digest.

The croc is hunting those waters,
   just eyes and stony tail peeks out.
 It'd love a fish, snake, or otter,
   but food 's any meat near its snout.

The bird that flies into its gullet,
   the tourist dangling limb from the boat.
 If it could find freshwater mullet,
   it wouldn't eat that armless farmer's goat.   

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick [w/ Audio]

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying;
 And this same flower that smiles today
   Tomorrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
   The higher he's a-getting,
 The sooner will his race be run,
   And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
   When youth and blood are warmer;
 But being spent, the worse, and worst
   Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
   And while ye may, go marry;
 For having lost but once your prime,
   You may forever tarry.

Night Drums [Common Meter]

The pounding sound of rhythmic drums
   shatters stillness this eve.
 I know not whether snares are banged
   to celebrate or grieve.

The pace isn't slow enough to guide
   a somber procession,
 nor does it race at the pace of 
   jocular expression. 

It's a well-kept beat, approaching,
   that makes the windows shake,
 but seems suitable only for
   keeping me awake.

Desert Delirium [Lyric Poem]

The waves are crashing on the shore,
   and I am crawling up the beach.
 The pounding surf sounds like a roar
   as I am fleeing water's reach.

Don't let it take me, I beseech!
   Don't give the beast a second chance.
 It had a turn, but now 's in breach.
   It's met the bounds of its expanse.

And I hear no drums of ghost dance
   to summon it up onto land.
 I twist my head to take a glance,
   and all I see is endless sand.

London by William Blake [w/ Audio]

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
 Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
 And mark in every face I meet
 Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
 In every Infant's cry of fear,
 In every voice, in every ban,
 The mind-forged manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
 Every black'ning Church appalls;
 And the hapless Soldier's sigh
 Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
 How the youthful Harlot's curse
 Blasts the new born Infant's tear,
 And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Rampart Perspective [Common Meter]

From atop an old stone rampart,
   one's head within the clouds,
 one expects to see an old oxcart
   through that foggy shroud.

But down below, the modern day:
   buses, cafes, and cars.
 I turn my head the other way,
   and the world 's as it was:

Back in the times when that fortress
   was besieged and battered,
 and nothing moved freely but for
   a flag -- singed and tattered. 

There's a certain romantic view
   of long-gone days of old,
 but I think I'll be heading down
   before I catch a cold. 

Tell all the truth but tell it slant — (1263) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

Tell all the truth but tell it slant --
   Success in Circuit lies
 Too bright for our infirm Delight
   The Truth's superb surprise
 As Lightning to the Children eased
   With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
   Or every man be blind --

Rain Song Tempo [Common Meter]

I hear the rains accelerate
   From the lightest sprinkle.
 Soon the streets are aflood; mere sound 
   Makes my fingers wrinkle.

The rain continues to ratchet
   Up: faster & faster.
 'Til it's maxed out at a speed that
   Spells certain disaster.

How can it keep up this dire pace?
   What sponge this cloud must be
 To hold on high, up in the sky,
   The contents of a Sea.

But, in time, the downshift begins
  Towards just drips & drops.
 No matter how boisterous the band,
   The song, it always stops.