Jeff Lassen Is Now A Published Poet

Jeff Lassen's anthology of verse, "This Poor Collection" has been collated and edited by me, then uploaded to www.lulu.com and published as a complete printed volume. It is on sale at only US$9.50 (cost plus $1) so everyone should be able to afford to buy a copy. The $1 royalty will go to his estate. So that everyone can enjoy Jeff's poems, I have purposely made the downloadable eBook version Free Of Charge.

It is hoped, however, that as many people as possible invest those few dollars and receive something very special in return. A man's life... in verse.

This Poor Collection

"These poems have been written over a span

of more than ten years, beginning when

the author was eleven years old. They

chronicle many changes in belief, many

different circumstances, and many

different loves of various intensity,

all false. It is hoped that they will

be accepted for what they actually are:"

Jeff Lassen

THIS POOR COLLECTION

TABLE OF CONTENTS

OCCASIONAL POEMS

• The Boy and the Boat 1960
• The Armed Forces 1961
• The City 1960
• I'm drunk as a dog and like it... 1962
• My Sister's Christmas Present - 1964
• A Snowy Day 1954

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POEMS

• Soldier's Help 1954
• The Troubled World 1961
• Every day we're faced by 1956
• Charity 1955
• Be not morose or stricken with grief 1956
• The Greatest Love 1956
• Revelation to a Wanderer 1957
• A Christmas Prayer 1962

LOVE POEMS

• A man of graying hair once said 1960
• Am I losing you? 1960
• Do you remember 1960
• Through all the summer long 1960
• The forest and the sea 1960
• I sit now where we once did sit together 1960
• The best of all, the one I love 1960
• Is a summer oh so short 1960
• Dreams 1962
• Patience 1962
• St. Valentine's Day 1962
• I want you to be my baby 1962
• The worst is to lose 1962
• To C. K. 1963
• When near you I am sure that it is worth 1963
• What strange dark glass 1964
• Oh night both cursed and blessed 1964
• A weekend wond'rous now has passed 1965
• If I possessed some literary skill 1965

OCCASIONAL POEMS

The Boy and the Boat

There is a boat somewhere

Upon the sandy floor

Or on the foam-laced shore,

Among the islets fair

Or at the arctic door.

A lad of only seventeen

Had worked the winter through

To buy this boat. His only dream:

to launch the craft anew.

But it was not to be

That he should put to sea.

He worked until he'd saved the price

Her owner dared to ask

With some left over for repair,

Then started on his task.

He bared her wood from stem to stern

And caulked each widened seam,

Then painted her in colors bright.

Each day drew near his dream.

But it was not to be

That he should put to sea.

The ancient boat looked good as new

Upon her launching day;

She didn't leak a single drop

Sitting in the bay.

The man who once had owned the boat

Said "Keep within the bay;

She'd break up in the storm that's due,

For look, the sky is gray.

Give her time to swell, my lad,

Before you put to sea;

Let her ride at anchor here

For two days - better three".

But it was not to be

That he should wait the three.

He said that since she hadn't leaked

He'd take her out that day;

And since the sea was smooth as glass,

What if the sky was gray.

He sailed beyond the point of land

Onto the briny main.

And then the wind began to blow,

And with it driving rain.

He came about and headed toward

The shelter of the bay.

But seas came crashing o'er the deck.

The boat sank its first day.

For it was not to be

That he should put to sea.

There is a boat somewhere

Upon the sandy floor

Or on the foam-laced shore,

Among the islets fair

Or at the arctic door.

Oh! It was not to be

That I should put to sea.

The Armed Forces

All about me are the demons of evil living

Which fill me with the desire to escape.

Some things in live start a man to striving

And evil plans in his mind take shape.

The loss of freedom, that dear, inalienable right,

The suppression of free, constructive thought,

Being told what you know is wrong is right:

This is not what man has sought.

Yet this is what the armed forces give -

The loss of all you have been taught is right -

And force you an unacceptable live to live.

They must think no one's very bright.

The City

The city is a place

Not fit for habitation.

It shows its dirty face

Upon a clean creation.

Dirty, dingy dungeons

Against the clear blue sky,

Cities are for engines,

But from them man must fly,

Fly before he's victimized

By air that's mostly soot.

But he's prob'ly never realized

Dirt should be under foot.

The country he knows nothing of,

The city is his home.

The fresh air he would surely love,

The seashore's briny foam.

But this, alas, he'll never see,

For never could he guess

That there could better places be

Than this dark, dumpy mess:

This mess they call a city,

This mass of masonry.

For him, Oh what a pity,

This is all there'll ever be.

I'm drunk as a dog and like it...

I'm drunk as a dog and like it,

Not knowing where I've been,

Nor what I've done, nor with whom,

Nor caring if I sin.

For I've enough of trouble

And of the world I'm in.

My Sister's Christmas Present - 1964

What is it that I bring this year

To offer for my sister's Christmas gift:

Something pretty for her to wear;

A sculptured bottle of odorous air;

Or jewelry gay to give her spirits a lift?

Oh no! This year a bargain was made:

A much more meaningful gift we thought -

An old-fashioned gift, something we'd made -

Than anything we'd merely bought.

So she a painting fashioned with her hand

With talent which from some fair Muse was lent;

And I these lines sat down and scanned

Though lacking the talent they demand.

But these two gifts mean more than money spent.

A Snowy Day

The snow comes drifting through the air;

It comes quite thick and fast.

When three inches on the sill

I know that it will last.

I think of sliding down the hill,

That ride with light'ning speed,

Of all those little dips and turns

When I am in the lead.

At last I'm out, my sled in hands,

To ride the wide, white way.

The nipping cold, the biting wind,

Both make a pleasant day.

So once again the wind may blow

And snow may fall all night.

Tomorrow I will play again

In the glist'ning snow's bright light.

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POEMS

Soldiers' Help

Through all the long hours of the night,

Although I'm not fighting by strength and by might,

I think of soldiers, brave and bold,

Fighting for freedom for us to hold.

They're fighting for what they know is right,

Those soldiers who're fighting for freedom tonight,

And in my heart, (and others with me stand)

I'm praying to give those soldiers a hand.

The Troubled World

The world today is full of tension

Over problems great in scope.

Can a summit, special session

Solve them? Is there any hope?

Nay! The problem lies with man

Who has always been the same:

Jealous, selfish, drenched in sin;

All they crave is personal fame.

Not until the men can change their way

Can this trouble-ridden sphere be free

Of war and hunger. Only then the lay

Of peace will fill the land and cross the sea.

Every day we're faced by

Every day we're faced by

Problems great and small.

But until the day we die

We must face them all.

We must learn to get along

With problems others haven't,

For when some small thing goes wrong

We'll know just how to solve it.

The moral of this poem is

That everything that happens

Prepares us for the life that is

And not the one imagined.

Charity

To live your life upon this earth

There's one thing you must know:

And that is how to give some help

To someone feeling low.

If you won't help the poorer ones

You cannot help yourself,

For if your fortune higher runs

It could help someone else.

You'll never get the most from life

Unless you're quick to help

The ones in need because of strife.

By this yourself you'll help.

Be not morose or stricken with grief

Be not morose or stricken with grief

For in your heart is your relief.

The troubles of this life are such

That in your mind they seem as much;

Yet in reality they're naught

But what you make them in your thought.

So think of happy things and be

Happy in reality.

The Greatest Love

We all should know the greatest love

This world has ever seen:

Our Lord and Savior Jesus' love

Which given while cross did lean

Cleansed all our hearts,

Answered our doubts,

Removed our sin and made us clean.

If we know not of this great love

We never can be saved.

Jesus said to live above

We must give up all we've saved

Of hate and sin,

Of world. To win

In heaven we must be saved.

Revelation to a Wanderer

Christmas Eve with lights aglow

And all but I have somewhere to go.

People are merry and full of delight,

But I am alone on this great night.

It's a frightening thing to be free as a bird,

No part of a flock or a herd.

I say not a word, my vision is blurred:

On this night in the manger no crying was heard.

It's one time I wish that I'd never left home,

That I'd defeated that urge to roam,

That now I was sitting by the family tree,

That I really had someplace to be.

It's a terrible thing alone on the Earth,

Missing out on the laughter and mirth,

When in the manger without e'en a hearth

The world was saved by the dear Savior's birth.

I know that I shall be

A part of a greater family

Of ones who have gone astray

And still remember Christ's birth this day.

It's a marvelous thing to believe this night,

When the world is void of all but might,

That three wise men came to behold a sight:

God's own son, the source of light.

A Christmas Prayer

Oh Lord we pray that we may see

Beyond the gifts and Christmas tree,

Beyond the lights and glitter bold

And ornaments of red and gold,

Santa Claus and reindeer fleeting,

Present wrapping, cards of greeting,

Goose for dinner and then after -

Bellies full and family laughter.

We ask your help that we may pay

To Christ our Lord, on this his day,

Our homage, which we know is due,

As wise men paid and shepherds too.

We pray to this remember; then

We need give naught but thanks. Amen.

LOVE POEMS

A man of graying hair once said

A man of graying hair once said

"Oh lad, thou art too young to wed."

"Nay!" said the lad, "but thou instead

Art much too old and too soon dead."

"What have you of wealth or lands

To offer with those wedding bands?"

"Of this I've naught, but her demands

I'll meet with work of back and hands."

"What have you to give, my son,

Of skill or knowledge, things you've done?"

"Again I've naught, but I am one

To learn of all 'neath moon and sun."

"And your children, will they be

Raised in fine prosperity?"

"They will learn instead to see

They're better poor, with dignity."

A man of graying hair once said

"With thy poor means thou should not wed."

"Nay!" said the lad, "but thou instead

Art an old bourgeois whose way is dead."

Am I losing you?

Am I losing you?

Through the evil of distance

have you shown your resistance?

Am I losing you?

Are we drifting apart

Due to our separation

For such short duration?

Are we drifting apart?

Were the problems too great

For you to be faithful?

Now darling be truthful:

Were the problems too great?

Have you found someone new?

Of our love despairing

Beyond all repairing,

Have you found someone new?

How can your love last?

Whe the new one is absent

Will it be more convenient?

How can your love last?

Do you remember:

Do you remember:

The walks we took -

And how we stood

Within the wood,

Beside the brook;

Those talks of ours

Amid the trees

And by the sea -

Those happy hours;

The days we spent

Beneath the pines

And blooming vines -

Their pleasant scent;

The nights we laid

Beneath the moon

And heard the tune

The waters played.

Do you remember?

Through all the summer long

Through all the summer long

We discussed the ancient song

Of Nature.

We strolled into the wood

And talked as none else could

Of Nature.

The wonder of the trees

Those sylvan majesties

Of Nature,

The rivers and the seas -

Yes we discussed all these

Of Nature's.

During those talks

Amid those rustic walks

Of Nature,

We were drawn together

In the woods and heather

Of Nature.

We found that love could come

In this our leaf-ceiled home

Of Nature.

The forest and the sea

The forest and the sea

Which we both do love

Hold memories of thee.

'Tis there alone I rove.

Could sylvan majesties

More majestic be,

Or the changing tide

More changeable than thee.

I sit now where we once did sit together

I sit now where we once did sit together.

I wish that here we both could sit forever.

For her it was I learned how love could come,

And leaving here, as quickly it was done.

I wish that here you'd sit with me again;

That this time, leaving, your love I'd retain.

Nothing in my years has meant as much

As that instant when our lips did touch.

Oh would that there a better love could be -

Then I'd not feel the best had gone by me.

Oh come and sit beside me here again,

And always in our greatest love remain.

Come sit beside me in this hallowed place -

The temple of our love - without disgrace.

The best of all, the one I love

The best of all, the one I love

Has now been taken 'way;

And I will e'er remember what

Has happened here this day.

The object of my fondest dreams,

The one I'd hoped to wed,

Is gone. What good is life? It seems

That I'd be better dead.

A momentary error, just

A human fault is all

That broke my love-filled heart in two:

My love's decline and fall.

Is a summer oh so short

Is a summer oh so short,

And summer love such simple sport,

That it can't mellow, age, congeal

Into something very real?

It can! It did! For me, at least,

Our summer love has never ceased.

But I am very much afraid

That even though with me it stayed,

Our summer love for you was lost

With the coming of the frost.

Dreams

At times I thought my life was naught

But hopelessly prodigious dreams,

Which by my past I had been taught

Were to be glimpsed but never caught;

So cursed was I by futile dreams.

I dreamed of fame: someday my name

Would, with the heroes of the world,

Be written down. Someday my name

Would be inscribed as soldiers came

To pay respects 'neath flag unfurled.

I dreamed of gold: someday I'd hole

The title to the richest lands.

Someday I'd own the treasures old -

Egyptian jewels and Aztec gold -

Long buried in the timeless sands.

I dreamed of love: no more to rove

In futile search of gold and fame.

I've found her now, and such my love

That I've no need of treasure trove

And she will proudly bear my name.

Patience

Love is grand, it takes the hand

And leads away from anger's door;

When otherwise would temper rise

It does my heart implore

To rest for now, and I must vow

To wait for what's in store.

So it's my fate to sit and wait

Until you will appear;

For if the time we set was nine

Eleven would be near

Before I'd chance to cast my glance

Upon your features dear.

But love is grand, it takes the hand

And leads from anger's door;

And so I wait on every date

For what I know's in store.

St. Valentine's Day

One day a year for lovers is reserved

On which their fondest thoughts they may express;

And though I love another than I should

On this one day my true love I confess:

And so I swear by all that's true

That, my darling, I love you.

Oh please do not this gift of love decline;

Just answer this: Are you my valentine?

I want you to be my baby

I want you to be my baby

Through this whole new year.

I want to hold you close to me

And whisper in your ear.

I want to know that you're all mine

And that we'll never part.

So please say that you love me

And take, not break my heart.

The worst is to lose

The worst is to lose

The one you love

Because all you try

To do as she wants

Just isn't fast enough.

The next is to love

More than you can say,

And try to be happy;

But fight follows peace

Every day.

The last is to beg her

Always to stay,

For she won't believe

That you love her unless

You deem her game to play.

To C. K.

I love a gentle blending

Of good from many lands.

And you, my love, were given all

The good in diverse sire's glands.

From the Spanish: love of life;

A life of love, a burning flame

Which will not flicker, never dim

Until he comes your love to claim.

From the English: sufficient reason

To temper that hot Latin spark,

And enough sophistication

That on my lady has left its mark.

The Philippines: the prowess to hunt,

To move around in the jungle at night;

The skill to stalk and trap a mate

And check his every thought of flight.

The Dutch, though not a linear sire,

By citizenship have called you theirs;

They gave you tulips sweet for lips,

And dikes to shield from life's small cares.

And from the equatorial clime

Some of the heat you made your own;

And as a pretty tropic flower

How sweet and fetching you have grown.

The cool English head, the warm Spanish blood,

And the Dutch engineering diving,

The Philippine cunning, the tropic charm

Force me to make you mine.

When near you I am sure that it is worth

When near you I am sure that it is worth

The fight which must, if I would win, occur

To free you from your bondage, and set forth

The way of live with me you more prefer.

Yet even now, hurt and suffering still,

You hold me back, for fear of troubles more,

From my aforeplanned course, restrict my will

To help you, make you happy, as I swore.

But by some means, if yours or mine be used,

I shall no more see you oppressed but free.

And if it be your way, my fury loosed

Shall wane beside the joy of you with me.

The only thing I ask of you:

To your heart and me be true.

What strange dark glass

What strange dark glass

Clouds the beauty of your soul;

What despised obsidian monster of black Pluto's realm

Keeps your heart's glow hid from me?

Oh you, who would stoop to admire

The softness of a caterpillar,

Why can you not recognize the softness

That blooms in your own bosom.

Crack great, hindersome, opaque glass

And let the beauty of my love come forth!

Mold yourself, my love,

As that gentle caterpillar

Who, seeking no protection from her foes,

Relies upon her beauty for a shield.

Come out, Oh vestal of a blackened lamp,

And show yourself from 'neath your mystic guise;

For I can see through dark obsidian

When hid there is the heart of one I love.

Oh night both cursed and blessed

Oh night both cursed and blessed,

You've shown me wonders of the heart and soul

With which mere mortal man

Should ne'er be trusted.

Yet love such as mine,

Of higher level than a mortal knows,

And everlasting as it is,

Makes of me a dweller on Olympus.

But my goddess, jailor of my feelings,

Time

Decrees that waiting is the clue

To future happiness with her.

And so I wait

Knowing that, some day divine,

My waiting done,

I need never wait again.

A weekend wond'rous now has passed

A weekend wond'rous now has passed

And we are now apart.

The beauty of those days will last,

Will live within my heart;

And to the end I'll still recall the start.

I'll well remember, gentle girl,

The night that first we met -

I thought you were a beauteous pearl

That ne'er in gold was set -

A night I'm sure I never shall regret.

While rowing on the moonlit bay

We did not talk of love;

To us the night was as the day,

The gull a turtledove.

Our minds were joined as Venus shone above.

And Nature was our mentor in

This game that children play -

The flowers knew that we would win

When they were picked that day -

She molded us together as if clay.

The birch gave of his silv=ry bark

To write our names upon,

And we were wed in that wooded park.

Our love may now live on

'Til all the birches in the world are gone.

The rocks we gathered on the shore

Shall e'er a witness be

That we have searched and found much more

Than other lovers see -

And always half for you and half for me.

Oh it is sad that we must part

After these days so few;

But we have learned within the heart

We love each other true -

Our intertwining fingers surely knew.

If I possessed some literary skill

If I possessed some literary skill,

And my poor lines had meter and a rhyme,

With praise of you a volume I would fill

That lovers might then ponder for all time.

If I were but a Browning I would write

The sweet poetic thoughts now in my brain

And show our love: a summit, pure and bright,

That others e'er would strive for, ne'er attain.

Alas! I lack a talent with the pen;

But thoughts of you continue still to grow,

Until there forms a line, a verse, and then

From heart to paper poetry must flow.

Oh is it thus that poets all must start -

When praises will not stay within the heart?

Still Poor

Jeff has opened this collection of his poetry with this:

"This begins a new volume of poetry
as yet unnamed and obviously incomplete,
poems being added as they are finished,
with no thought yet as to arrangement.
However, as will be noted, most are:"


The first section consists of poems written between February 1966 and December 1969. He sub titles this section as "Still Poor". Perhaps that was a comment on his bank account rather than his life. I know Jeff was married in 1966, you can see the photo at the head of this post. The poems he wrote between 1966 and 1969 that are in the section "Still Poor" are posted here, so scroll down and read them. Due to the vagaries of the blog software the last written appears first. You can scroll right down and read the first ones written in chronological order by reading down, then scrolling back up to the next post. Annoying, I know.

Otherwise just read them as they run and remember the poet was getting younger as you read! Maybe deconstructing the work that way might lend new insight? There is one poem not included with the rest below which I have included here. I posted this on the main Jeff Lassen page, it is my favourite of all the poems written that I have read, so far. There is still an enormous amount of work for me to trawl through and organize so I might end up with several favourites before I'm through!


HE, SHE, IT and THEY


HE loved SHE, SHE loved HE;
Both were happy as can be.
IT was a love so very grand;
HE offered SHE a wedding band.

Then THEY began to speak -
IT was over in a week.

HE and SHE are now apart,
Each one guarding an injured heart.
THEY, it seems, are satisfied:
THEY succeeded at what THEY tried.

Jul 1969


I would hazard a guess that the marriage of 1966 came to something of an end in mid 1969, wouldn't you agree? Enjoy 'Still Poor'.

A Grace Before The Christmas Meal

Bless, Oh Lord, this food -

The feast is ready:
All manner of food is prepared
To tempt the eye
And please the senses -
A steaming roast turkey;
Variety of vegetables;
Diverse pies, cookies, candies,
Nuts, and jellies.
(Or other foods,
Each according to his family custom.)

And atmosphere:
Full of merriment,
Gay,
Friendly;
A fitting scene for a great feast.

A feast:
A commemoration
(So Webster says)
Of some event or person
Of some significance.

And this feast is
A commemoration of -
A thanksgiving for -
The birth -
Whose birth
That after near two thousand years
We still commemorate,
Celebrate,
Give thanks for -
Of Jesus,
Child of simple parents,
Poor,
Of no import,
And yet -
The gift
Of God Almighty:
Promised a-long
For the world's salvation.
Of this import -
This the event
To commemorate -
For this the feast.



Otherwise we mark the day:
By gifts
To fill the needs
(As He fills ours)
And please the desires of
The recipient.
We dress and light a tree
To glitter and shine
As the stars of heaven:
A new light -
As different from the rest;
As to this day apart.
We send our greeting,
And welcome to our house
Such as will come;
Forget our isolation
And commune,
Rejoice,
With all mankind.

For Christ is born:
The gift of God
To all mankind -
The greatest gift
Ever.

If our feast,
The food before us,
Is to feed the body
As His gift
Feeds our souls;

If our merriment and joy
Is token
Of His reception in our hearts;

If our gifts
Are only to reflect
His gift to us;

If our tree
With lights and glitter
Is just to show
The symbol of
The Light
Come into the world;

If our greeting
And friendliness
Is but to show
His coming
For all mankind;

If all these things
Are the reason,
The cause for our celebration,
Then we are ready
To eat the feast
To his eternal honor and glory;

Then bless, Oh lord, this food.

Amen.

Dec 1969

Lines To A Nymphet

Lines to a Nymphet

A Poet's Dilemma


What can I say,
Without being ridiculous;
What!
That you will believe
And understand?

I know what I can't say -
And why!

I can't say I love you:
You'd never believe,
That knowing you a little,
I could feel so much.

I can't say I want you:
You'd misunderstand
My motives
And be afraid.

I can't ask you to
Be mine alone:
It wouldn't be fair
To tie you down.
You'd say no,
And maybe
Never see me again.

I can't describe
In poetry,
Of lesser beauty than yourself,
Your attributes,
Your youthful charms,
Or you would call me
Lecher!

But
What can I say,
At which one
So young
Will not take
Offense.

Perhaps
I'll get by with this:

Moments spent with you
Are little bits
Of Heaven;
Pure,
Sweet,
Joyous
Times.

It doesn't matter
What
or
Where:
only
Who -
That's you!

If mere moments are so heavenly,
Think what days, weeks, years might be.

Dec 1969


Editor's Note: I love that last stanza, "If mere moments are so heavenly,
Think what days, weeks, years might be." That, people, is romance! That's what poetry and poetic composition is all about, surely? To say so much, so eloquently and yet also so enjoyable to read (out loud of course).

Why?

Why?
Why do I fight within myself
Trying to reconcile
My love for her
With her independence?

Torture -
Sheer, painful torture:
Loving her completely,
To the exclusion of all others -
Without thought for other girls,
Or thought of my needs -
For so long now unfulfilled -
Or any selfishness
Which in my feeble power
I am able to subdue.

I would not force her:
I would not pressure her...

Yet what am I -
Stone?

I love!
And yet I am not loved!

Her fancies range,
And others merit
Attention more than me.

Am I to idly sit
And wait forever,
Hoping that she will finally
Accept,
Believe my love for her?

No!
I cannot bear the pain.

Aug 1969

Poor Miserable Wretch!

Poor miserable wretch!
Hateful loathsome creature:
Selfishness clothed in Love -
Penultimate Sin -
Desiring that which cannot yet desire,
And will not be desired.

It is that I do not love,
Or that I love too much -
Granting freedom to one not ready
To freely wield the choice
Of love?

Do I -
Meekly, patiently - honestly -
Asking her to freely choose -
Bind her
To a choice not hers -
Not yet?

Poor miserable wretch!
Hateful loathsome creature:
Are you selfish -
Even if unwittingly,
Contrary to design -
Because she believes so?
The wrong is just as grave!

Aug 1969

Aiden

My little friend!

Why are you gone so soon?

What was your purpose

In your brief life?

Of course

It wasn’t your purpose.

It was God’s!

And I can’t know

What that was.

I get no answer

To my question

“Why?”

I’m confused!

It is difficult

To accept

And to have faith

That some good end

Was served.

But it was!

For your brief time

You brought something

To many.

You had friends -

Friends you never met -

Who cared for you

And felt for you

And prayed for you!

There formed

A great network

Of people reaching out

With common cause

To you

To your parents

To God

Which would not have been

Except for you.

And some of us

Learned something more

About prayer

For God’s will

And acceptance

Of the goodness

Of His plan

Whether seen or not.

I learned of courage

And strength

As your little body

Fought to live.

I learned more

of unselfish love

As I watched

Your father

Keep his watch.

And I learned more

Of my own strengths

As I tried to give

And of my weakness

As I doubted.

Thank you Aiden

For the chance

To know you

A little while

And be better for it!

You can rest now

Little one!

Christmas Gift - 1968

Why a poem as a Christmas gift:
Only because of poverty:
Or is there further reason,
Positive value to commend
The writing of a verse at Christmastide:

I think there is!

First off, a poem cannot be bought.
As such no value can,
In monetary terms,
Be to poetry applied -
And therefore no discussion
Of who spent more or less.

Second,
And I'm sure the much more weighty case
For a poetic gift,
Is that a poem cannot
An empty present be.

The thought behind the gift...
They say this is the thing.

And yet, how many folds begrudge
The few coins for a gift?
How many settle
For what they only hope
The recipient will like?

At best, these gifts are only poor
Tokens of feelings
Which may or not exist.

But no one writes a poem
Unless he feels,
And loves.

The thought behind the gift is in it;
The thought is the gift - is the poem.

Solstice

A Birthday Poem
For a Girl who was 17 -
June 21, 1960


I love you!
And with equal depth of feeling
I hate!
The circumstance.

I would be with you -
I'm sure we could
Be happier than most -
But that can't be -
At least not now.

If we could alter circumstance...

But we know!
We can't!

You'll have a happy birthday
A year from now,
(This year you'll live somehow)
For Spring will ripen into Summer.

And then?

Perhaps we'll meet again!

Acrostic

Illogical answers to sensible questions;

Laughing at serious moments
Over nothing;
Various expressions
Either facial or spoken;

Youth,
Openness,
Unembittered trusting heart;

Wit, charm, grace;
Electric kisses -
Nibbles, pecks,
Deep, passionate,
Yet tender; peaceful embraces;

Stuttering; pouting;
Modesty;
Intellect; caution; feminine guile;
These are some of the reasons why -
Here read the first letter in each line.

Hard Work

About Searsport, ME, unloading tapioca flour, about 1968.


If there are curses left unuttered
At least I know I've tried;
And when the curses didn't help
I prayed until I cried.

Oh stalwart men were working
In that ship's darkened hold
Loading cargo ton by ton
And shrugging off the cold.

But I was cold and tired
A stripling lad, no more,
My will had flagged, I wanted
But to rest, to go ashore.

I couldn't lift another bag
I swore I wouldn't try
I prayed for strength to go ahead
Even if I'd die.

The others worked without a wince
As if it all was fun;
And I worked on, but suffering,
Until the job was done.

The Wedding Gift

I tried to write;
I can't!
I really wanted to
Give you something
New,
Bright,
Fresh,
For a wedding present -
Our wedding.

What?
Something of myself.
My mind,
My creation,
My feeling
For you,
Expressed in glowing terms,
Would make a fitting gift.

A poem?
Of course!
What more fitting gift is there?
A poem
Straight from the heart.

My mind's too full:
Full of thoughts of later,
When I must undergo
The rite,
Ceremony,
Full

Oh Hell!

But will you take,
Accept,
This gift -
My love;
My life
With you;
My vow -
Only you,
Forever;
The best,
Whatever I can give
(Though that's not much) -
Instead?

I pray you will,
For this is all I have.
It's true though -
I do love you
And always will.

But I can't write
A poem.
I can't!

The Meeting

Across a crowded room I see
(As vividly as I did then -
Though now it's just a memory -
One of many I will pen)

A pair of shining eyes on me
Fixed strong enough to hold me still
And make mine open up to see
And, having seen, to drink their fill.

Beyond those brilliant orbs I glanced
And found a frame of ebon hair
Which, though by eyes I was entranced,
Of my attention begged a share.

The lustre, radiance of that crown
(As brightest light, though deepest black)
Shown round the haunting eyes of brown
Which at my own were staring back.

Within that frame of beauteous hair,
Which hung below the shoulder line,
And which, I know, by nightly care
Was kept to looking just that fine,

There was a face which I bethought
Was fit to house those eyes sublime
And held the things which men have sought
As beauty from the start of time:

A soft, round face with glowing cheek,
A nose just broad enough to please,
The mouth not even slightly weak
With two full lips (Which seemed to tease

My own with thoughts of kisses sweet,
And so made me return the smile
Which made that picture so complete -
The one enthralling me the while.)

The skin, a creamy cocoa colour,
Which never had a blemish known,
And textured soft and smooth as velour,
Shone with a radiance all its own.

Held by those eves enraptured still
I stood and could not look away,
Nor did I wish to, for my will
Was that I ever thus would stay:

On beauty gazing constantly,
Daring not to blink for fear
That, eyes reopened instantly,
This vision would not reappear.

The crowd between us grew until
My vision soon was lost to view
Behind a mass of lace and frill.
The part now was past the few

Who had been there when first I saw
Those eyes which seemed to dance and play.
A friend of mine began to draw
Me toward a group and so away.

And though I meant to go and find
A passage to the other wall,
I soon decided that my mind
Had played a trick and that was all.

And soon my thoughts were turned to drink
And appetizers here and there
Around the room. And did I think
The party fun? And would I care

To come again another time?
Oh Mr. Lassen. And you're whose guest?
And would I like my drink with lime?
To all these questions I addressed

Myself in the post proper way,
Until they thought I did belong.
I really did not want to stay;
I'd been uneasy all along.

United Nations parties are,
In my opinion, quite a bore
For all the people there are far
Above my station on the floor

Of this great world society.
For duty to a friend I went
And so endure the misery -
In all, an evening badly spent.

From one of many groups I turned
Expecting one more just the same;
But two dark eyes into mine burned,
And then at once I felt the shame


Of failing earlier to read
The message there - I'm lonely here.
Won=t you please come and talk - the need
Which now had brought that vision near.

It was no vision but instead
Beneath the eyes and face and hair -
That beauteous sight on which I'd fed -
There was a body beyond compare.

Smooth curves correctly placed,
Her bosom owned more than its share
Of youthful firmness; she was graced
With legs (the most beautiful pair

That ever I had seen before)
So smooth, and shaped so perfectly -
That I could not but help adore.
And looking was such ecstasy.

Erect and straight she stood with pride
(And that she had good cause to do)
While in her lonely gnawing vied
With all the etiquette she knew.

I could not speak, for fear that she,
A goddess, or a princess sure
Of some far-distant land, might be
Offended by my overture.

But still her burning eyes held mine
And sensed perhaps my growing dread
Of losing here, a sight so fine.
The soft and calm - Hello - she said.

My heart, which jumped a thousand feel,
Was slowly floating back to me.
I found the courage to repeat -
Hello - and waited breathlessly.

She spoke again, and soon at ease
(No goddess or a princess, she
Wished only one to talk with. Please
Would I but keep her company?)

I too began to voice my thought
And, in my proper manner still,
Gave thanks to what ever Fate had brought
Us here, each other's need to fill.

So thus it was the evening passed
But all too soon it had to end;
It could not be that this could last,
That I had found a friend.

Then most tactful and polite
Asked if I might, with pleasure great,
Call her upon the morrow night
And then perhaps arrange a date.

I dared not hope that she'd consent
To such a plan, and was about
To say I hadn't really meant
Offense, and then go out

For it was time for me to leave,
When she said that she'd love to hear
From me. I could not quite believe
I'd had a chance with one so dear.

I kissed her gently on the hand
And held it long within my own,
Then said good-bye, it had been grand
And promised that I soon would phone.

But she would not my hand release
And I could hardly bear to leave;
I kissed her brow, again made peace,
But still her hand to mine did cleave.

I could not bear to thus depart
While feeling there was more than this;
I knew she'd given me her heart
So on her lips I placed a kiss.

Ten thousand times ten thousand feet
My heart flew up as I walked away.
I'd never had a kiss as sweet,
Nor have I to this day.

Feb 1966