“Iτε, ὦ ποιηταί, ταυτί γάρ ύμετερα, και ṕαψᾠδϊτε

        πρός τούτoυς τούς άθύμους…” δέ οῦκ σκοτᾠ φής ηέλιος αγλαῲ.


   “And in those days when unforeseen distress spreads far and wide

   Among a people mournfully cast down,

   Or into anger roused by venal words

   In recklessness flung out to overturn

   The judgement, and divert the general heart

   From mutual good -some strain of thine,

   my book!

   Caught at propitious intervals, may win

   Listeners who not unwillingly admit

   Kindly emotion tending to console

   And reconcile, and both with young and old

   Exalt the sense of thoughtful gratitude

   For benefits that still survive, by faith

   In progress, under laws divine, maintained.”

     - From: Prelude, William Wordsworth: Rydal Mount, March 26, 1842.


          THE LAST PLACE

   Where they were, for them

   was dull forgetful,

   possessed none of the loop-trajectories

   careless childhood in free association

   and experimental yard and field,

   they were told, learn so much.


   Those small accomplishments,

   by better than adolescent hygienes threatened never to be forgot,

   never loosened, by they “that never grew up, that always need Papa.”

   Says the philosopher, “the trouble is the boys who always need Papa,

   they’re the violent ones, they have the guns…” and position throughout;

   with never a progression to social helps, adult,

   that know the place of protect, instruct, with wholeness found.


   Ever surly, big deals smiled in the offing.

   They had moons to mine and asteroids to strip and that weight bring in.

   Distant outer lights attentions swirl, they admire.

   Lies fed themselves and grew sate.

   Faux-knowledge and poor math theory,

   foundering understanding,

   kept the ‘innocent’ destruction up,

   and ease of listen and go-along was in continue.


   But I’m told they never did find that last place to stand

   in a great grass naked, breathing real air,

   having given the gibbons their trees, as few of them went to their needs

   to stay the human flood of disaster business related.


  © Copyright 04/13-29/ - May 2020 Joseph Duvernay. Literal:  “Come, poets for this is yours,

 and stitch-together for those the despondent…” but (do) not you say in darkness the sun it shines.

 Philosopher-- Alan Watts, WBAI Radio Interview.


   Miss me when I’ve come and you’re not there.

   Let the stale air in some tulle-fog not kill you.

   Eyes on the fare, register no complaint,

   yet send commonality back down action-chute

   with its hazard easy way.


   Make a superior try of spinning Imagination

   for Art’s insipid imitation, which is a good start.

   Then, from whatever nosebleed lights your bulb

   the long road is the highest,

   on the marge, take that one.


  Day will mark itself as can.

   Hands that had you to interrupt

   now have by opposed energies stopped.

   And wonder, the whole,

   every bit of it added, or naught.


   You had served well. I cancelled your card.

   But that was one day out of many.

   And the living green laughs frolic,

   and tomorrow, as lazy vapours rise

   and broil sun chides making for his top

   will I again have my bronze-armed, mighty son,

   sing you a piercing, morning song.

    Copyright © 2020 (Feb.- May) Joseph Duvernay.



   That offensive thing of him.

   But she knows best that self,

   as the end of mercy had come,

   and brats and Mama’s boys found their lesson one.

   Gathered rights of polite society to learn,

   and lad experiments awful wrong to pay the sum.

   All phenomena with him do not begin and end he found.

   A fright to know you are one of many.

   Notice also as do, the large ganglia w/ head-sized palm

   and what hours of labour fumed, wanting rest, can, if concerted.


   The many loose bolt, less plenty she had slogged,

   some measure had been taken; a lesson stirred to waken.

   Soon empty nest with runny nose and scuffed knee

   when was the prince. He’s out at elbows

   and flight, and night in elm’s upper arms invite

   ease, promise relief, silly sanctuary!


   Fatherhood that keeps the safety, corrects the errancy

   is the most accepted tyranny when pure.

   Nor here shame old Lear who only slenderly knew himself,

   and usurped his life,  or `gray Denmark’. No! Ago,

   a man, each in his setting, nay estate! was king.

   Each a very Shaka, Great Dane, Otho,

   hands heavy in true Gotha going tens of thousands back.

   There, a sonny, a junior advanced as father,

   his queen, keen to notice children count clouds the air.


   But `Bob’s your uncle!’ if living course dare:

   Roof erect, fished rivulet. Books bright.

   Out of the house weather flocks in this dream,

   to boot bad chaos, its effluents there.

   Oranus, Kronos, fathers killing sons, fathers.

   Sons son’d and hating it. What? Usurped, driven low?

   This the king will not! So, him killing him, father, son.


   Man’s mad story havocs defense and razes round.

    Defense is an act of war! And Two things equal to a third,

   are all equal to each other. Which may be our best reared yet sergeant!


    © Copyright 2004-2005 (03/24-01)-2019 – 06/2020 Joseph Duvernay.

    Notes: Gotha: Europe’s Royal Book of royalty. Bob’s …! Aussie –right you are!

    Euclid’s first rule: If two things are equal to a third thing,

    then they are all equal to each other.



               Whereas wise Thespesion, on this issue,

               doing what he was able to, to show the Greek Apollonius

               what he could of the reverence of the ancients, even to worship

               for the others in the animal kingdom,

               and that surely it was not for him to disabuse same

               of their thoughts, belief, when after-all

               a Maker is in everything He makes;

               and seeing futility as the new man, the Greek,

               idle now his Pythagoras, repeated curses of stupid animals,

               dumb beasts; sighs chest-tight following.

               And whereas in such detractions old Eleusinian, Dionysian

              and other cults and mysteries will stay and stand question.

              And that even those who learn their whole lives and become wise,

              their carried faults shine, and pride tosses within.

               And further, since both, neither trying to convince nor deceive,

               but tender true as they understand it were.

               Be it hereby resolved that what a man makes has to be fallible.

                If not, do they not mar lies upon themselves?

                    © Copyright 02/13-15/2020 – 05/2020 Joseph Duvernay.

               I note here with no too little reservation, the likeness for me, of the same old defacements

some Euros’ have wintered to fly the false notion of nothing of worth in the higher realms

of human endeavours coming, ever came out of Africa, in the new (2005, 2012) translator of the

Loeb Philostratus (Elder) Apollonius of Tyana who in his dismissive introduction

outright slanders the Gymnosophists of Ethiopia as “petty and pretentious,”

‘perfect counterpoint to the Wise men of India.’ It has, for me, the familiar carried to the absurd

allusion of greed-stricken prefabricators sent on their never royal way

assisted by smiling, waving, playful under rod, scope, desert and barrel Africans.


   With the ornament of evening passing long.

   Table and wash what was said.

   Because a more forthright 5th estate would have helped there,

   lay all card, each and every,

   as by former lives and those to come bid able.


   So, the binds that confuse inner-knows of good, harm,

   and that cup-of-gain, disingenuous, ignore, let lie.

   And you, stable - If I fulfill only myself

   how will the whole advance?

    It being enough to have made the distinction in a dread time.


   Later that day, passing, as by the human road she sits,

   ask close-cropped Charity if she’d always done her best.

   But as she neither notices nor answers,

   take those folded pleads and easy lacrimae home,

     where gerry-found Hope still sets a table.


   Pray then there to cleared skies, that their blue sear keep

   and stay steps ahead of the too steep heat of ambition.

   Be guard. For in tight, protective hunch, its corner filled with dust,

   Necessity will repeal - forget petitioning Heaven, the long-flair universe

   will match your wants. And thus! She lies.

     Copyright © 2020 (Feb.-May) Joseph Marcel Duvernay.

                    THE  OLD  FLASHES


               For the grab-ass, a nose for spite.

               Tike or adult saw its clear red light.

               Later, manic mate tried that closed gate.

               Found his pawl, paid-out dragon, couchant

               ‘tentive to abate.


               Debase jokes, not permit!

               The fence-tight teeth, that flash of red,

               haptic armour, against these pit.

               Otherwise on excess of love

                and un-erred sympathy fed.


    Once in a mean time, I lie not, it was maga this, maga that -

    true only under moral evidence, ethic and humanist hat.

    Now, little minds and smaller hearts with a people charged

    to govern of a long grown, nearly proper law, which they themselves

    were to be higher above are backward at large.

    F*ck em! What’s you’re twenty Sarge?

       Cuddle, cuddle keep your trouble,

       let your fires learn.

     But they weren’t all that. And Heaven will hear!


    Yet another time, Cynewulf seized Sigebright.

    The captured’s kingdom, up for a charge.

    Till him, his long-accustomed alderman had to discharge –

     and thankful and acceptance lessoned freedoms large.


     Here, a warranted anger broke across his bow.

     Been tossed, E’coutez -moi! many a century beguile.

      And the countertop feeds and bleeds far back.

      And the taste in mouths lingers ruin and rack.


      Here too, the withy pretty in a one-piece nice.

      Here, reach, rest, tools housed for the night.

       And that wild, old quite flashes, runs the lawn.

       His anger invited, put to yawn.


       Whence in the morning, say it! Again, he will rasp all the non-delight

       into a trash dust to sweep off a table.

                  © Copyright 01-07-2020 – 05-2020 Joseph Duvernay.

    Haptic: regarding the sense of touch.

Late Sept., early Oct., 2018


No staff. Sheriff strip-search halted. Not! Hot days ha ha! Self so. Cottage.

But Guys sending guys pictures of themselves? Seems suspect!

Unheard of by our fathers! Heck! I barely like women, the female sex

for companionship! Men and boys, no chance! Still, for amity, proof of purchase,

where as warriors Good Men had better as you say Stay on top of the physical,

and not having seen each other in years…

- Himself! and some mental excursions! three days into a five-day fast.

One day after receiving your Pic last week. For the flat fun of it!

Not! – the fast, - Cleanse!?   And as you can see, Mr. Muffin needed it.


Coincidently. Got caught in Cicero’s De Amicitia ‘On Friendship’ a while back.

Impressive! And still ranking arguments and agreements with,

from the working-artist standpoint, who, in scattered cases, must be alone.

And, these: what seem like thousands of years later, I hardly, until recently,

recall having one, being, it seems, long alone in the work – few complaints!

 But I remember we were, there in that life, on that planet, then.


This is your second remind of the tequila so to that – Throw that detrite out, aeh!

Or keep it souvenir on a shelf. Few need eat a worm any time;

and story is O’ the trick on the gringo! I don’t know what the ruck I was thinking.

More like not thinking - a plucking Chicken following movements on the ground,

no looks up; quotidian, common, everyone’s doing it, herd-behavior bull-sit,

false civic, the young go through. That shit’ll kill your Humanity! The conformity!

--- Talking to myself.


  - Good men, with themselves and the-planet-at-heart had better stand

against today’s worlds’ traitors – right-wing worldwide - who are:

from their survivals’ greatly chancing men, with their disgusting nazi,

little-boy behaviors.

 - I’ve recently ordered Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader, done pretty good without,

but, better have it… and the whole Bowyer’s Bible a few weeks back.

And according to amazon, some new Josephus – his Against Apion

is on slow boat heave here.

Haven’t run in a while! But if The Big Guy/Gal lets, that may soon change.

We had rain yesterday, and it was what I was waiting for.

To wash away, down and, I know! to us, but… the long-stand smoke, that

for a soil, solid two-months of fire-burn assailed our once-breathable

and confined to post. Update: Fri. 10/05/2018 – rain did not work! Smoke is back.


    - Wondering how Maliya, Sydney and Sophia are (perhaps explain some day).

- Hey, have you seen The West/Unger Class and Interventions out of Harvard earlier this year

 - On YouTube? – Magnificent stuff! And I appreciate their attempts to guide correctly.

There are counselors winners would have on their side I think awake in the world!

There is sense and retort!


 And I mark, feeling more than a little dirt about it for his un-civic, nazi,

call them authoritarian tendencies, how correct I think Heidegger was about so much

in his Sein Und Zeit, (and his becoming, guardedly, my new Jimi Hendrix, James Brown,

James Joyce, Robert Plant and the band; and what about that new Charles Lloyd

and Kamasi Washington? that’s what the Sax I’m finally talking about! hero.)

Men have sped, far too fast, past first ideas and principles,

and have to go back-to-starts to rescue truer sense

of what they mean by so many Dasein interjects on the world.


 - Spied an anagram in the sky the other day, cloud you know! that figured a nine,

with the definitive bottom of old exclamation-point the fifth day into that fast,

that, like omen, if I let it – bade me four-more-days-to-the-fast-consider????

 Which quickly, ego, a tightening center, with temptation’s sixth-day

break-fast meal-ideas-pictured, slapped hedge `round, and badge stuck out

to stay me the “Boy this is going to be tough!” begin-test original five-day goal.

So, I did that, and made it! Out at five!  I’d only done three-dayers before,

so this was bigger trial, and recovery’s been interesting. - But here I sim…! –

new skin – just kidding! and all…. Though not about Life’s sneaks of consternations

mid-trial, and again the tightening! That was serious.


  Yet look, the sun shines. Winter-preparing Grays (Squirrels) with their brown ear, 

  black toes, downy chest and dust-mop tails; and family - all-the-rest –

are out, about ways and means, scurrying. And I’m still eating what I broke the fast with.

Mess of Wild-caught Salmon, Chicken, Turkey, Barley, Beans, Kale and Tomato –

Man did I need the carbs for energy! Thank you God, Mbaba Mwana Waresa,

Ashnan, Osiris, Demeter, Ceres, Hoori and Sara Mama for the Barley!

   Forget taste! Eat for Nutrition!


  - Alone? Yes! he said. But fortunate in that I can devote all my time –

to study/find; read, write; translate, and try to help man save himself, even if he doesn’t!

   Because I see nothing if not the brink ahead!

  Even as there is wish men could find that perfect soft clench for their –

“The serpent tempted me, and I did eat!” wonderous companion.

Who rightly, all, are eyeing as somehow-truly not-enough, we, male counterpart

these days --- while they, deep in the can-do-without deserts slough as wholes,

bizarrely forced under long mis-engagements there to wander.


And well! What fools would kill their own planet? for starters.

And where the heck is man’s cosmic base, cure-ist of all, simplest prevent

and life-save invent, long-sought, given from start, that never failed -

their one-plus-one-two-equals Golden Rule?

  - Be well, stay with it! Continue to help man, please! Talk soon!


  à(Copyright © 2018) àBecause a letter. But anyway!ß  Joseph Marcel Duvernay.



     As the eagle landed, back to chance;

     oh volant curtain of so much wing!

     Universe likened, crow?! No! Honk and pass.

     Side-on, a Black proud! tears madly,

     careless any observer her carrion, nose-up out ‘a there.

     See swerve danger line, yet, would her furtherance,

     from the place than sklent, silent, dangler meal by.


     Anode close-study halls of knowledge. Days too

     fin science discovered not faction’s extreme disrespect of Universe,

     wouldn’t make that contact. The right, Just! Any -

     from a-you to me for civilization (mea ad absurdum)

     that to a you must!


     Philosophy, other bother! Am suitable gift justice?


     Relationship, archegetes! triangle here your adjacent,

     opposite and hypotenuse asides; less-cumber

     the abc of depth, catch of camber; ideas that retch!

     citizens! fetch! and a leg over folly’d wall of Cronos get!


     Site there a Paris right bank, a tileworks; a Louis Philippe,

     who plain speech to a still, ever learneager Hugo kingly sups

     in a once perceive on conflict; when both were alive and paying

     some attention!  Oh, somewhere both were born,

     Lord Happiness squash with war!


     After breathe, bring to plain and mark the speech:

     “intelligent princes are very rare,” he was saying,”…They won’t force me

     into committing the great mistake of going to war…

     the secret of maintaining peace? To look at everything from the good side

     and at nothing from the bad point of view.” – But, that’s your collar! and

     where, quire, is the day’s respected Congo!?

    Its people, its world’s assistance, pressed by you, for you, are dying?


      Copyright © 2014 (29 March – Sept.) – 2016 Joseph M. Duvernay.

     Anode (anodyne: innocuous; comfortable).



    Horns against evil eye

    who would maraud now Earth.

    Evening chum there shark reef tried.

    It would be at least your knap, traveler;

    oscine and osier had both, axe to outrun.

      Thereat: to point a far, too, tap,

    income from wrest of they their everything,

    - meme to beach on Tuesday -

    lost among the let crimes, meaning against humanity,

    set out, out-set in the breach and inside reach of these

     - Poor, who an injustice would to save there seat!


    In fair-play!? Renew it;

    Luster’s uneven shave then

    a murdered spigot to talc reedy instrument, if,

    unable, fails not its need to flail;

    another category slips earth’s miss,

    insanity body to body too evident tears

    asking if each like Odysseus is not lost at last also;

    knowing none ever are in the great protection.

    Then, all Is well? bubblettes…

    Still at moot, expend at cross-grain!


    And any taking down forests now,

    are in commission of Crimes Against Humanity! say.

    Humanity that, as paper hemp,

    will wear its gold-stitch purple placement that –

    to kings from queens won; that owes of pulp for plaster

    of thought on, for favor or to be abreast in warfare.

    That now with others see turn unison, in brede astonishment

    to see a Red-Tailed away-glide orange in that sun;

    a Grasshopper course-blading serendipitous;

    varying rushes to certainty jumps; and international prejudice,

    at every corner of mouth and sneer, by homeboys everywhere

    a-trash heap umped! Woe the dark greased alleys of coverup.


    Copyright © 2013 (April 12 – Aug 23)-2016 Joseph Duvernay

    Notes: Aude: human voice, speech, sound; song, ode. Oscine: of birds cry,

    omen bringer. etc. crow, finch. Osier: water willow, of wicker, etc. Brede:

    archaic, Embroidery


      PERITELLOMENOS  'ÆMAR  (Revolving Day)


      No painter like evening sun

      lest morning Dawn.

      But there, what day hasn’t. And still


      Out, the lean rotates to rest;

      it must live in man’s town Hurry,



      Evenings’ on/off wild closed round,

      when last next old masters sat, that let,

      Bristlecone to peak mountain part;


      rattled coil young barely to start,

      as over tree-down once trod;

      morning, all things yellow to white;


      engild that later, yellow to

      how-gray-can-you-now black?’d;

      off, as you cog, to rest.


      Tonight, tomorrow on their Round, a satellite

      some say gave good service comes down.

      Possible death sentence. Mordor! for some.


      Best hand practice at the forebodes -

      pile no detriment success;

      father fingers draw a few back


      to mount-shadow-for-its-back,

      that they’d not be nice from, ‘cept

      it’s seen them cold and in their graves,

      and they, their final weight and consciences know that.

      Arrogance, to their strides, mule’d the sally back in.

      But men can fix that!


      © Copyright 2013 (Nov. 09-10, etc.) – 2015 Joseph M. Duvernay

      Note: Peritellomenos Æmar: around bringing-to-completion/revolving, etc. day.


       The lists, revised!

       All are barbed to survive

       bawd men of war

       who will not starve sore tragedy.

       Make friend of hate

       in treble blind

       if you’ve no mind.

       You can’t withdraw

       can’t stay

       but neither will be left behind.

       In another’s confused state,

       see you do not lull from ‘one and same is all,’

       clutching difference in that fall.


         Copyright © 2011 (27-29 July) – 2015 Joseph Duvernay

HIE  PLACES    (For the Left)


Author: The author in great Dylans of engagement; his self-proclaimed - by long sustained word and violent mob action - enemy/protagonists, and their enablers: the “anti-discussionist,” morally ambiguous, “move slower!” who backstage personal, but not outspoken revulsions of the inhumanity of their daemon-like fellows ogling strange fruit; draining life shear with Bombs, Banks, Insurances, Home Loans, many bilks rabid; - how was to fend, steered wrong deliberate? - and continuing from-justice and the-equality-of-man seized privilege are solely responsible for this work.


Then participant, as trail thick foliage pulls over itself, as bear; as among remainder, toing and froing, a civilization recounts selves old tale; know, that like a mother,  long suffering, any species, we ferry stubborn hope with teething faith our backs, glory your suffrage and…But brisk! We’re well past emissary noon, and brumal roars ahead.


PERSONAE:   Man (Mr. Angular). Comrade. Woman (Lady Rosaline). Sister.

                        Chorus. Our Philosopher (Philolaus). Wind (Snapdrag). Tommy Doors.


 (Overlook a great lawn).



Chorus: Without ray moods as we sang these phrases. (Addressing an audience).

Disappointment and vile possibility tied gore philosophies.

Ours would, the loss their hate-filled wages

in word and deed, as cross gaunt reveries


angary about tent thicket, swart snort boar fore

entertaining rabid to thwart.

And stood yet mild flat, mid-hours, gravid with herbage,

over there (points) cow after amble to their oaks sat.


The man sung night as he had seen it

but could not un-cloak clad clown.

Unlettered opulence in an uproot,


Woman: wore draggle their sorrow!


Chorus: staging whelp lowage left town.


Man: Some rather more or less radiant spokes of

latent sun to tired surface sped;

long in faded radiance

before plenty of crop again met.

Sister: It was a ball or was it hole, a heaved grace

grant of old its mighty load, content dragrags of prophete,

to land and life, assistance great, orgone consistent souls.


Comrade: Under noble given, there stiff necks lent,

containers naught of Grateful’s scope,

God of mercies even then drops in to compose them hope.




Comrade: Vector well Greek poetic slam then Preakshow

others had too,   one form, another; when reduce cry baddest and

wear that m^& like a coat came to survive forced thirst.


Chorus: Imagine! You could not! Being otherworld! Such helpless, as to die if

unsuckled on plop, sprout these poisonous. - We have ever looked around! -

Have nothing’d him! No wrong, less animal urgency. He comes at me!

For this (all point at arms)!


Woman: Having kept same short, stranded (so guard) at tore 99...


Man: Travel with Michael, off on one take-that-back! hunch –

again Jefferson et al – and grow wicket percentage

slung stuck Saul in the bones-shake


Chorus: while monkeying us some monkey do;

whose logical connectives have no receptor sights,

platys of same genus.


Man: ‘Don’t evil all your white boys! ad captandum vulgus!’ ideal father would wed. Though yclept the issue blamed; more haruspex[2] than harum scarum now our pursed arrival non ad captandum vulgus![3], under breath breathes here.


Chorus: Imagine. Could not, as he (some look on that old Mars) went long in that! Such helpless, to then not-a care-for, lay-in-waste-everything ill-breathers become! - Sound the Braved Awareness all ought!


Woman: Something like drawing `tis! A one third fakefear, if’t!

stopping evil’s one third across fine globe in every type, salvation is’t.

But bid awful trouble Jerusalem! Thus soldier seduce; sleuth, convex.

Woman & Sister: Oh sully dream reaper arrive with something truth;

that sum is too, rein twice then dupe not, sly tax breaks;

…you pee pee’d, Uups! Sinicize nor USA Euro-trashed Africa!


Man: Once say 30 days to platter plein atmospheres

aims ways a-coning, passage of time in clumps

wares revolution; sorry, close escapes Wordsworthian!

(whose early Afric sympathies are appreciate[4])

where smash metal terminus…


Chorus: trackback wouldn’t want together with lest runaway!

sad deceive, liar immaculate, in that sans-human Hungary,

USA, Israel, Greece and feral Italy too…who, all who, in falsity

are named but a few; that wealth forced from whom?

and `mid lock-step panache hurls loose (You do! “Sold media”)

“poor Africa! (while buying her)” “poor Asia, poor old Balance America south”.

    What does Europe have save what’s stolen? ask!

 - Who had on entry gift Air as breath for a man,

  later mother-skewer tears and misshapen am.


Man (looking at chorus, shaking head with perplexed exasperation;

turns to audience): Youuucall me Mud, whom I only Mother in;

say because of assignment of color you hate me!? And I should what?


Chorus: Elevate my consciousness?

- Understanding your, and this lack of respect for such loud, any color, dumb

un-civil bumbler disturbeth the honoured peace; once again

arm you wrong in your ancestry from me would wash.

Is un-civil! Crime against, instant! And I should what that dismiss out of hand

for genus age, color, manner? Dark Garb of Humanity usurpers wear least,

their worriest, you are innocent! And Be That!! vertebrate mixture roundabout

makes just as many of them in gray’s tumble paintment!

who won’t afford kindness.


Tommy Doors: And that was the extent of my fence! And I don’t give a f*#k!

A muth#@!*kas’ coming for me, and I know about it, I’m not waiting, most like!

I’d be “ereon geneaen te tokon te…”asking after his family and offspring[5]!”


Sister: Shoo shend[6]! Age In Preservations –

Legacy, the wright, wedges something sharp the year’d light.


Comrade: Borders that came on humane progeny

that were only, on walls, note! hung as portraiture!

Man: There, Wind, currented notch of poppies gents!

better rent!


Chorus: Orange lupin, benignant in slim share, near outhouse spore,

was plaque for explicit, no or the space with Reason wore!


 III.  DIME  STORE    (time passes.)

 Woman (looking toward near cleft of Godly rock): Reverent went

not scrawl hire terrain. Men’ve a great deal to put to themselves;


Chorus: she said something early in her voice.


Woman: Good-bye color him, rang at a place heard by knock.


Sister: There, Spoiled had grateful what Givers obeised   “Take!”


Chorus: Igneous the magma bone shared as sow.


Comrade (having gone to, and now from, just above them, at hiked seat):

To stillness!   Clouds gyre, grope glum mountain;

woody troop move. Round mickey mouse clouds poke around.

  Sprite throw spear; over sprat seeds sprent.

  Other moist, at gallop their un-crop the winds wear,

  pudgy dragoon on parade, some. There’s a jellyfish!


Man & Wind: Tried tare workouts to survive!


Man: Lux shone on that sixty self portrait of Titian;

and George C. Scott on Carson, “Hey I just turned sixty!”


Our philosopher: At least half way there Scott! Of a great year.

A son of Ariston[7] unions belike, in which, ‘What has a man?

Days and nights!’ (eves and morns of Daniel)!


Sister: ‘Then 364½ x 2 = 729, Philolaus.


Man: The number 729 hallowed for men…


Our Philosopher: and more than pleasantry.

  729 Months = 60+ years’; but dim pivot to border,

then set men. At least half way there! Again!

Possibilities’ conceived prospect!


Woman: Stretch. These are all that are left; Mothers from

Ios, Wilmecot, Penrith & New Orleans rear, complete phantas –

Beethoven fugues his Boogie-woogie anticipate, you,     rest there,

any laurel; away gripe ripe state fear is; glad

e`en Circe’s divertissement as glint for a while, in this back then.


Chorus:  But clear!

From the lower trough will!   And. ‘We go by feel!’


(Quiet. Slowly, all from the lawn to the Hall retire. Slaps TheThunderer.)

 IV.  CARPOOL   (Time passes; runs Dusk away, pulling her skirts,

taller than you remember; later evening.)


Man: Weir-whistler Wind there was a bobbing true purple sliver

out window; strong girder for spider,

life line, what you and Sun do, just then!


Wind: A handful note for cull? clay catchment, happnant?

File. Save As - For ‘Xtreme poetic try Virgil!?

A tear courser Gentleman’s Agreement?


Man: The out of true in men softs’ yesterways’ wit on troubled mirrors[8]!

- Who Virgiled my family, Head up! With you always was I there!

 It’s a huge thing to be simple in the world! “Hail regardant!”


Chorus: To a philosopher too her truth is hurtful.


Philosopher: ¡Mira! Tear where Go went no Stop come by.

Labour’s Lost euphoria, scad enjoyment!


(Walking from one room through another to a window far end).

Sister: Yes! They’ve ‘lorn the slim grass and way mislain Lady Rosaline!

Still, news! Gate forward to Africa not totter ledge bade.

And territory? True who Sabbath man to his heart,

no charade shakes. That it surface there’d be

some sumped sense of pain or ist that… ‘termin it sane

even in dung beetle months[9] men said something kind to the coming year,


…Chorus: These The Days of Their Lives.


Comrade: Ugh oh!





Author: (Many bemused, find it something like: “In the time to come, man to man cowardly; I, grim-looking, same; below, to ground!”)


Wind: What was that, old Greek?


Chorus: Hand scratch ugh oh’s! this way and Out!


Our Philosopher: Yes! Another stance just would to south build lock

so’s do-up moon overhead was in same isle we were!


Chorus: Said said `spirant.


Man: “Here, onadvance bush mount, ΏΣ  ΈΦΆΤ’.”


(Coming in from a side, smiling secretively).

Woman: Where, was a stand of tree that had his heart?

I heard you from in there!    Got he, reads the wind in them?

And wondrous bend, deadfall perch just past drain pipe,

had he thanked All for?


Wind: By now Outidanos, Ridgement! I shy not!


Man: Snapdrag! End! Lest found ill-magic’s table bent!


Chorus: Agreed Mr. Angular! - Tiller of what Old Man was -

 See Trees are waving thyrsi, so we’re on right track!


Wind: Some have word runners, breed of Thersites! Bigmouth for laughs, at Ilium!


Sister: Add rain ramp reign-meant; save whole animal, sooner must!


Woman: He too sacrament, guy, lie-in!


Comrade: As limb shadow, by you Blower (staring out)! squirrels it up and down a wall, in these our Nine maidens’ smile-chased enallments. (turning back). And like a once, and hoped ever poet, through the pain and hired pestilence - we too ‘would all to Time except[10]’ so many evils dallit; and prate οίόθεν[11] shall we? under old hell’s doused flame; enter new Eden, `mid fewer walls elected.


- Copyright © 2014 - 2015 Joseph M. Duvernay.

 // Append to margins of this parchment: R. Frost’s – Once By The Pacific. A Couple of lines in Archilochus about Muse to him coming, please, “and bring the universe...” Robinson Jeffers – something on being near the shore; also. S.T.C’s Monody On The Death Of Chatterton – from “He hears the widow’s prayer” to ”…makes Oppression feel.” P. Neruda’s I Begin by Invoking Walt Whitman, entire. St John of The Cross’s Spiritual Canticle 3 – “…Seeking my Love/I will head for the mountains and for watersides,/I will not gather flowers,/nor fear wild beasts;/I will go beyond strong men and frontiers. etc., etc. Much of Derek Walcott; Amiri Baraka, William (& Dorothy) Wordsworth. Aristotle to Alexander on the best way through life –  in Plutarch ?… Confucius. Certain portions in imaginative power overflowing of Milton’s Para. Lost. Amos, etc., etc. Suemonsteroidian, oidoid, doey? Where the take is thief, of life you’d lief.

[1] Motherfucker. Written earliest perhaps, by poet Hipponax against one Bupalus, sculptor, and his mother Arete; 6th century BC.

[2] Yclept: named. Haruspex: a diviner, basing prediction on the inspection of entrails.

[3] Non ad captandum vulgus: not to captivate, attract, please the common people.

 [4] William Wordsworth poems: To Toussaint L`Ouverture, & September 1, 1802 ???!,etc. 

[5] Homer: Iliad, Η128

[6] Shend: kill, destroy, etc.

[7] Plato

[8] W.B. Yeats; 1919

[9] Dung beetle…: “…translation might be something like “throughout the month of Bull Shit…” Greek Iambic Poetry: Hipponax; 78 & note, etc. Loeb.

 [10] Robert Frost: I Would Give All To Time. 

[11] Face to face.


    On Pray, sin: Homer paints a picture; Iliad I (Bk. 9.) I-498 -- I-508 or I-502 – I-512:

   From Agamemnon dispatched, with Odysseus, The Wall Ajax, and the two heralds;

   Phoenix, the old teacher/counselor to Achilles in his hut, before Troy:

    “…In fact Prayers are the Daughters of All-powerful God,

    wrinkled and lame, with embarrassed eyes throughout,

    they are busy walking behind sin; but sin is strong and fleet of foot,

    and all of them outpaces; and is pre-eminent on earth in impeding mankind,

    who coming after, they (prayers) bring cure.

    Indeed, who these Daughters of God pay due honour

    as they approach with their plenty, these are greatly benefited

    and are rescued by their petitions; but who might be impelled resistively

    to renounce them, they (prayers), going to God, pray that all at once,

    their sin, (He) not stand with; wherein hindering, He may chastise them."

     _______________________________             ______________________



   From The Apology. Shanz text (!?) 37E-38;

   Loeb: 28:

   “…Perhaps now might someone say, ‘In silence and also

   in peace with the assembly, O Socrates, such like will you be

   for us going from to live?’ This now, is of all, the most difficult to convince

   some of you. For if I say that this, to God, is not to be obeying,

   and that in this way with these there is no ability, in quiet to be carrying on,

   you will not be convinced by me nodding with my words.

   And if again I say, that it strikes as the highest good a man might do, being this:

   that very much each day, from excellence, his words to come forward

   as well as of the other things about which, you, from me, hear dialoguing

   on myself and with others well-examining. And who has not an examined life,

   has not the life for a man. And with these, still, little are you convinced by my saying…”

____________              ____________________________            _________________

      Despite his pre-Audean Audean (my word), with assists from William Whitaker's Words, Notre Dame:

      Gaius Petronius Arbiter Translations:   --     experimental!

      Poemata 76 P.L.M.:

      “… both the prayer and the sinner who has sold the world,

      now, of their own, each, a god greedily struggles to invent.”


      P. 82 P.L.M.:

      “…Go then! And life’s flying hours sell

      for rich banquets…”


      “…That about goodness: that its middle lies covered in mud;

      And that the unrighteous carry sails of white.”


      P. 87 P.L.M.:

      There, by turns, fight sea and air;

                      here the weakly stream penetrates laughing ground.

      There, sunken, loudly laments the sailor his ship;

                      here, mild, shepherd bathes in the river his flock.

      There, savage, death confronts the unbound fissure;

                      here, glad, the curved sickle prunes wheat.

      There, among the waters, it burns thirsty, the dry throat;

                      here, given falsely, are many kisses of poison.

      And navigating the billows, he tires, beleaguered Ulysses;

                      while on land survives spotless Penelope.


      Satyricon Ch. 119:

      “The globe now, whole, the conquering Roman held.

      On sea, on land, and with the hastening of the two stars (Sun and Moon),

      he was not satisfied. Laden, the sea, beating with his ships, he now disturbs.

      If beyond any hidden bay, the yellow gold was released,

      enemy it was, and doom in sorrowful battle was prepared

      in obtaining that power. Not the people with familiar joys were satisfied,

      nor of use to the common man were well-established pleasures.

      The riches of Corinth were extolled by the sailor on his wave,

      searching out the land for the brightness that would vie with purple.

      Hence, from Numidia, see! Plenty! From the people of the silk (China), new fleece;

      and the Arabian populous are despoiled of their arable land.

             Behold! Another wound slaughtering and damaging peace.

      He searches in the forests for the savage riches, and the ultimate reaches of Ammon

      of Africa lest he might miss the beast of the Ivory tusks, approaching costly annihilation.

      Hunger possesses the migrant classes, and the gilded tiger, pacing,

      is transported to the royal palace, so he may drink of human blood

      as the populous applauds.

      Alas! It is a shame to speak in words of the dying and the doom to be produced…



      …“Not less in the squares madness is,

      and the citizen changes his acquired suffrage for the confused racket of spoil and gain.

      The corrupt populous, the for-hire state of their fathers;

      it’s goodwill is of a price. Of the seniors, everyone; independent courage

      was destroyed, and scattered power changed their rule

      and their dignity gold suborned to ruin…”


      S. Ch. 120:

      “…See, luxury of spoils and wealth among them damns them maddening…”

            (c) Copyright 2015 Joseph Marcel Duvernay

__________________      __________________________     ______________



    HEROS, AGAPENOR, not bad, first,

    who truly to men honour brings.

    High sky battue. Variance to analyze.

    Bliss insists the moistened air –

    a system of gate and lock

    that lift, deflate as times go

    and leisure wing –

    are holp by fresh sun on herb canvas.

    All else a penury.


    Thinking long, mast collect; heave hard

     you’ve mentor-mention about imprisoned anguish

    that lopes lack, fills herds with:

    “From others will help come to our existence,”

    when such things barely exist.

    Trail loose the battogues of reason, welcome!


    Devote smiles and simper,

    mass times acceleration equals force;

    cold rest acquits singularly.

    Excursions notice tumbled from nidus, exhaustion heats;

    and in the table of thalamic definitions

    slave is rundown by enslaved; blackmail and blackball

    are from under Victorian and earlier sheet come;

    burrowing for references someone must go for meetings

    where our love went;

    and the best teachers have always been student.


    Copyright © 2005-2011-2015 Joseph Marcel Duvernay

   Notes: HEROS…Hero; more than mere man. Shower of kindness to fellow men.

   Battue: beating the brush to flush game. Holp: past of help. Mast: fruit

   of forest trees. Thalamus: p/o the brain – integrates sensory information.      Note: Temn: fr. L. temnere to despise.

      To  Toussaint  L`Ouverture  (entire) 


     TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men!

    Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough

    Within thy hearing, or thy head be now

    Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den;

    O miserable chieftain! where and when

    Wilt thou fine patience? Yet die not! Do thou

    Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow;

    Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,

    Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind

    Powers that will work for thee, air, earth, and skies!

    There’s not a breathing of the common wand

    That will forget thee, thou hast great allies,

    Thy friends are exultations, agonies,

    And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.


                        - William Wordsworth; ca.1802 (!?)


      THE ACADEMY AND THE CELLAR (Song Receive[On Cellar In Modern) 1813

   Sing: All along the river. The vault I dared strike; the wicked had known me wrong.

   It's almost an academic circle, told me many a caustic wit. But what do I see good friends?

   What a covered well mis-put together. Sit down said the company. No, no, it's not like the academy.

   It's not like the academy! I saw myself for month.

   Power to compete in the voice of the people with impertinence. A zeal on a nobleman or a beauty.

   But by half-way, you welcome me glass in hand. By intrique am forever banished. No! It's not like

   the Academy. no! It's not like the Academy!

   Toussaint coughing, spitting. Fuck it then! In a superb long speech saying: What an honour you do me!

   Gentleman, you are too honest; or something as strong. But as I appallingly wrong. Here we can show

   less genius. No! It's not like the Academy. No! It's not like the Academy!

   I thought I saw the President make yawn responding, Thy just lost a greater man than I'm worth,

   God knows how.

                                                        - P. J. de Beranger  -- w/ help from Google Translate


"My wife never has a new coat and I may have to write novels."
Kenneth Patchen `A Letter to God'


BIO: Wildman American(c)
No more wasteful want!

Secure humankind and what's dragging;
Whole Earth
Bear with.

The written word, form seen with inner eye

on understanding or flights of fancy and the form each sentence, paragraph,

the page itself takes and makes on the mind, a painting,

are all that right angles and let it.

So, color on canvas as guide for writer,

lines to separate,

thoughts, feelings, words - to help!? Thank you!

Copyright(c)2002-2015 Joe Duvernay. All rights reserved.


             CASTLES  OF  BOOK


   As heart-soft under touch of bodies wasn’t,

   succumb view of loft under sheaf-watch was,

   that sought, if life bungled apprehension with

   better books than attempts and courage;

   Holy Numa taking burial with his.


   Under clank fear - being bookless, self seraphed,

   file the duldrum ‘faithsofarincompanionship lost’

   that squishes futurity under the foot when stepped on,

   with cry taunt dryness of risen independence,

   that is a way wonder takes.


   A hint, B discrete! Affairs of state scream

   for the gentleperson asleep in sham.

   And why not Night? Reap lax donations!

   The hours sacrificial anguish mornings’ disposal.

   Crumbling year to keep count the mischief.


   Very cross the aloof, Verse!

   Drowsy spectre Amour fast from study, secures feel day.

   But, do you scoff kithe rescue,

   and drown now Lust

   in library’s shelves and sheets.

    © Copyright 2004 -2014 Joseph M. Duvernay

   Notes: Numa Pompilius. Kithe: chiefly Scots: to become known.



Recently browsing, upon a boon! The labours of one John Lewis on some Solon Fragments, and wrote to thank him.

The art of the translator is not in enhancement if she/he can.

No! If honest in praise of other writers, to their words only our level, easy un-encumbrances must come, flavored at best by a stretched under(over)standing, if empathetic imagining, that is beyond language.

 Chapman, opening one excuse for his Iliad translations, suggests the old saw: a word-for-word translation is a world of dearth many have said it was/is and must be avoided.  This sends freshmen fingers to heads. Then reader on! And by the cabbage, in another piece of literary suppliance he argues from the opposite: that if anything in his translation is thought suspect, the critic may go his translation word-for-word and see where, or if in fact he erred. Unless a wave of misunderstanding has off-set, and into the salt am tumble, I think we must be in company with Verace whenever in right minds, and abandon to excess large swaths the rest.

Greek text from Mikros Apoplous –



  FR.21 [Ed. 21] (Loeb C. Library Greek Iambic Poetry, Archilochus, Elegiacs, fr.21)

   And before now like an ass’s backbone

  stood the untamed forest

  packed close.


  25 [Ed.24]

  And therefore truly keen downthrough,

  I shall have good, fairness.


  26 [Ed.25] (Loeb; Archilochus, Elegiacs, fr.19)

   Not with me these many riches of Gyges are a concern,

  nor do I roll my eyes and shift my feet in jealousy, nor am indignant

  of (G)ods’ work; and I do not inquire of the tyranny.


   59. All about a Gyre.

        Shallow islands

        25 nautical miles north

        of the island of Paros.


   59 [Ed.54]; (Loeb. Greek Iambic Poetry, Archilochus; Elegies; fr. 105)

        Glaucus look! For deep in swells stirs the sea

        and around it crests a Gyre that rises and stands as cloud.

        A portent storm, it comes from un-safe panic.

        Sleep, Glaucus, plainly.


        (The sea contains depths cold.

        Its rotten, fierce waves; its joined cloud.

        All around a Gyre; bitter weather,

        that to a very great distance lurks, speeding by). = Note taken into the text.

(Note: The Loeb suggestion of the promontory at Tenos (Tinos) which is roughly “25 nautical…” as being perhaps the same as the mythological location of Poseidon or Athene’s rebuff of The Lesser Ajax, and, as well, a place of gyres in the Aegean/Mediterranean Seas or near there the proposed burial places of the washed-up body of Ajax at Myconos or Delos, all three Islands being within the 25 Nautical miles north of Paros mentioned in the Iamboi fr. 59, lead me to venture: Gyrea and gyre (a thing that circles) being one and the same thing and place and a dual play on the word by the poet.)


61 [Ed.56] (Loeb. Archilochus, Trochaic Tetrameters, fr.130)

   With the gods may you place all!

  Often indeed evil men

  standing upright on the earth

  altogether fall supine and quite well going

  where their backs they turned.

  Then, much born into the harms

  of the possessions of life,

  he runs all over the course;

  his judgment dangling loosely.


   74. Laophile, Lover of the People.

         Apparently, a plastic name.


    74 [Ed.69]; (Loeb. Elegies; fr. 115)

         Now, alas Leophile (Lover of All Things) it indeed begins.

         The Lover of All rules! And with the Lover of All Things

         all things rest. Leophile, I have heard!


         (Laophile (Lover of The People) I graze you!

         The Lover of The People accomplishes!

         The Lover of The People judges who else is a Lover of The People.) = Note into the text.
                         Copyright (c) 2013 -2014 Joseph M. Duvernay



There’s a savored, lonely road

where oak and grass hunch about their tricklet,

that one early matin, the coyotes’ complement,

at exhaust gait, gave surprised eye to meet.

Lynx rufus mowing on to plate,
neglected appetite; dear God, anything!

had that last chance scruff and bone about,

embarrassed skin thin of emaciation.


 And there was the whimper,

before last breath ails gone;

that stretch-heard groan, in less energy come to be,

and present the ear its bell toll.

 Led to my empathy and prayerful hands,

I asked the Author if She could grant urchin

better ahead, less trouble behind, more stalks crepuscular;

further felid he, in a safer more satisfying time!?

Copyright © 2011 (Sept-Oct.) – 2012 Joseph Duvernay
Crepuscular: of dusk or dawn. Felid: of cats.



   She took the waters in the evening

   and care laid on, the lightest presence.

   I fed, we were wed, Eros wore his newest clothes.

   Surely that glow, in decline, would take eons to detect.

   But resentment is an ease-stealer with an hundred hands.


   Falter shoals, navigable now that I know

   where the bars and banks are respect,

   where this little boat holding in its binnacle

   not lamp and compass, but light and season,

   shows, as in dream, my small and great treasons,

   how I am the very cut of man.


   As, in shinnery with the “moving muse”

   I will prance when weather is in meet to advance,

   and thank she and these ladies hence

   that my M. de LaVernaye, newly made,

   was never so false to much attack a woman,

   though I had shameful foray.


   “To excuse is to accuse,” the Marquis

   said to himself.

   All children are false

   if raised on the meat of adult nonsense,

   less effective for avoid;

   less affected in this void,

   I’ve gone from gold and dove to lead and owl;

   and that has been the way of it.


     Copyright © 2011 (26-27 Jan) Joseph Duvernay




   If I could but dance you twirl this madcap,

   I’d friend a flash and encamp

   that straight tender of the possible

   we, at behest of capacity would never supplant

   with vile rancor of tit-for-tat,

   but gladden us our welcome mat

   with a million courtesies quite like that.


   This, old ages would recognize

   as common civic, proven physic,

   and wish these having-come times

   mates, uncomplication;

   wizened, willow respect to oak our grasses,

   the montane’s other elects,

   and in that ragged trade complete our magnet.


   And since, for instance, all heady for change,

   our loft cognizance proves less-well for gain,

   we’d clasp brevity to the clean of wants

   and levity would certain grasp

   the carving avidity

   that yelled fire in our crowded theatre,

   when young we were.


   Also, as thrice the whiny end of things

   advances and is beaten back;

   when-as the habitus of empire is eased to simple,

   those siring veterans align for dazzle,

   forgiven, much like us, and spoiled by new soil:

   water its spring-wear zealot,

   locate easily their memories, in eyes fresh shut.


    Copyright © 2010 -2011 Joseph Duvernay




Land-rider Dawn, who’s glassy,

root finger pre-soot blackened amber fires

that in the metal plates middle coal up slow;

recede charcoal, yawn dawn;

the long margin civil.

Society you venerated correct, so there you went!

Lever pull, armature raise, switch engage,

discreet components worm on a board,

taupe cylindricals, tails intact. Resistance pots;

and a father with electron tubes fletch immortal air

for televisions’ tempest, core’s innocent

in an easy look back; a day's hot packed,

drawn to escape as mule hitched, from the worry first,

before as sycophant, man married his machine there.


Sight an overworked day, “That cart, bring it close!

“What’s under the tarp?” stood answer the riddle of

Sir, nothing worth attention!

“Then show it, at once, you insolent fat!”

As you say! Sheet grasp, light invade,

“May the gods forgive us this day…what! What is that?”

Oh like I said sir, he’s found no place to stay;

there with me retries

but (more assurance) a traitor not I be!

This man of cause curious, shiv charm,

labours minute joy to find.

I like to think the outcasts’ found it here

with thee sir in thy kingdom, what say?

“A poem from the fool then

and let the wretch be!”

Copyright © 2000 (!?) - 2013 Joseph Duvernay

                   YARN  FOR  A  SEASON

                         “…and spring was but a season of the year.”
                                                            P. Ovidius Naso


            Writ by every mind that’s laid on;

known in the yes of nods, no of mortals, bantling cries

and humus sod ooing; sung from mouths beyond number,

this wheel of fortune, this jeu d’esprit

really forecasts no outcome.

At once frigid, warm, hot and thin from burrow,

sayable of beauty, harmon, corybant, then:

‘without mode, dissonant’; waft in durian cheer,

she proves ambivalence in fail of showy,

with no care accounts and a very lot of variables,

as Jack tries budge with the frosty steed,

in this ‘chaplet month’ after ‘winter count’;

shearing Shrovetide ala Alcofribas; a hail goes opaque;

forsythia golden riots near the gate,

and for all her summer pretense, Pert primavera,

Theresa of the Undergrowth – tresses mussed,

clamored by all and April, that patter of verse,

collector of taxes – struggles hygeia.


            A temperate primary worms say,

where starry night and stifle day portend fires,

that long before Homer burned.

            Clear observations bend in effort,

and round corners even moon’s luminaria

seems hunch fortune’s bidance.

            Bobs of cork! Revoked poise of the once neritic,

in its reason, up-ocean-floors waterous, funnels discontent,

washes, wipes at pace, could not keep, through thorn thresh,

 bitten bramble. “There are tears for things.”


            But by heaven myrmidons, when “world is in its dotage”

            and you’ve long since loped with poodle ilky and dung beetle –

            others our story – to pen all poodles, save wastes beetle knew,

for man-friendly gain, treaded not footless your carbon load

'cross the plains of air, where Null-sinister accosts Felicity

to loud her motto, shove hell’s piles, and lose that ‘winter mind’,

they’re there still on our behalf, like all self-assigned

having “ropes to pull”, nails to toe, wounds to wrap:

Null-sinister warning, blood-weal turning oaths over in her hands.

             © Copyright 2005-2007 Joseph Duvernay   “Sunt Lacrimae rerum”


                ODYSSEUS  OF  MEMORY

            What a train of pities, carking woe;

            un-wowed we by The Brine’s roil;

            hungers have too many un-done.

            Limp from trial, another mask is down;

            sore of lobe, hunch from travels

            witful grow exceeding proud.

            The goddess does what she can,

            despite, avuncular distrust ups prow

            of well-found ships; lost they drown.


            ‘The Old One’s’ caprice has tests for

            believing’s deferent devotion’s offers, and

            that’s a trident-laden hand in the misty reach!

            You feel your fifty or so; increasing weight

            as each year suitors bold, pushes down;

            wives their best; she weaves endurance;

            usurpers, every etiquette breach.

            Most men captain, are finally the gift of reason

            to themselves, not these.


            Clearly there are those collecting the demise of men;

             Achilles at the hole, remorse makes a fevered friend.

            Perhaps if vengeance held its hand

            these slackers would be not out in pay,

            once-vaunt darings flat with them and day

            a chance again to elevate beyond mere child of night.

             But memory, more home than this, wants you

            to leave a son, a spouse after the bow is strung,

            eyes are blot, for somewhere away the distant earth.


            © Copyright 2006 Joseph Duvernay


         At history’s glass - no crying mother said,
             but the seminary? could not!
         This became good deed
            since only bright-cell, scholar-coat velleity.

         As if rising over scenes, he knows what it takes.
            Thinks, yeah! gained in loss. 
         After no cloister: book and flute;   
            boredom - a conceit not worth having.

         Careful the many mastodons of un-finish
            while too anxious to be of use to be of none,
         he creates his twelve American dances
            and Saturday never comes.

             © Copyright 2005 Joe Duvernay.
After: the ‘…German Dances’ by Haydn, Mozart,
                       Beethoven, Schubert, etc.


           UPLAND  LOVE
         In these tall it’s heyday ardor;
         all rough, in the sage,
         where quail are scratching day-beds
         and manzanita plumly welcome lark.

         Re-generation be the switch in this garden.
         What creature
         of earth-stuff poet the raveling?
         Old, fallen, batten as lay,
         oak of kindness is no scrub and
         all the sliding silica does not a rock misjudge.
         Lost of purpose
         these ken gird;
         seed-bounty pinõn op’s stores,
         elfin saplings endure and
         pageant death promises detail on folded arms.

         But millet concerns like:
         will these not of their making
         and they themselves keep?
         Or how an, “…in all of history!” can be
         judged by the reference-less
         will sink with the top layer
         in a few hundred years.
         One bolder’d say, Do what intrinsic scolds,
         go where remiss
         visit and this heaven love.

          © Copyright 2004-2005 Joe Duvernay.




 Some, like an old bear’s unscratched,

at new language, phrasings, let the anger spout,

are mean but cute.

Please, if we are not captured and said to be extinct,

let us confess doing that, and not the scene bruise ‘or.


Crank science and derelict art clap the start

cling to shadow that yelps, jumps

and mouth some nit junk

sunk with the overload ships of accolade.

Let men lean together on their troubles

and let’s see how often

they then dash toward categories.

Great Imagination, Lord of All

who folds gently within,

if something could be written might please You;

would You staff these woven hands?


Minds could wake, souls release weight.

Go the big help, stumble if must.

Life wears rare episodes You showed.

Love us the good angel’s wants, Hallelujah!

Copyright (c) 2002 -2012 Joe Duvernay. All rights reserved.


         EYES  ON  THE  WATER
          Rows an unused boat
          on lake of crystal dews
          and gets thoughts her stare:
          eyes like clear pools after a rain,
          that shot meaning; how
          she vitaled his human.

          Going for an anti-beer, he discovers:
          “Truth, be a heart widened
          emptied this time for the wife and fishes!
          I will: nothing to forestall, hers in fancy,
          flagon entire drained;
          whole craft put to edge
          that ever welcomes her!”
         his orbs and the vermiculate sea
          tell of bonds baffled,
          how all slipped easily,
          unnoticed out of hands.

          © Copyright 2005 Joe Duvernay


        NOTE: Please feel free to email at:


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Of Eugenies:

“Possessive,” over-caring, big-sister Eugenie de Guerin - letter to Maurice:


For shear force of emotion roused (`Omer owage, the roused!);

the following short burst from one of the greatest poets of modern times;

my opinion (may it do to you, half what it did initially to/for me) who,

I don’t think, ever saw herself as one (poet), instead, her brother Maurice.

Who did indeed do well. But she, produced one of the greatest pieces of writing,

vis-à-vis love for the common man, as I’m saying, that I have come across….

(I know, I’ve played that tune before.) - To her brother Maurice, January 1832


“…  Really you are leading the most charmed life in the world. Our amusements

are not like yours. One of these past days, when it was exceedingly cold,

Mimi and I went to take a walk in the woods and pay a visit to the crows;

but though very well clothed and well hooded, the cold was too much for us,

and fortunately we fell in with a fire made by some young shepherds, who

very graciously gave us up the place of honour, a stone larger than the rest,

in front of the fire. These children told us all they knew;

one had just been eating some fry, the other had fresh eggs at home

laid by a yellow hen; and from time to time they threw a few handfuls of

brouquilds (little branches) into the blaze with a look of such satisfaction

that there is no king but would have said, “Why am I not one of you?”

If I knew how to write verses I should sing the `Shepherds’ Fire.’”

  And so, her knowing was then unknown to her.? But not to we?

 And bonus: “You would never guess what work I got for a New Year’s gift;

it was an author who did not I believe, write to be read by women –

accordingly I shall not read him – ‘tis Montaigne.”

   - Much in which to delve with these two and theirs. Hope - to it!

                    FRANCIS   RABELAIS    (In Translation)

                       To The Soul Of


   ABSTRACTED  soul, ravished with ecstasies,
   Gone back, and now familiar in the skies; 
   Thy former host, thy body, leaving quite,
   Which to obey thee always took delight,
   Obsequious, ready :  now from motion free,
   Senseless, and as it were, in apathy.
   Deign now to issue forth, for a short space,
   From that divine, eternal heavenly place,
   To see the third part, in this earthly cell,
   Of the brave acts of good Pamtegruel.

“…"Tell us what it is to be a woman so that we may know what it is to be a man.

What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set

adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that

cannot bear your company…”

                                    From: Toni Morrison Nobel Lecture 1993

 __________  ___________   ________________

  “…Improve your privileges while they stay,

  Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears

  Or good or bad report of you to heav'n.

  Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,

  By you be shun'd, nor once remit your guard;

  Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.

  Ye blooming plants of human race divine,

  An Ethiop tells you 'tis your greatest foe;

  Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,

  And in immense perdition sinks the soul.”

                   - Phillis Wheatly, from: To The University of Cambridge, New-England

 __________________    _______________    _________________
  In S. T. Coleridge’s “Biograpaphia Literaria. Ch. II, he profuses on the injustice of the charge of irritability of men of genius. After suggesting that it would be instructive and not “unamusing to analyze the complex feeling with which readers take part against the author, in favor of the critic,” he says something I think applies to the general run of these times.

“A debility and dimness of the imaginative power, and a consequent necessity of reliance on the immediate impressions of the senses, do, we know well, render the mind liable to superstition and fanaticism. Having a deficient portion of internal and proper warmth, minds of this class seek in the crowd circum fana” (lit. near sanctuary – crowd safety) “for a warmth in common, which they do not possess singly. Cold and phlegmatic in their own nature, like damp hay, they heat and inflam by co-acervation; or like bees they become restless and irritable through the increased temperature of collected multitudes.

Hence the German word for fanaticism, (such at least was its original import,) is derived from the swarming of bees, namely, schwaermen, schwaermerey.

The passion being in an inverse proportion to the insight,-- that the more vivid, as this the less distinct--anger is the inevitable consequence.

The absence of all foundation within their own minds for that, which they yet believe both true and indispensable to their safety and happiness, cannot but produce an uneasy state of feeling, an involuntary sense of fear from which nature has no means of rescuing herself but by anger.”

_____    _____   ______________

 "You express a desire to know something of myself. Account me " a drop in the ocean
seeking another drop," or God-ward, striving to keep so true a sphericity as to receive
the due ray from every point of the concave heaven...I have been left very much at my
leisure. It were long to tell all my speculations on my profession an my doings thereon;
but, possessing my liberty, I am determined to keep it, at the risk of uselessness... One
thing I believe, - that Utterance is place enough... Yet the best poem of the Poet is his own mind."
                                                       - R.W. Emerson letter to Thomas Carlyle
                                                         Concord, Mass., 20 November, 1834   

A flippant Julien Sorel in Stendhal's “Le Rouge et le Noir” is open-field running to point out the duplicities and faults of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, which men, being men, cannot easily refrain from (neither faults nor complaint) and that he, Rousseau himself, mentions in that statement about paradox in "Emile"; I nevertheless, in what little read and understand of his work (Rousseau’s) I have done, find his thought enlighteningly refreshing, prescient in that way established truths have of them when rediscovered, and worth every mention I might muster. Observe (in translation): From his (1754) study “Discours sur l’Origine et les Fondements de l’Inegalite parma les Hommes”.

“The civil law being thus become the common rule of citizens, the law of nature no longer obtained except between the different societies, where under the name of the law of nations, it was modified by some tacit conventions to render commerce possible, and supply the place of natural compassion, which, losing by degrees all that influence over societies which it originally had over individuals, no longer exists but in some great souls, who consider themselves as citizens of the world, force the imaginary barriers that separate people from people, after the example of the sovereign being from whom we all derive our existence, and include the whole human race in their benevolence.”


"...The sayings of the wise are like goads; like fixed pegs are the topics given by one collector.
As to more than these, my son, beware. Of the making of books there is no end,
and in much study there is weariness for the flesh..."
                                                   Coheleth or Ecclesiastes in the Greek trans. of the Hebrew
                                               (one who convokes an assembly) Chapter 12. Epilogue vs. 11-12

Curse on these taxes - one succeeds another - Our ministers - panders of a king's will -
Drain our wealth away - waste it in revels - And lure, or force away our boys (and girls),
who should be The props of our old age! - to fill their armies And feed the crows of France!
year follows year, And still we madly prosecute the war; - Draining our wealth - distressing
our poor peasants - Slaughtering our youths - and all to crown our chiefs With glory! -
I detest the hell-sprung name..."
                                                   From: Robert Southey's (1774-1843) "Wat Tyler" Act 1

"Meet us under these cypresses, which turn their solemn tops to heaven;

visit us among those espaliers where the citrons and pomegranates bloom

beside us, where the graceful myrtle stretches out its flowers to us;

and then venture to disturb us with your dreary, paltry nets which men

have spun!"      - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe  'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship'

                          T. Carlyle trans.


"Perhaps your family and friends

Knew a merry flash cracking the gloom

We see in pictures but I prefer

And will keep the darker legend.

For I have seen how

Half a millennium of alien rape

And murder can stamp a smile

On the vacant face of the fool,

The sinister grin of Africa's idiot-kings

Who oversee in obscene palaces of gold

The butchery of their people..."        -  Chinua Achebe

"Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents,
it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors,
we borrow it from our Children."
Ancient Indian Proverb

“....I am poor and naked, but I am the chief of the nation. We do not want riches
but we do want to train our children right. Riches would do us no good.
We could not take them with us to the other world. We do not want riches.
We want peace and love.”

Red Cloud (Makhpiya-luta) , April, 1870

        BOILED   DOWN

      It's not

      about us.

      It's what

      we're about.

          William Bronk


"Night is no longer amazed at the shutter a man closes.

    A speck of dust falling on the hand absorbed in the poem

    blasts poem and poet."

                        From: 'TIME AND RISK'

                                        Rene Char


"Have you learn'd lessons only of those who admired you,

     and were tender with you, and stood aside for you?

Have you not learn'd great lessons from those who reject you,

     and brace themselves against you?"

                                          - From: 'STRONGER LESSONS'

                                                                    Walt Whitman


"Belief in God is an inclination to listen,

but as we grow older and our freedom hardens,

we hardly even want to hear ourselves,

the silent universe is auditor…

I am to myself, my trouble sings,"

From: SUMMER, '14 - No Hearing'

Robert Traill Spence Lowell

DEREK WALCOTT - From : 'The Star-Apple Kingdom', 'The Schooner Flight'
"...As I worked, watching the rotting waves come
past the bow that scissor the sea like milk,
I swear to you all, by my mother's milk,
by the stars that shall fly from tonight's furnace,
that I loved them, my children, my wife, my home;
I loved them as poets love the poetry
that kills them, as drowned sailors the sea.

You ever look up from some lonely beach
and see a far schooner? Well, when I write
this poem, each phrase go be soaked in salt;
I go draw and knot every line as tight
as ropes in this rigging; in simple speech
my common language go be the wind,
my pages the sails of the schooner Flight.
But let me tell you how this business begin... "

tr. David Lunde
Chinese text

Meeting Li GuiNian in the South
At the home of the Prince of Qi
I have often seen you,
and in the hall of Cui Jiu,
I have heard you sing.
Truly these southlands
boast unrivalled scenery-
to see you once again
when the flowers are falling.

Chinese text

From: tr. Mike O'connor
Dreaming of Li Bai (2)

You say your return is always harrowing;
your coming, a hard coming;
Rivers, lakes, so many waves;
in your boat you fear overturning.

Going out the door, you scratch your white head
as if the purpose of your whole life was ruined,
The rich and high positioned fill the Capital,
while you, alone, are careworn and dejected.

Who says the net of heaven is cast wide?
Growing older, you only grow more preyed upon.
One thousand autumns, ten thousand years of fame,
are nothing after death.

"Clearheart girth abode alluring. . .
Slow accretion year by year advancing mass, tree-home penultimate dream
In child-heart bower.
Benevolence giant! Sequoia presence.
I thought perhaps some glimpse to steal of spirit tutelar within --

Imagined hamadryad, sylvan nymph; intelligence not faun.
Took more than thought. I stared and stared
Till vexed the glaring nothing! I revealed.
Others had described it, persuaded one the charm. . .
Why then not I? Imagination? Oh I see.
Foolish to be angry. . . just love the tree, instead.

Came then softly the miraculous:
Was loving me the tree and was its spirit! Found! 
Bedraggled Lily of the Roadside:
Trumpeter Datura Derelitta.
Think on it. Her blossom is so very pure. . .

Rank the stalk; and prickle leaf already claw gone thistle. Thorn-apple
Spikings come no surprise. Lethal. Fell. Is witch-wood entered here!
Choose carefully your gait."
-From: James Joyce 'Striding the Bones of the Coastal Range',
an excerpt from 'Growing Pains': The Early Poems by James
Joyce, published by Ladan Reserve Press (c) 2003 James Joyce



They characterize
their lives, and I
fill up
with mine. Fill up
with what I have, with what
I see (or
need. I make
no distinction. As blind men
cannot love too quiet beauty.

These philosophers
rein up
Their boats. Bring
their gifts, weapons
to my door. As if
that, in itself,
was courage, or counting
The story is a long one. Why
I am here like this. Why you
should listen, now, so late, and
weary at the night. Its
heavy rain
the grass flat.

It is here
somewhere. It grows
here. Answers. Questions. Noise
stiff as silence...
LeRoi Jones (now Amiri Baraka)


We must look after our health, use moderate
exercise, take just enough food and drink to recruit, but not to
overload, our strength. Nor is it the body alone that must be
supported, but the intellect and soul much more."

- Cicero

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched

, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
beauty, how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive


I cannot spare water or wine,
Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;
From the earth-poles to the Line,
All between that works or grows,
Every thing is kin of mine...




"A baying and clouds! Into bracken they're riding their madness!
Like fishermen cast their nets into vapour and will-o'-the-wisp!
They sling a rope round the crests and invite us to dance!
And wash the horns in the wellspring - so learning the lure-call.

What you chose for your cloak, is it dense, can it harbour the radiance?
They creep round the trunks like sleep, as though offering dream.
High up they hurl hearts, the mossy globes of dementia:
O water-coloured fleece, our one flag on the tower!"



Please Look for these books of poetry; `DRAGON CONVERSATION'(Also available in E-Book
form from 1st Books Library on the Web at
Also first and second Books; `I BEGIN: (Poems, Essay's, Thoughts and Observations)',
and `OFFERING' by Joe Duvernay. Available on the Web thru Barnes &,, Abebooks and more or please ask for them at your local bookstore.


"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain."

-p/o Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s "CRISTABEL"


"Can I my reason to my faith compel,
And shall my sight, and touch, and taste rebel
Superior faculties are set aside,
Shall their subservient organs be my guide?

Then let the moon usurp the rule of day,
And winking tapers show the sun his way.
For what my senses can themselves perceive,
I need no revelation to believe."

Part I (excerpts)
John Dryden


"It is a doctrine of war not to assume the enemy will not come,
but rather to rely on one's readiness to meet him: not to presume
that he will not attack, but rather to make ones's self invincible.
Ho Yen-hsi...The 'Strategies of Wu' says:'When the world is at peace,
a gentleman keeps his sword by his side.'"
'Be not Reckless, cowardly or quick-tempered'
- Comment/question --- Is hope a fool then?

-From: Sun Tzu, 'THE ART OF WAR'

---------------                           -----------------

"Heaven could not hold Love, it was so heavy in itself. But
when it had eaten its fill of earth, and taken flesh and blood,
then it was lighter than a leaf on a linden-tree, more subtle
and piercing than the point of a needle. The strongest armour
was not proof against it, the tallest ramparts could not keep it out."

- From, 'PIERS THE PLOUGHMAN', by William Langland

-------------------                             ---------------------

"It is called clouded
when petals dust its surface -
that stream that becomes
a mirror for plum blossoms
year after departing year."


-------------------                        ------------------

Oh! may I curse my blackness
that makes me feel hungry
When the land is full of
gold and diamond
When the land is green
Like the frog blanket
May I wait then

-From: 'MAY I WAIT' by Simion R. Nkanunu

 --------------------                         --------------------

"What of seasons, when for ages
All the sky my lake engages:
What of years ill or good,
When the sap mounts in the wood;
What of years or ill,
When the Danube rolls on still.
Only man is always changing,
O'er the world forever ranging;
We each do our place retain,
As we were, so we remain;
Oceans, rivers, mountains high
And the stars that light the sky,
Saturn with its whirling rings,
And the forest with its springs."

-From 'RETURN' by Mihai Eminescu

----------------------                          -----------------------

Crossing the Lonely Sea.
Delving in the Book of Change, I rose through hardship great,
And desperately fought the foe for four long years;
Like willow catkin, the war-torn land looks desolate,
I sink or swim as duckweed in the rain appears.
For perils on Perilous Beach, I heaved and sighed,
On Lonely Sea now, I feel dreary and lonely;
Since olden days, which man has lived and not died?
I'll leave a loyalist name in history!

-(tr. Xu YuanZhong) - Wen TianZiang

---------------------                         -----------------------

From O Sensei - "Soft controls hard
Hard cuts soft
If pulled, push
If pushed, turn."


"Here learn ye Mountains more unjust,
Which to abrupter greatness thrust,
That do with your hook-shoulder'd height
The earth deform and Heaven fright.
For whose excrescence ill design'd,
Nature must a new Center find,
Learn here those humble steps to tread,
Which to secure Glory lead.

See what a soft access and wide
Lyes open to its grassy side;
Nor with the rugged path deterrs
The feet of breathless Travelers.
See then how courteous it ascends,
And all the way it rises bends:
Nor for it self the height does gain,
But only strives to raise the Plain.
- From: 'Upon the Hill and Grove at Bill-borow.
To The Lord Fairfax.' by Andrew Marvell


1A:1 Mencius went to King Hui of Lang. The King said: "My good man,
since you haven't thought one thousand li too far to come and see me,
may I presume that you have something with which I can profit my kingdom?"
Mencius said:"Why must you speak of profit? What I have for you is jen
(the human mind, humanity, doing, intending, being good, etc.) and Righteousness,
and that's all. If you always say `how can I profit my kingdom?' your top officers
will ask, `how can we profit our clans?' The shih (influencers) and the common
people will ask: `how can we profit ourselves?' Superiors and inferiors will
struggle against each other for profit, and the country will be in chaos."
"In a kingdom of ten thousand chariots, the murderer of the sovereign is usually
from a clan of one thousand chariots. In a thousand-chariot kingdom, the murderer
of the sovereign is usually from a clan of one hundred chariots.
Now, to have a thousand in ten thousand, or one hundred in a thousand
is not really all that much. But if you put Righteousness last and profit first,
no one will be satisfied unless they can grab something."

Mencius said: "The Superior Man concentrates on the cultivation of his own character.
The common error of people is that they forget about their own garden and try to
cultivate the other man's garden. They expect much from others and little from themselves."

Mencius said: "When someone told Tzu Lu about one of his faults, he was happy.
When Yu heard words of goodness, he would bow in respect. The great Shun surpassed
even these men.
He regarded the goodness of others to be the same as his.
He let go of his arbitrariness and followed others,happily learning from them
in order to develop his goodness. From the time when he was a farmer, a potter
and a fisherman, up until he became Emperor, he never stopped learning from others.
" To learn from others to develop one's goodness is also to develop goodness
together with others. Therefore, for the Superior Man, there is nothing greater
than to develop goodness together with others."

From: a new translation by Charles Muller


"A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness: but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing..."

First lines - `Endymion' John Keats.


"Apart from the question of what rights are in themselves, or how human beings
come to have them or to own them or to lose them, it may be asked: Why should
philosophers have a special claim to the right to express themselves? Why they
rather than artists or historians or scientists or ordinary men? Freedom of speech -
or of expression by means other than words - may be an absolute end, needing no
justification in terms of any other purpose, and worth fighting for, some would
add dying for, for its own sake, independently of its value in making people happy
or wise or strong. That is what I should wish to say myself. But this is a point
of view which has seldom held the field in human affairs; more frequently there
has been a tendency to believe in some single ideal - social or political or
religious - to which everything was to be sacrificed, and among the first the
freedom for individual self-expression, because it was, quite rightly, seen to
constitute a grave danger to the kind of social conformity which uncritical
service to a single ideal in the end requires."
From:Philosophy And Government Repression, Studies in Ideas and Their History,
THE SENSE OF REALITY, Isaiah Berlin (The supposed English Empire appologist)


One poet on another (W.H.Auden on Rimbaud)

The nights, the railway-arches, the bad sky,
His horrible companions could not know it;
But in that child the rhetorician's lie
Burst like a pipe: the cold had made a poet.

Indeed a self imposed hard life he had! Thanks again!


"Come then to prayers
And kneel upon the stone,
For we have tried
All courages on these despairs,
And are required lastly to give up pride.
And the last difficult pride in being humble."
Phillip Larkin


"It was geography which was the cause - political geography. It was nothing else.
Nations did not need to have the same kind of leader, any more than the puffins
and the quillemonts did. They could keep their own civilizations, like the Esquimaux
and Hottentots, if they would give each other freedom of trade and free passage and
access to the world. Countries would have to become counties - but counties which
could keep their own culture and local laws. The imaginary lines on the earth's
surface only needed to be unimagined."
From T.H.White's 'The Once And Future King'


"Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds: weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.

Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liguid leaves all day.

We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so."

From 'PATIENCE' by Gerard Manley Hopkins


"Some truths there are so near and obvious to the mind that a man need only
open his eyes to see them. Such I take this important one to be, viz.,
that all the choir of heaven and furniture of earth, in a word all those bodies
which compose the mighty frame of the world, have not any subsistence without a mind;
that their being is to be perceived or known; that consequently so long as they
are not actually perceived by me, or do not exist in my mind or that of any created spirit,
they must either have no existence at all, or else subsist in the mind of some Eternal Spirit:"
George Berkeley (1685-1753)


"He sang of life, serenely sweet,
With, now and then, a deeper note.
From some high peak, nigh yet remote,
He voiced the world's absorbing beat."
From Paul Laurence Dunbar's THE POET


"Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive Robin-song
When flowers are in their tombs.

Through the slow summer, when the sun
Called to each frond and whorl
That all he could do for flowers was being done,
Why did it not uncurl?

It must have felt that fervid call
Although it took no heed,
Waking but now, when leaves like corpses fall,
and saps all retrocede."


"It is life in slow motion,
it's the heart in reverse,
it's a hope-and-a-half:
too much and too little at once."
From `THE WAIT' by Rainer Maria Rilke


"My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled are all felled;
Of a fresh & following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow & river & wind-wandering weed-winding bank.
O if we but knew what we do
When we delve or hue --
Hack & rack the growing green!
Since country is so tender
To touch, her being so slender,
That, like this sleek & seeing ball
But a prick will make no eye at all,
Where we, even where we mean
To mend her we end her,
When we hew and delve:
Aftercomers cannot guess the beauty been."
From 'BINSEY POPLARS felled /(18)79' by Gerard Manley Hopkins


"The words "ecology,""economics," and "ecumenism" all have their root
in the Creek word `oikos', meaning house or home. Ecology, topmost in
the hierarcy of the life sciences, has indeed to do with the economy of
the great house of nature, of which it seeks to reveal the structure in
space and time and especially the interactions of animals and plants with
themselves and each other. Its content is enormous, for ecology enjoys the
entire empirical content of the sciences below it in the hierarcy as well as,
of course, the concepts contextually peculiar to itself."
- From `Aristotle to Zoos' by P.B. and J.S. Medawar


The last lines of John Webster's play, 'The Duchess Of Malfi'---

"As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts,
Both form and matter. I have ever thought
Nature doth nothing so great for great men (and women),
As when she's pleased to make them lords of truth:
Integrity of life is fame's best friend,
Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.


An excerpt from a poem attributed to the Welsh bard Aneurin:

"To Cattraeth's vale, in glimering row,
Twice two hundred warriors go:
Every warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honor deck,
Wreathed in many a golden link;
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's exalted juice.
Flushed with mirth and hope they burn,
But none to Cattreath's vale return,
Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong,
Bursting through the bloody throng,
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing their fall."


"Love by ambition
of definition
suffers partition
And cannot go
From yes to no,
For no is not love: no is no,
The shutting of a door,
The tightening jaw,
A willful sorrow;
And saying yes
Turns love into success,
Views from the rail
Of land and happiness;
Assured of all,
The sofas creak,
And were this all, love were
But cheek to cheek
And dear to dear."
- W. H. Auden, from "Too Dear, Too Vague"


"To every man
His treehouse,
A green splice in the humping years,
Spartan with narrow cot
And prickly door.

...To every man
His house below
And his house above-
With perilous stairs
-James Emanuel, from 'The Treehouse'


"Devotion to Rama lay like a seed in his heart:
as he listened to the discourse, it began to sprout."
- Author 'Rasika,Puttige' describing the Indian poet Goswami Tulsidas.

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     In a time like worry,

     few sent to calculate the radius

     of ownership and legacy, at fault on its pyre.

     Bravery thought to unseat the spoilers.

     Fed and directed on love-starved language,

     the color-nourished house,

     on monotint of gray feasted,

     and the blinkered vowed their excess and took stock

     by numbers, bad habits for better went round.

     Blood-spill hands raised the palisade

     “God and my right” on bodies of the commons.

     But it was not porphyr in the bleed of night,

     nor thirst-quenched in busy waters,

     as sword and sentinel kept flank the tree of life.


      Questions without borders hid in feral frontiers,

      and if native tools could not, rented had no right,

      fatted on the fair price

      we had seen Adam cleaning his ears,

      Eve make use the new skirt,

      and Reached Rule-by-right halt, best by heaven,

      drown, answers swelling over time.

      The marred, great jest of get and keep of equivalence

      sent the trophy of climb-reason a wound behind its shield;

      Sober, displaying the muscularity,

      fine, shine pelt sallied for,

      gazed longingly to graze near the house.


     Privy-counselors to a dry field,

     proud pets of the mean –

     who wanted their separate-but-equal, privatized,

     robber-baron world back –

     did not know that shoot would not yield,

     that praise for them was not meant;

     and in a sky like reason, where bells and lanterns do mix,

     The Benefit in all weathers leapt in their lives,

     and hearts fair of kind, if not dominion,

     shared and mined the great state of benediction.


      Copyright © 2010 Joseph Duvernay

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