Dancing With Words
This modern step of time may turn my phrase-
but now attend- see language as bequeathed.
What sweep of lines from Homer's waltzing days
shall partner me? Stride quick the speech received
The No-Light In The Head
When we finish our dance
our bulk fills the ground,
and the fear that we own
is the thought of no- sound,
Allan Tate At Christmas
On this His winter's day the Christ bells ring
that celebrate this season of despair.
Returns the dear, wronged echoes that now sing
in chorus, almost human, like a prayer.
Cresting flowers are plumed as waves.
Lives, our lives are smashed ashore.
Slips rip tide, waves pour pounded mortal roar.
The single life now drowns.
Afternoon In Summer
Cloud-popping, blue-raved summer sky
with light stuck out like a tongue:
you're the gorgon's gaze
to a warm, dry earth
Lullaby Of A Tired Mother
dawn shall break.
I'm to pieces
if you wake!