Platypus of Truth

Sunny Day The Sunny Days have returned (You can have them) Soon, no one will want them. Heat and humidity will send Us all in doors and things will go unseen as so much of the World Does that can’t be Viewed from a screen. I think Hell is full of screens Where we watch anything but what we should be watching. You, Stranger, who pass Through this day with me, Stop a moment with me to regard the things That need regarding.

Proclamation, December 2017 I Do Proclaim: That this is my hour. I take as my demesne All things that you reject: Rainy days, Cold, crisp Autumn, The glistening thickets of Winter, Old churches, Graveyards. And the moss about the foot of trees. I will be kind to postmen, And those who prepare my food. Praise God for tobacco, and The fellowship of working men Smoking cigarettes on the porch. I will thank God for immigrants Who cut grass, Domestics, All who do the work my Irish ancestors did. Praise the Almighty for every man Who calls himself a stranger in his home, Chronically reduces his boil to a simmer. I will not forget you either, If you have what you love Taken from you Yet remain unbowed. You are my teacher. I welcome All From the boarders of my kingdom In the particular- A shake of hands Or a nod Between potentates.

On Rainy Days On Rainy Days like this one I feel Gettysburg in my bones- or maybe Plymouth- seeing puffs of smoke in the wet air when no one else is out. You happy people who will not face the Rain, you Insiders, who never looked in through lighted Windows and wished to God that you belonged: What do you know of Astor or of woodsmoke- who never had the larger fellowship that comes with being Alone.