hickerty dickerty
Hogg
by Roberto Lavidez
this world
has mony
ups an’ downs
atween the
cradle an’
the grave
with glowing
feelings
kindling
bright
some filial
visions of
delight
that almost
border
upon pain
o mother
mother
make my bed
an’ make it
soft and easy
an’ with the
cold dew
bathe my
head
for pains of
anguish
seize me
list when
the blackbird o’
singing grows
weary
list when
the beetle-bee’s
bugle comes
near ye
then come
with fairy haste
light foot
an’ beating
breast
I meant to
have married
an’ tasted
the pleasures
the sweets
the enjoyments
from wedlock
that flow
she’s neither
proud nor
saucy yet
she’s neither
plump nor
gaucy yet
but just
a jinkling
bonny blinking
sing hey
hickerty
dickerty dear
the lass that
has gowd
an’ beauty
has naething
on earth
to fear
o would the
fairest of
mortal kind
aye keep the
holy truths
in mind
that kindred
spirits their
motions see
who watch
their ways
with anxious ee
oft dreamed
of beings free
from stain
of maidens
of the
emerald main
o love love
love!
love is like
a dizziness
it winna let
a poor body
gang about
his biziness of
fairy dames
in grove
at even
of angels
in the walks
of heaven
follow thee
follow thee
wha wadna
follow thee
long hast thou
loved and
trusted us
fairly
o’er the fairy
vales that lie
beneath
the glimpses
o’ the moon,
or round the
ledges of
the sky
in twilight’s
everlasting
noon
to linger by
the sainted spring
and trace
the ancient
fairy ring
where moonlight
revels long
were held in
many a lone
sequester’d field
down with
the praises
of lilies
and daisies
of posies
and roses
the like
never grew
o come
my love
the branches
link above
our bed of
blossoms new
away away
o’er mountain
en’ main
to sing at the
morning’s
rosy yet
an’ water
my mare at its
fountain clear
but I see
her yet
I see her yet
ye lasses
lightsome
blithe an’ fair
let pure affection
win the hand
when the
little wee
bit heart
rises high
in the breast
an’ the
little wee
bit starn
rises red
in the east
the high belief
in Providence’s
sway in the eye
of reason
wears into
decline and
soon that
heavenly ray
must ever cease
to shine
but oh
when shall
that morrow be
that my true love
shall waken
when shall we
meet refined
an’ free
amid the moon
land braken
frail man
of all
the arrows
wounding thy
mortal heart
there is
but one whose
poison’d dart
is so astounding
that bear it
cure it
there can none
when many
a day
had come
and fled
when grief
grew calm
and hope
was dead
where on
the dewy wing
where art thou
journeying
thy lay
is in heaven
thy love
is on earth
here then
we pause
and need no
farther go
we have
reach’d
the sea-mark
of our
utmost sail
where goes
thou next
where wilt
thou hie thee
still there is
rubbish enough
to try thee
for all the sturt
and strife I made
for all I did
and all I said
alas! I fear
it will be lang
or I forget that
wee burd’s sang!
here’s for trouble
and here’s
for smart
and here’s
for the pang
that seeks
the heart
©robertolavidez2014
Jack Gilbert
between
poems
by Roberto Lavidez
woke up
suddenly
thinking
I heard
crying
I wandered
hour
by hour
with my
gentle
bewildered
nee
following the
faint sound
of women
in the
moving
leaves
heart
wanders
lost in the
dark woods
dream
wrestles
in the castle
of doubt
we come
from a
deep forest
of years
into a valley
of an unknown
country
called
loneliness
innocence
has gone
out of me
the song
the song
suddenly
has gone
out of me
alone
with the
heart
howling and
refusing
to let it
feed on
mere
affection
lying in
the dark
singing
about the
intractable
kinds of
happiness
we are
surrounded
by the
absurd
excess
of the
universe
by meaningless
bulk
vastness
without size
power
without
consequence
the heart
has a life
of its own
it gets
free of us
escapes
is ambitious
unfaithful
the soul
is ambitious
for what is
invisible
hungers for
a sacrament
that is both
spirit and
flesh and
neither
in this
country
we have
everything
we need
except
what we
don’t have
the mind
and its
fierceness
lives here
in silence
I dream
of women
and hunger
in my valley
for what can
be made
of granite
what we
are given
is taken
away
but we
manage
to keep it
secretly
what is
the best
we leave
behind
certainly love
and form
and ourselves
surely those
not wanting
to lose it all
for poetry
wanting
to live
the living
sun rising
over the
volcano
at the full
moon
above
the sea
a lady
asked me
what
poets do
between
poems
between
passions
and visions
I said that
between
poems
I provided
for death
until all
the world
is overcome
by what
goes up and
up in us
singing and
dancing and
throwing down
flowers
poetry registers
feelings
delights and
passion
but the best
searches out
what is
beyond
pleasure
is outside
process
nevertheless
soon there
will be
only the
raccoon’s
tracks in
the snow
down by
the river
silence
answering
silence
song
answering
song
gone
and gone
gone
somewhere
gone
nowhere
©robertolavidez2014
wordsworth a
try
by Roberto Lavidez
man is as grass
that springeth
up at morn
grows green
and is cut down
and withered
ere nightfall
strongest sinews
fail and many
a blooming
many a lovely
cheek under
the holy fear
of god
turns pale
in thoughtful
moments
wafted by
the gales
from fields
where good
men walk
or bowers
wherein
they rest
not always
is the heart
unwise nor
pity idly born
if even a
passing stranger
sighs for them
who do not
mourn
where bubbles
burst and
folly’s dancing
foam melts
if it cross
the threshold
where the
wreath of
awe-struck
wisdom
droops
a trouble
not of clouds
or weeping rain
nor of the
setting sun’s
pathetic light
where sights
were rough
and sounds
were wild
and everything
unreconciled
who would
keep power
must resolve
to cleave to it
through life
else it
deserts him
surely as
he lives
if good
can smooth
the way to
evil choice
from all rash
censure be
the mind
kept free
like thoughts
whose very
sweetness
yieldeth proof
that they were
born of
immortality
but quick
the turns of
chance and
change and
knowledge
has a narrow
range whence
idle fears and
needless pain
and wishes
blind
and efforts
vain
death
darkness
danger are
our natural lot
if thou
hast fallen
and righteous
heaven restore
the prostrate
then my
spring time is
renewed
and sorrow
bartered for
exceeding joy
sublime recluse!
the recreant
soul
that dares
to shun
the debt
imposed on
human kind
must first
forget thy
diligence
thy unrelaxing
use of a
long life
in tasks which
guardian angels
might approve
friendly
the weight
of leisure
to remove
and to beguile
the lassitude
of ease
what treasures
would have
then been
placed within
my reach
of mysteries
revealed
and judgments
unrepealed
of earthly
revolution
and final
retribution
when the
whirlwind of
human
destruction
is spent
our tumults
appeased and
our strifes
passed away
and if
the word
had been
fulfilled
as might
have been
then
thought
of joy!
off weight
nor press
on weight
away
dark thoughts
they came
but not
to stay
delicious
is the lay
that sings
the haunts
of happy lovers
the path that
leads them
to the grove
the leafy grove
that covers
how touching
when at
midnight
sweep snow-
muffled winds
and all is dark
to hear
and sink
again to sleep
as star that
shines
dependent
upon star
is to the sky
while we
look up
in love
think calmly
on the past
and mark
at leisure
features
which else
had vanished
like a dream
bright as if
heaven were
ever in its eye
will pass
so soon from
human memory
and there is
one which
holds
communion
with things
that were not
yet were
meant to be
now thanks
to heaven!
that of its
grace
hath led me
to this
lonely place
more may
not be by
human art
exprest
but love
far mightier
power
can add
the rest
ravage the
world
tranquility
is here!
©robertolavidez2014
William Williams
with the
rest
of the
gases
by Roberto Lavidez
what have I
to say to you
that you may
whisper it
in the night
love itself
a flower
with roots
in a parched
ground
with evening
love wakens
though its
shadows which
are alive
by reason
I suppose
it’s my mind
the fear of
infection
I’d rather
a million times
have been
got pregnant
sorrow is my
own yard
where the new
grass flames
as it has
flamed
often before
but not with
the cold fire
that closes
round me
this year
I have had
my dream
like others
and it has
come to
nothing
so that I
remain now
carelessly with
feet planted
on the
ground
the farmer
in deep
thought
is pacing
through
the rain
among his
blank fields
with hands
in pockets
in his head
the whole
field is a
white desire
empty
a single stem
a cluster
flower by
flower
the trees
being trees
thrash and
scream
guffaw
and curse
wholly
abandoned
damning
the race
of men
the harried
earth
is swept
the trees
the tulip’s
bright tips
sidle and
toss
loose your
love
to flow
blow!
nude bodies
like peeled
logs
sometimes
give off
a sweetest
odor
man and
woman
under
the trees
leaves
rising
instead of
falling
the sun
coming
and going
toward the
middle parts
of the sky
vibrant
bowing limbs
pull downward
sucking in
the sky
that bulges
from behind
straightway
a delicate
fire
runs in
my limbs
my eyes
are blinded
and my ears
thunder
the rumpled
river
takes its
course
lashed by
rain
when I
came to
myself and
realized
what had
happened
all I could do
was to curse
to make a man
aware of
nothing that
he knows
not loneliness
itself
not a ghost
but would be
embraced
emptiness
despair
of death
the barber
the barber
talked
to me
cutting
my life
with sleep
to trim
my hair
the crowd
is cheering
the crowd
is laughing
in detail
permanently
seriously
without
thought
it is difficult
to get
the news
from poems
yet men
die miserably
every day
for lack of
what is
found there
there are no
perfect waves
your writings
are a sea
full of
misspellings
and faulty
sentences
level
troubled
to hell
with you
and your
poetry
you will rot
and be blown
through the
next solar
system
with the rest
of the gases
the fragility
of the flower
unbruised
penetrates
space in
passing with
my mind
on nothing
in the world
the rose
carried
weight
of love
but love is
at the end
of roses
it is at the
edge of
the petal
that love
waits
if you
can bring
nothing
to this place
but your
carcass
keep out
old age
is a flight
of small
cheeping
birds
skimming
bare trees
above a
snow glaze
when I am
alone
I am happy
the air
is cool
©robertolavidez2014
a Swift
tale
by Roberto
Lavidez
in antient
times
the wise
were able
in proper
terms
to write
a fable
their tales
would always
justly suit
the characters
of ev’ry brute
come hither
all ye empty
things
ye bubble s
rais’d by
breath of Kings
who float
upon the tide
of stats
what spirit
since the
world began
could always
bear to strive
with man
which god
pronounc’d
he never
wou’d
and soon
convinc’d
them by
a flood
come hither
and behold
your fate
wherever
the damn’d
do chiefly
abound
most certainly
there is
hell to
be found
damn’d poets
damn’d criticks
damn’d blockheads
damn’d knaves
the cold
conceits
the chilling
thoughts
went down
like stupefying
draughts
I found
my head
began to
swim
a numbness
crept through
ev’ry limb
we fly from
luxury
and wealth
to hardships
in pursuit
of health
from gen’rous
wines and
costly fare
and dozing in
an easy chair
Prometheus
on a rock
was laid
ty’d with
chain
himself
had made
on icy
Caucasus
to shiver
while vultures
eat his
growing liver
if the
machinations
brewing to
compliat
the publick
ruin
never once
could have
the pow’r
to affect me
half an hour
the point
is plain
remove
the cause
defend
your liberties
and laws
be sometimes
to your
country true
have once
the public
good
in view
the wise
pretend to
make it clear
‘tis no
great loss
to lose
an ear
why are we
then
so fond
of two
when by
experience
one will do
but yet
the point is
not so clear
in another case
the sense of
hearing
for tho’
the place of
either ear
be distant
as one head
can bear
the doctor
if you will
believe him
confess’d
a sin
and god
forgive him
call’d up
at midnight
ran to save
a blind old
beggar from
the grave
the time
is not remote
when I must
by the course
of nature dye
when I forsee
my special
friends
will try
to find their
private ends
the genius
has perhaps
a knack at
trudging in
a beaten
track
but is for
state affairs
as fit as mine
for politicks
and wit
©robertolavidez2014
Hugh welcome
Arthur going Clough
by Roberto
Lavidez
welcome
wicked
world
the hardening
heart
the calculating
brain
narrowing
its doors
to thought
the lying
lips
the calm
dissembling
eyes
the greedy
flesh
the world
the devil
welcome
welcome
welcome
the conflict
of the
stubborn
soil
to toil
the livelong
day
and at the
end
instead of
rest
re-earve into
my brow
the dire
memorial
mark of
what still is
a mind
for thoughts
to pass into
a heart
for loves
to travel
through
fields
once I
walked in
faces once
I knew
familiar things
my heart had
grown unto
all is
not told
that might
be told
and hill
and height
and wood
and wild
while much
revealing
much
withhold
yes
we have
fallen
my Eve
o yes!
one two
and three
and four
the appetite
the enjoyment
the aftervoid
the thinking
of it
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
as of the
unjust
also of
the just
Christ is
not risen
people talk
their
sentimentality
meantime
as by some
sad fatality
mortality is
still mortality
now the birds
have ceased
their singing
and the sun
has sunk
below
and the
bed time
bell is
ringing
let us go
let us go!
go foolish
thoughts
and join
the throng
of myriads
gone before
to flutter
and flap
and flit
along the
airy limbo
shore
to things
before
and things
behind
could turn
my thoughts
and turn
my mind on
this and that
day after day
could dare
to throw
myself away
how strange
how far
behind
was I
and how
it came
I asked
and why
yet still
I look
and still
I sit
adjusting
shaping
altering it
my former self
I never
should recall
indeed
I think
it must be
all in all
all is not spoke
that might
be spoke
the mightiest
poets ere
that broke
earth’s silence
upon the
passage
great was
my delight
a lady
taught me
how to read
and write
yet still
I look and
still I sit
adjusting
shaping
altering it
and years
may come
and years
may bring
the truth
that is
not bliss
there are
two kindreds
upon earth
I know
the oppressors
and the
oppressed
but as for me
if I must choose
to inflict wrong
or accept
may my
last end
and life too
be with these
here am I
friendless
and without
a brother
with faculties
developed
to no end
heart emptied
and scarce
hoping
to amend
you think
I’m anxious
to allure you
my object is
much more
to cure you
with the high
amatory – poetic
my temper’s
no way
sympathetic
dong dong
there is
no god
dong!
ring ding
ring ding
tara tara
away
and hush
that preaching
fagh!
grammarians
old and modern
fine philologists
and poets gone
and going
ideologists
from old
solemnities
new trivialities
philosophies
economies
moralities
I come
I come!
and when
unfolded
is the
future’s coil
and the long
travail
of the days
is done
when time
shall rest him
from his
earthly toil
and present
past and
future
all be one
from the
ancient
the good
of the ends
of the earth
from the holy
and wise
we were hither
sent forth
and shall we
speak of power
and gladness
where all things
high and great
abound?
of old
I grasped
and clasped
my dream
and feared
‘twould
ne’er remain
I take it now
and let it pass
secure ‘twill
come again -
what was
that word
which once
sufficed alone
for all
which now
I seek in vain
and never
can recall...
ring ding
ring ding
tara tara
away
©robertolavidez2014
Kerouacky sketches
by Roberto Lavidez
I must
become
a historian
observe the
history of
society
and write
histories
of the world
in wild
hallucinated
prose
the hero
is always
the same
comes to the
first page
out of eternities
of introspection
anguish
gloom
just as I do
every day
hmm
Dostoevskyan
the types
come and go
and never
change
but history
changes
never mind
what Burroughs
or Ginsberg
have to say
about anything
start by
exposing them
man
the terrible
laugh of
those who
think
themselves
special
elite
it has
a gory
hungry
sound
lonely
dirty
if you’re
not haunted
by something
as by
a dream
a vision
or a memory
which are
involuntary
you’re not
interested
or even
involved
you’ve got
to put a
superstructure
of love
on yr. life
or you’ll just
be a
skeleton in
the grave
of yr.
mortal days
shuddering
naked
against
the main
nerve of
yr. being
only when
that work
which oertops
my hopeless
men
among bones
will save me
up and back
to enthusiastic
inside me
personal need
-breast
the true work
is on belief
true belief
is immortal
good
I blame
god
for making
life
so boring
drink is good
for love
good for
music
let it be
good
for writing
the trouble
with me
is that
outside
my mind
it seems
the world
hasn’t got
no ass
suddenly
I realized
the utter
absurdity
of my
squatting
assy
humanity too
the infinitely
empty
crock of
form
a man
don’t know
what to do
anyway
sun goes down
I wait
dark
prairie
viewers
come round
for Satnite
workers
driving home
dogtired
from work
thru red clay
cuts of time
with wine
faintly in gray
western
horizon
beefing
about work
ah the sad
dry land
ground
that’s open
between
grasses
whip’t bald
by endless
winds
seethe rush
longroar of sea
seething in
floor of sand
distant boom
of world
shaking
breakers-
sigh and
intake of sea
income
outgo
rumors
of sea
Thoreau’s
Concord is
blue
aquamarine
in October red
sereneness
little Indian hill
towards
Walden
is orange
brown with
autumn
why should
I have
a radio when
I can hear
the music of
a crackling
fire
and the
steam engines
in the yard
repeat
let it come
to you
don’t run
after it
it would be
and is like
running after
sea waves
not so sad
as heaven
watching
but all
the more
lost
all the
more
lost
the gray
drab
Indian village
near Actopan
no coca cola
no orange crush
just dysentery-
ridden water
and lizards
on the
old walls
Jesus has
made it
hard on us
nothing
there is
left for me
for us
but loss
yet we choke
and gain after
races and
rush and
nothing’s
to come
of it
but tick
tack time
that which
has not long
to live
frets
that which
lives forever
is full of
peace and
there is
no man
who’ll live
forever
and so the
crickets creek
cree cree
eaves darken
and get
inky gainst
whitened dusk
the pale dawn
dusk clouds
move not
but silent
in a mass
advance
somewhere
slowly
lonely
motionless
green leaves
vague plaster
rocks
lost in fields
the dazzling
white
sides
of houses
seen thru the
tangly glade
branches
the dry
solemn
ground
of California
fit for Indians
to sleep on
-the cardboard
©robertolavidez2014
