Passage From Life

There came a day in my childhood, in the
beginning of my conscious life, that swung
like a drawn sword and struck me full upon
the face and sent me bleeding into the world of lies.
 

Letter in Exile: I

Hourly the planes scour the skies to chart
The uncharted defenses of their loved country.
It is summer and the waiting streamers will
Unload by the sounding sea, to fill the needs
Of cities falling in the hunger of working men;
While the green hills widen their luxuriant
Sholdrers of sharp glades, caught in the palm
Of the determinate sun, born of the islands.

All seems to concentrate on their way.
They make millions and their sons enter night clubs.
Bright virgin girls moan and bleed in their beds.
They close banks and their daughters throw money
To titled foreign gentlemen and cynical a waiters.
Their bourgeois homes are wrecked.  Into the streets
They pursue the course of their passion.  They hold
Life in bubbles of drunkeness and fancy.

Knowing the tremendous web of this mistake,
I think of our favorite little islands
Cupped in those dovelike moving seas,
And our paternal homestead where exhuberant
Brothers and silent sisters met every morning
To exhibit all ways of courtesy.
We were passionate in those days .
Our parents Condoned no dishonesties and personal indecencies.

(More....still under construction!)