A Rose for Daisy

Shortly after dark, as usual, I arose

Jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes

Went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker

Looked out the window at my half-acre

The mirror on the wall reflected the mellow tableau

As I walked into my back yard with a steaming cup of joe

Parked my carcass in my old easy chair

Enjoying the breeze in the cool night air

I sat at my ease in the starry night

Yet something didn't sit quite right

The night was with perplexity fraught
I meant to sit and give it some thought
And here is an inkling of what I was thinking

And what I was thinking not

Sitting, thinking, coffee drinking

Questions asked, answers sought

I picked up my phone and placed a call

To the flower-stall at the mall

They sent me a rose for Daisy straightaway

By messenger, clad in livery silver and gray

And Daisy came out of the house, as I’d hoped she would

And taking one look at me, she froze where she stood

Reflecting me, mirroring my pose

As, arm outstretched, she offered me a rose

The jewelled sky with colored gems bedecked
Reflects the selfsame sapphire sky with diamonds flecked
And Daisy and I with our mirrored flowers
Stir up long-sleeping dormant powers
As our glances with the stars connect
And all our souls our lives and journeys recollect
And Daisy thrills to a little ancient pizzazz
While I go for the razzle-dazzle and all that razzamatazz

Of What are Stars Wrought?

What are stars made of? ‘Tis a question I often hear

One time I took an astronomy class

To learn a star is a burning ball of gas

Hah! Next time they’ll me stars are made of crabgrass

Stars are made of blue moons

Held aloft with lead balloons

And treasure chests full of coconut macaroons

Which Daisy insists are enchanted gold doubloons

And stars are made of pomes

“Let me see that,” said Daisy dear

“Stars are made of pomes?

What; you mean like apples and pears?”

Which only goes to show what it shows

What truth may be found in error in one’s typos

And where I couldn’t swear to apple and pear

There might be stars of grapefruit, I suppose

Stars are made of dances and airs

Intricate melodies and tunes

In which are mixed one's fervent prayers

With the cries of cranes and loons

The stars are made of ethereal words

Hatched from the eggs of mellifluent birds

Which, to the song of harp and lyre

Go forth in tongues of silver fire

Starlight Hall

A starry messenger paid me a call, clad in livery silver and gray

A servant of Starlight Hall, and sent from far away

To invite me to the Starlight Ball, could I but discern the way

An affair which is, if I recall, quite the elegant soiree

“We are going,” said Daisy, “to dance, damn your hide.”

“So where do we find this manse, this Starlight Hall?” she cried

Glancing at me askance; she surely would have known if I lied

And as I treasure our romance, I left her misty-eyed

“She is a gem in the diadem of a mountain of stars,” I say

“By a crystalline spring and waterfall, at the end of Starlight Way

Down any road you’ve ever travelled, as clear as a stellar ray

Starlight Hall by the Waterfall is ever hidden away.”

So I did take Daisy dancing after all

For a few enchanted hours at Starlight Hall

Daisy in her silky gown of gossamer and thistledown

We danced the Starlight Minuet, and I can hear the haunting music yet

Daisy

The clouds dissolved like cotton candy, they soon must disappear

For all they were worth the stars shone forth, when the midnight skies were clear

Though I couldn't swear I was really there, for I'd been building castles in the air

Beyond the Alps, in Ultramontane, I'd built myself a castle in Spain

Across the sea from the Spanish Main, and I was its lord and suzerain

When I came free from my reverie, in the feathery silver light

I could see the sheet of folded stationery upon the table beside my chair
Sticking out from underneath the blue glass bottle there

Harveys Bristol Cream Sherry; for me, an indulgence rare

In memory of a long ago, but unforgettable affair

I picked up the note and read what it said; "I thought you were in Spain."

And from the house she came, with my other chair, and an oath profane

As, tripping over a root, she dropped it on her foot, then sat looking at me crosswise

And all I could think was this, she looks the same; she has the most beautiful eyes
Yet, by all that I hold dear, I will not weep, I will not shed a tear

Though I still can't bring myself to speak her name; so I'll call her Daisy here

I remember those days when we met and fell in love; man, it was crazy

Walking in a meadow one day, I impulsively plucked her a daisy

And she made me buy a bottle of Bristol Cream to use as a vase

Of course, we had to make the sherry disappear without a trace

Which we did, and then, in a drunken embrace, on a drunken whim
She said, "Hey, Steve, I have an idea. Let's go for a swim."

As you may have guessed, she was the true love of my life

By all the gods and goddesses, she should have been my wife

Skinny dipping in the ocean, the ocean deep and wide
She wanted to race, and I wasn't just letting her win
She was halfway to China before I could even plunge in
Daisy, caught, and swept out to sea, in the grip of the outgoing tide

I couldn't reach her, and I couldn't save her, though I tried, dear God, I tried

Else, by all the gods and goddesses, she would have been my bride

"So, Steve, how was Spain? I want to hear all about it."

"It was a long time ago," I said, "five hundred years or so."

"Tell me about your girlfriend, Steve. Oh, I want to hear about her."

"The Lady Margarita," said I. "She looked a lot like you,
Though her hair was a little  darker
And she had the most beautiful eyes,

Though yours are a little sparklier

By passion found, by passion overcome, by passion bound, by passion undone

And there was nowhere we could go; there was nowhere to run

When her belly began to swell, and she got that glow
And her pregnancy began to show

Her father, Don Enrique, he was a Grandee
Noted as much for his piety as his ferocity

And to protect from shame his ancient noble name
He put her aboard a treasure galleon
Nuestra Senora de las Palomas

And packed her off to a convent
Faraway across the sea, in New Spain
To deliver her burden alone and in pain
And when 'twas done; to atone
She might be allowed to take her vows as a nun
Our Lady of the Doves flew west,
Never seen by human eyes again

Weighed down with the king's earthly treasure
Perhaps she sank into the sinking sun
Don Enrique had done his daughter wrong
And he was a broken man who had once been strong

He did not outlive our Lady Margarita long

I could say I hope his soul turns on a spit in hell

Except he was still her father, and Lady Margarita loved him well

So I'll leave it at that, my Daisy dear
Now tell me about yourself."
"Well, we met when we were both working for Interplanetary Airways,"
Daisy said, "I was a stew, and you were the pilot"

"Not me," said I, "I've never been anything but a poet."

"That might explain why you crashed the ship," she said.
"Go on," I said. "Now you're just making stuff up."

"Give yourself some credit, Steve.
You don't know where you'll be in twenty five-sixteen?

But you can learn a few things in five hundred years."
"True enough," I said, "but I wouldn't crash the ship

I'd crash the gates of hyperspace
And we'd be here, there, and everywhere

Popping up all over the places where UFOs are seen

"Ah, Steve," she sighed, "you know me all too well.
It was my idea, so don't take it too much to heart
We were lost in twenty five-seventeen
When the experimental hyperspace drive blew us apart."

She said, "Oh, Steve, I don't know where to start

I'm from the future and you're from the past
Such an affair could surely never last
But here we sit in the present, together

Of course, to me you are an eidolon
And to you, I'm but a wraith
 But for at least a thousand years we've been together

Over and over, in one way or another

Life keeps ripping us apart, then throwing us back together

Yet, here we sit, and talk, like we see each other everyday

And, granted we sometimes mess up our tenses

And trip over a few strange sentences

But it seems we're stuck with each other

We're meant to be together, forever

So are you going to open that bottle of Bristol Cream, or what?

Though I'm sure we'll have to swig it straight from the bottle

I know better than to ask if you have any decent stemware."
"Or," said she, as ever, so very sweetly
"I suppose we could sip it out of mason jars."

And the best I could think of to say in reply

Was this, 'Thus saith the wraith."

The Starlight Poems

"He's lazy, that he lies all day abed"
And that was hardly the unkindest thing they said
It's true he liked to sleep all day
That he'd become a creature of the night
But it's not as you might think
He wasn't one to raise hell, or tomcat around
He'd been a cat in his youth, he'd run that into the ground
Yet, somehow, working the graveyard shift, he found
In those quiet hours, a peace profound
And to read, softly read, his works aloud gave his spirits such a lift
That his carcass telluric could not keep his spirit earthbound

It came to pass in this wise
A girl, whose name he will not mention
But will say, she had the most beautiful eyes
Saw him one morning, and thought he looked a little red-eyed
And it was her intention
To fix him up with a soothing cup
Of Celestial Seasonings chamomile tea, with honey
"Drink it Steve," said she. "You can't get this stuff at Starbucks."
And suspecting she was right
He drank two cups and nodded off, and awakened late that night
Now he drinks two cups before bed each morn
Once dawn has blotted out the night's last starry light

Seated in his his easy chair outdoors, he writes all night
Poems, writ by the light of the stars
Later, when he became famous
His poems enchanted millions
But not before they first had charmed
The animals nocturnal of his backyard pavilions
A hungry few night-hunting crepuscular chameleons
And night's insects in their sheer gazillions
To which he recited the poems he wrote
To all life forms awake who would listen, he read them
And he wished sweet rest to all the rest
And dreams that did not disturb them

They say he used some special, secret ink
Condensed from the light of stars
Collected and stored against need; whatever
That's bogus, I think, taken altogether
But came the night he knew would come at last
He went outside, and the skies were overcast
Yet, he poured out the contents of a seemingly empty jar
And one could hear soft music, as from a faraway guitar
Well, call me a skeptic; I am, I'm a skeptical man
I saw something there, but I am no man's dupe
I saw the glow-in-the-dark remains of a radioactive can
Of postwar Campbell's alphabet soup

Steve had taken his work inside when it rained
And racked his brain for answers to the yet to be explained
He poured out letters, or fragments, or poems entire
Which burned with a most becoming celestial fire
Fading ere he could copy them. Intent upon his treasure
He poured the words of a poem into a strongbox, and he could recollect them
Cupped in his palm, they would cohere into a sphere
Like quicksilver; and, squeezed into little globules in his fist
Could be fixed in the box as words again, and read at leisure
Good night, he thought, what were the odds?
He'd be sent help from Mercury, the messenger of the gods
He saw a poem he read seven times, and fathomed not

These are the long-lost words of a long-lost poet
Whose words were taken up and sealed in light
Into the stars embroidered in the fabric of the night
Long-lost eons ago
Now I perceive I have streamed forth from some far star
And at long-last, I have come unto one
Who can see these long-lost words before his eyes
And read them, if he is very wise
If you are who I think you are
You are the one I seek
And I have sought you from afar
For you are the long-lost poet of whom I speak

There was a poet whose name was Steve
Many a year ago
And he wrote of things you wouldn't believe
Things no mere man should know
And one fine day he took his leave
As he thought it was time to go
Soon to be forgotten, friends
His poems and all his words
Broadcast to the winds
In the language of the birds
For even ancient poets must meet their ends
And Steve, he never did anything by thirds

The Demon of Poetry

Poets, like wizards, with words weave spells
My name is Gary Steven Wells
Up from the land of the dingles and the dells
I'm a man of the lowlands myself
We fancy we're nearer to the earth down there
And if you go walking in the woods, and keep your bearing
Perchance, you'll come upon a clearing
A meadow, abounding in bluebells
And a sacred spring, where the spirit of poetry dwells

So I no longer find it any curious thing
That when I go and visit with the spirit of the spring
I hear the voices of the poets in the waters
And like all who hear the poets, and heed their words
I would their memories maintain, and their deeds preserve
O poetry, spirit of poetry!
Thy path is my path; wherefore, I persevere
And may the heavens shine down upon me
If these, my words, you hear

I like to go outdoors of a night
And gaze up at the Milky Way
Where the spirit of poetry dwells among the stars
Old friends, with much to say
We are wont to talk the night away
While the stars shine down upon me
Words, written purely in light
Which I collect in mason jars
And I pour them out as needed when I write

The wind chimes over my front porch hang
Silent; and I, too listless and dispirited to care
I am as one whose soul has died and been embalmed
Like a mariner in the doldrums whose ship has been becalmed
But I turn my ear to a voice I hear, and I am made aware
That the mighty spirit of poetry
Has made his abode in the air
I laugh to welcome my old friend
Who rises from the zephyr, to speak from the whirlwind

Earth, air, fire, water
The spirit of poetry indwells the elements four
But he's sent from the House of Aether
When he steps through my front door
And, discoursing, we marvelleth much
At the prince of the House of Aether
Whom we call the Great Nonesuch
Who has sent me, through the spirit, a token of esteem
Peace, and great goodwill, and a wordless dream