Counting Stars

At night I often count the stars:
Three for God, and one, for me,
I add one for each His scars,
And thus have nine: not quite complete.

So I turn to planets, far – those,
which seem to rest on quaking waves,
and act as mighty rulers, though,
they are in truth just wayward slaves.

And so I come to eleven, afar, -
Venus and Mars made one and ten -
And I add nine for a star,
If it soars by with angelic rim.

But of the twenty lights I descry,
Thirteen oft fade, hang, run or wane,
So I am left with Seven lights.
And it is there that I remain.

———-

I feel I need to explain “Counting Stars” a little.

The idea is that if you follow God’s design for your life you will find contentment. Thus, all the numbers will sum to “seven”, God’s number for perfection.

In the Bible the number for God is three, the number of scars on Christ body is five, the number for angels nine (nine families of angels) and there were thirteen men who ate the Lord’s supper with Jesus and betrayed Him later that night.

Venus and Mars are the two planets you see on the horizon right after the sun has set. Thus, they often seem to float on the waves. Of course, they also denote woman and man, respectively.

All lines have seven words.

St. Petersburg and Prague

Go well, smile of the sun and stars and moon,
May you beam long by Petrine coves of gold,
And cry tears with friends – to laughter’s tune -
So you will have none when you are old.

In Prague may you kiss those sweet delights,
Ever sought by pilgrims with pleas and song,
On the bridge which links two worlds of sights,
And mark your love, there, or near – or all along.

For there’s no end which seems to me more good,
Than to place a prayer for you in poemed line,
Even though I know this won’t suffice, nor should:
For even if the world be yours, your smile’s mine.

The Dreamer’s Realm

Oh Sleep, thou son of Death,
who a thousand years ago unseen,
your father kissed and home left
with nothing but your dreams.

Who whispers to me in the dim,
poems of Love – from your shore –
which you’ve told to lovers and madmen
who have lived and died before.

Bring me to your father’s home,
to the land of songs never dreamed,
where words no lover has known,
sit locked in rhymes no man has seen.

For each day holds naught for me,
Save for dreams, and the thoughts thereof.
And I would give a life of sleep,
For an eternity of Love.

Gebet

On the golden heights near heaven’s mount,
The Lord sits to watch his holy gate,
Each pilgrim who walks homeward bound,
He loves, misses, and awaits.

Lord, what do you think of my soul,
Which may tire some, but never sleep?
For I shall ever journey ’til I am old.
And it is not rest that I seek.

Friend’s Farewell

And though stars I know not much,
Nor compass, sextant well decode,
Soon I shall walk without a crutch,
And so – will set out for the road.

And though southern roads I know well,
And western plains seem fair from here,
And while in eastern towns all can dwell,
It is to northern shores, where I will steer.

For they say north of here is where,
Wistful dreams still drift and blow,
So I’ll bow my head, and say a prayer,
And to the north I’ll go.

Graduation

And as I have traveled rather far,
Well, it’s like the old man once said,
“Clouds are the curtains to the stars –
Upon which our dreams make their bed.”

For the clouds have parted their hands,
And I see the white dots on black,
My eyes – now go to these distant lands,
And write that they will never come back.

And I say: three cheers for those fools!
Stare long where your dreams once glanced!
For I have passed through clouds and jewels,
And so now to the stars will dance.

The Flowers

On the hills I often pass and travel down,
there is a field of flowers, where all seem gay,
and men stroll up and down, and all around.
They dream of peace. And dream again.

And oft when they pass the tulips and lilacs,
they walk to the fields of grassland leaves,
here they sense the calm – dream it will last,
and fall asleep inside the rows of pansies -

Just as the wind whistles through the lilies,
the echo of battles long lost and won.
And I? I take my naps among the posies -
for the greatest wars are yet to come.

The Warriors

And around they stand the warrior fire,
With thoughts of stars and winds and rain,
And for hatchets, and old men’s desires,
The rain man spins ‘round his soul again.

Up, up, the steps of heaven he ascends,
On horses clothed in white skinned wings,
And through the smoke, bleeds and bends,
The world each warrior knows and sees.

Yet he dances not for chieftain’s whim,
Nor the souls of sons, nor women’s song,
He travels to find the wind’s last hymn -
He travels to find the truth beyond.

And lo, from his dance and times bygone,
The answer quakes from heaven’s shore:
“Though fight is won, keep bows drawn,
For peace is but time between wars.”

Gravestone Found Near Boston Dated 1920 (“The Last Hero”)

To an American two generations hence,
You, who my face will never see,
Nor my presence nor love sense.
I bid you well and I bid you be.

Like you, I loved a woman’s hand,
And treated each with much respect,
I, too, prayed to God for my land,
And every night and day, He blessed.

And I too knew my faults and flaws,
And writhed long the Scriptured page,
Like you, I stared at Nature’s awe,
And a family held, birthed, and made.

Yes. I must be just like you, my son,
An American, but eighty years removed,
Live your life well – as you have done,
That is all I ask of you.

Sixty Words

In these last sixty words I write,
Before I pass this earth of blue,
I avow here in the Eastern lights,
“I loved God and knew him too.”

And though I must end this note,
I think I have said it all, and best,
For I have told you all I know -
And so will now head for the West…