Of Things Past and Future
The monstrous golems
Of things past, the colossus
Of rot and bloat; gaseous dream
Rising to dominance,
Oh gangrene remembrances
Of things past and future
These wretched night stallions
Galloping in humankindless’ place
On the carnival-go-round
Of carnal (chambered) knowledge--
These stanchions under the brooding roof
Of things past and future
Awake in this penitential night,
Human awareness scratched across
A black-boarded mind
Of inner side-show sky overcast
Waiting by the kafka-revolving door
Of things past and future
Endless spinning, the mirrored mis-hope
Of history’s leviathan launches
Bacchanal killing of the go-round
By skin-thin souls, carny totems of the
Masque, redded from ‘poe’ to pole
Of things past and future
But all to stanch this ‘juglarnaunt’
This endless ‘steeded’ carousel of terror,
Only the parabolic words
Of one wanderer, a harlequin
Hanged by reasons of the world
Of things future and future
Previously published in a different
form in Half Way Down the Stairs
and Static Movement
--
MAY 2026
The Lady in the Garden
A picture-post-card date near the wide
Serpentine sway of the wide Schuylkill River
Meandering through Central Philly's park garden,
Towered over by leaning elms, while 3 long canoes
Swift by to the paddling of Ivy League collegians.
Gazing at my dear companion in the Garden
A Quaker girl, Karen, chestnut-caped round
In waist-length hair like a swaying black ephod,
Vivid in her red chambray shirt and blue jeans,
Is an aspiring concert violinist but converses
Passionately about King's March in 3 months.
Myself, drafted, a Conscientious Objector
Working with lost-saken kids in a mental ward,
Disturbed by their absent parents' bad living,
But am still so youthfully focused and narrowed,
More concerned with my companion's
Figured shape than humanity’s ship of state.
Gazing at Karen, hoping for love in the Garden
We sit cross-legged on the lush parkway green,
Getting ready to eat our carefully bagged meal
Of 2 peanut butter and grape sandwiches,
As we discuss the ravages of far-off Nam
And Bob Dylan's 'hard rained' croons.
Sharing deeply with her in the Garden
But then I inhale a fuming putrid odor
Coming from behind us; I twist and see
About 6 feet away this bag of a lady in a filthy rag
Of a dress lunging slowly forward, hanging
Onto the ugly mesh of a shopping bag.
Her stench to high heaven wafts so rancid that
I pinch my nose tightly and turn away.
Gazing (instead) at my date in the Garden
But lo and behold! my dear violinist rises
And welcomes the old hag, “Hi Lady, please join us
For our Sunday snack here in the warm sun?”
but I get all upside-down in my face
Gazing, surprised and frustrated in the Garden
As the homeless hag sprawls haggardly on the grass,
Next to us, her wretched, spotted shift
Wrinkling up her scraggly legs. She reaches
Out a grubby hand, grabs a sandwich,
And shoves half of it in her narrow jaws,
Chews open-mouthed and teethed.
I fume at this ugly interloper in the Garden
But then am shocked awake, almost too late,
Jesus emphasized on 'the least of these"!
I join my dear musician's sharing our meal,
Thus we commune 3 of human kind,
Below swaying trees of compassioning
In this modern caring Garden of hope.
1st pub. in The Oak Bend Review
then in Dark Energy, a collection of Daniel's published poetry.
Get the book at Amazon.com and local bookstores.
The monstrous golems
Of things past, the colossus
Of rot and bloat; gaseous dream
Rising to dominance,
Oh gangrene remembrances
Of things past and future
These wretched night stallions
Galloping in humankindless’ place
On the carnival-go-round
Of carnal (chambered) knowledge--
These stanchions under the brooding roof
Of things past and future
Awake in this penitential night,
Human awareness scratched across
A black-boarded mind
Of inner side-show sky overcast
Waiting by the kafka-revolving door
Of things past and future
Endless spinning, the mirrored mis-hope
Of history’s leviathan launches
Bacchanal killing of the go-round
By skin-thin souls, carny totems of the
Masque, redded from ‘poe’ to pole
Of things past and future
But all to stanch this ‘juglarnaunt’
This endless ‘steeded’ carousel of terror,
Only the parabolic words
Of one wanderer, a harlequin
Hanged by reasons of the world
Of things future and future
Previously published in a different
form in Half Way Down the Stairs
and Static Movement
--
MAY 2026
The Lady in the Garden
A picture-post-card date near the wide
Serpentine sway of the wide Schuylkill River
Meandering through Central Philly's park garden,
Towered over by leaning elms, while 3 long canoes
Swift by to the paddling of Ivy League collegians.
Gazing at my dear companion in the Garden
A Quaker girl, Karen, chestnut-caped round
In waist-length hair like a swaying black ephod,
Vivid in her red chambray shirt and blue jeans,
Is an aspiring concert violinist but converses
Passionately about King's March in 3 months.
Myself, drafted, a Conscientious Objector
Working with lost-saken kids in a mental ward,
Disturbed by their absent parents' bad living,
But am still so youthfully focused and narrowed,
More concerned with my companion's
Figured shape than humanity’s ship of state.
Gazing at Karen, hoping for love in the Garden
We sit cross-legged on the lush parkway green,
Getting ready to eat our carefully bagged meal
Of 2 peanut butter and grape sandwiches,
As we discuss the ravages of far-off Nam
And Bob Dylan's 'hard rained' croons.
Sharing deeply with her in the Garden
But then I inhale a fuming putrid odor
Coming from behind us; I twist and see
About 6 feet away this bag of a lady in a filthy rag
Of a dress lunging slowly forward, hanging
Onto the ugly mesh of a shopping bag.
Her stench to high heaven wafts so rancid that
I pinch my nose tightly and turn away.
Gazing (instead) at my date in the Garden
But lo and behold! my dear violinist rises
And welcomes the old hag, “Hi Lady, please join us
For our Sunday snack here in the warm sun?”
but I get all upside-down in my face
Gazing, surprised and frustrated in the Garden
As the homeless hag sprawls haggardly on the grass,
Next to us, her wretched, spotted shift
Wrinkling up her scraggly legs. She reaches
Out a grubby hand, grabs a sandwich,
And shoves half of it in her narrow jaws,
Chews open-mouthed and teethed.
I fume at this ugly interloper in the Garden
But then am shocked awake, almost too late,
Jesus emphasized on 'the least of these"!
I join my dear musician's sharing our meal,
Thus we commune 3 of human kind,
Below swaying trees of compassioning
In this modern caring Garden of hope.
1st pub. in The Oak Bend Review
then in Dark Energy, a collection of Daniel's published poetry.
Get the book at Amazon.com and local bookstores.
