A Tobacco Poem

To Smoke!
To puff each stroke,
A pipe in hand to stoke;
Sweet tastes betwixt my jaws provoke
To thoughts and proofs my mind. Whiles I am woke
I drift in dreams of streams of silky smoke, I soak
My flying whims, to all philosophies: can words evoke
Those selfsame schemes as swim in bounteous clouds of smoke, tall tales of folk,
Those epics, sonnets, ballads long of yore when men were strong, without revoke?
What spacious power, expressed in silvery wisps, can cause a soul to glimpse the essence spoke
By his own words, and sung by his own chords? What clarity of will dost he convoke?
Forgotten fancies candid made, of rushes stirred, of wildest bullfrog's croak
The Muse's ancient kiss revived dwells full alive, without a yoke-
Received while to the pipe-stem press my lips- I feel a poke
I rest, armchair ornate, as if I had awoke
From slumber, taking sips of bottled coke.
Strength I now wield, a heart not broke
To write what Muses voke.
Tragic or joke,
I Smoke.

Quatrains of Love

To Vicky

O mountains high and spacious, how far do ye span?
O rivers dry, be gracious; quench this thirsty man!
I wander, mad, I weep, I scream "Set this heart free!"
O sweetest maiden, hear my endless love for thee!

The ever-humble worshipper of your Beauty,
Stu


To Vicky

While journeying through toils, each challenging my strength,
I gaze down towards the soil, I stare the trees at length.
Within the whirling leaves I see your curling hair
Though distant run my feet, my thoughts take refuge there.

Always lovingly yours,
Steve

Summer's End

The August sun shines high above the trees,
While bees for nectar search the warming breeze.
The flowers fade, dark green's the tint of leaves
Awhiles this scene, the grey-cloaked dove soft grieves.

The trees and leaves hear not its mournful note
For earless do they grow, bedecked in barken coat.
The bees hear not the call, for they but live
Unto their hive their each-sworn lives to give.

And as the autumn comes, these fade away;
The leaves and bees approach their final day.
But prayers remain within the grey dove's heart
That one day, far away, new spring will start.