A cape made of wool
Not for elegance but warmth
Oscar Wilde frowns
Woolly socks and winter boots
I`m a jobbing poet

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Pablo Neruda

Ode to My Socks

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.

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Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With a Copy of My Poems

I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.

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Oscar Wilde

To My Wife

With a Copy of My Poems

I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.

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Oscar Wilde

A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

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Oscar Wilde

A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

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Oscar Wilde

Divorces are made in heaven.

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Winter Is Calling

Winter is moving,
coming to claim
her space in open fields,
roof tops and traffic jams.

She comes winking,
proclaiming her time
and calling people to
feel her cold hands
and chilly warmth.

Now is time to open
the old wardrobes.
Take out the hats, gloves,
and other winter clothes.

Prepare them as winter
spreads her cape to
wherever she passes by
And smile as winter winks
at you with her generous hand.

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Oscar Wilde

Women are made to be loved, not understood.

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Oscar Wilde

Scandal is gossip made tedious by morality.

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Winter's sun

There is something about the winter's sun,
That aspires hope after struggle
The wait for tomorrow after
long cold shivering nights;
is the optimism attached
to the winter's sun.

There is something about the winter's sun.
The Florescence of the beaming rays
the calmness of the flowing sunshine:
convinces me about the warmth,
of the winter's sun

There is something about the winter's sun.
The tender hugging of the sunbeams
on the exposed numb body:
confirms about the comfort provided
by the winter's sun

There is something about the winter's sun.
Those for whom is the winter's suffering
the warmth of the sun is also for them.
Relieving them that, a part of the
sunshine belongs to them
Of the winter's sun.

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

On The Grassy Banks

On the grassy banks
Lambkins at their pranks;
Woolly sisters, woolly brothers
Jumping off their feet
While their woolly mothers
Watch by them and bleat.

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Inspired by Issa - Winter Wind

winter wind -
pet cat hogs
its warmth

winter wind
her hands in his
warm her up

winter wind
enveloping her hands
the warmth of his heart

winter wind -
pet cat reclines
in its warmth

inspired by

winter wind-
wearing a straw bag
on Mount Hakone
-Issa,1813

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Nothing can make a day last longer

Nothing can make
a day last longer
but being in love
with the sun.

I long to live
in Cape Town
when it’s summer time,

where at eight
the sun still hangs high
as it did at three

but in winter
when the chill sets in
give my Pretoria to me

and then you can have
your Mediterranean climate
with intermittent rain

and north of the Magaliesberg
I will bask in the sun
and look at a blue sky

unless you invite me
to your lair
and we share
a Cape winter there.

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I Can Feel...

she said:
'you're not a poet,
you're just an old man...
old hat, old beard,
even your socks are old! '

'yes, and my socks
are full of holes...
when i walk across
the bare floor i can feel...'

and therein lies
the poetry!

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July 1 2009***Giving His Boots a Rest

He is resting
In a comfortable Library chair
With his boots and jacket on
His backpack is nearby

He's reading today's paper
And has three plastic covered
Magazines stacked on the floor
To read next

He's in from the cold and rain
He's in where it's warm and dry
He's been to the men's room to
Wash himself and his socks and shorts

Wrapped in a plastic bag
He'll dry them later
Now he's trying to get his boots to dry
They're damp and well worn

They are not worn out
Just like him
They are well worn
They've covered many miles

He's worked in them
He's slept in them
To keep warm and to see
That they are not stolen

Where do you put your shoes at night?
Under you bed? In your closet?
It's been a long time
Since he's had either

How do you
Keep your feet from freezing
In the long hard-frost winter nights?
How do you keep warm?

If you'd never had to worry
You wouldn't appreciate
The warm dry Library chair
That gives his boots a rest

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The Snow

The voice of the tree gets frozen
and the snow falls on the heart of the winter

it has been broken
as always
but the craziness of lover and poet goes on

if the surreal dreams
touches the corridor
of my reality

I promise
I will not ask much from winter
an eternal coldness may be

it is naked
as always

no warmth
no warmth


Dear,

snow is falling everywhere
on the streets
on the trees, rooftops
and on the mirror
an ivory white
something....

and I'm breathing in
the dust of the snow
like I breathe the poetry of Mayakovosky

It pains
the long night
a broken naked winter

no! you can't be so heartless
neither I can...


Dear,
I have been like a pale winter
where snow is covering
my city of Veronese

but my frozen hand is trying to write

your name on it...!

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Rudyard Kipling

Boots

INFANTRY COLUMNS

We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-tw enty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different --
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) --
There's no discharge in the war!

We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em --
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!

I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

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Pull The Wool

Dear friend you dont have to lie to me
When I ask you whats going on
Are you doin right or ya doing wrong
If you do right will there not be a lifting up
You misbehave
Sin is crouching by your grave
We can begin to make amends
Fill your sails full with wind
I know youre tossed and tempest turned, but make no mistake
Ill never sleep on you faith
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Now your sin, you must mask it
Your face is all riddled with guilt
Cover you like a blanket, but no warmth will it give
Now Im sittin here and cant believe all the measures youve taken
To cheat, lie and decieve me and all your friends
You got a lot a crazy things in life that you want to do in life, thats all right, but
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Lies in the nest enver ever let the birds get to rest
I can forgive, but I never can forget and lies in the nest never
Ever gave the birds no rest
Bricks built without straw were so weak they crumbled
To mud, just as your excuse with truth left you easily undone
Dont you run away

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Cape Town

Cape Town
Is waiting for my return
So that I can go back to work
On my fishing boat
Cape Town
Is where I left my heart
During the winter months
Sleeping away
Until the summer arrives
So that I can go back
To cape Town
To wake up my heart

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Two Little Boots

TWO little boots all rough an' wo',
Two little boots!
Laws, I's kissed 'em times befo',
Dese little boots!
Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo
Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' 'Boo!'
Evah time dey looks at you —
Dese little boots.
Membah de time he put 'em on,
Dese little boots;
Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn,
Dese little boots;
Den he tromped de livelong day,
Laffin' in his happy way,
Evaht'ing he had to say,
'My little boots!'
Kickin' de san' de whole day long,
Dem little boots;
Good de cobblah made 'em strong,
Dem little boots!
Rocks was fu' dat baby's use,
I'on had to stan' abuse
W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose
Dese little boots!
Ust to make de ol' cat cry,
Dese little boots;
Den you walked it mighty high,
Proud little boots!
Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide,
Eyes a-sayin' 'Dis is pride!'
Den de manny-baby stride!
You little boots.
Somehow, you don' seem so gay,
Po' little boots,
Sence yo' ownah went erway,
Po' little boots!
Yo' bright tops don' look so red,
Dese brass tips is dull an' dead;
'Goo'-by,' whut de baby said;
Deah little boots!
Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f,
You little boots?
Dis is all his mammy's lef',
Two little boots.
Sence huh baby gone an' died,
Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide
Des a little bit inside
Two little boots.

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