Understand my Rage at Henry James
I understand my rage at Henry James
Whose heroes watch their love without a word,
Couching their faint desire in pretty names;
With all the world to move them, men unstirred.
I understand why they stirred me to rage;
And what a rage it was! a critic’s fit
That’d exorcise his devils page by page,
And burn his books before I’d done with it.
My venomous response was such as this:
I thought myself these men’s superior;
But I see that their bloodless cowardice
Mirrors (as ‘twere) my own interior.
My rage was hurled at images that mocked
The frozen vault wherein my love is locked.
Uplifting Mist
Uplifting mist
coalesce into a cloud
fall into a story
flow to conclusion
Will is what you feel
Upon Your First Step
Upon your first step up the mountain slope
you paused, and said you did not wish to climb;
Knowing your fear was no match for your hope,
we reassured you — now had come the time.
Your hesitation, tribute to our love,
was offered knowing we would send you on,
and redirect your gaze to things above,
toward heights you had already dreamed upon.
But little did your parents understand
the power of our own encouragement;
The instant we two let go of your hand,
you stepped up gamely to your first ascent,
and well before your fearful tears could dry
you left off climbing, and began to fly.