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In the Gathers of the World

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Collection of my best poems, the twenty-six in the Replies below, in an order right for a book.

Suns / Steads / Lifehold / Placement / Shadow-Wing / Is Love / Island / Would Be / Each Reach / His Day / Still One / Secret Wreath / We of Love / Stream / The Castle / Brushes / Dream to Sleep / More / Matters / Carriage / After all / So / Landers / That It Had Been / The Song / Yes /

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Edited by Boydstun
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The children singing in the cherry tree

together moment time,

together carry down

old steads of birth and toil and dreams.


The children chiseling facing to stones,

steeling wills, honing skills,

walk cities million-fold

old steads of birth and toil and dreams.


Edited by Boydstun
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No council, no say.

All earth turn, night trail day.

Unceasing sea tease land away

     to watery deep stage lay,

     dark for none.


Bit ties bit, string twists string,

     winding time into spring.

Like by like, life-clock sets,

     tracing past for future nets.


Lights slip, waters slip

     slight chambers live-green

     for green, for green.

Green-thrive, alive,

     earth stake, break, take;

     place in own pace,

     own bound, own round.

Light-full green-sleep,

     keep in watchless waves

     of green live, green gone,



Edited by Boydstun
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Lush, sheenuous pluming-greens

    slip peeks

of the milk-limpid moon

    to him,

and delirious lofty fan-flares

    wreck quakes

of tensile steel-lance cries

    to him.


A stone stardop


a whiff-frail light,

    flushing his chest.


He sweeps touchless drift-shades,

    and flash-streaks

    a glancing crester,

    sailing breath-brimmed space,

    splitting, splash-sparkling

    on a wind-spilled pool

    of silver rock.


Fan-flares fly to open sky.

Swirl-leaves flow,

    flicker and toss,

    and whispers cease on fluffs of moss.


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Clearing to sky,

    breathing to fly,

    slowing to my

    standing still by

    shadow-wing why.

Felling the lie,

    timbers supply,

    framing new try,

    smiling our sky.


Perching so sly,

    cooing soft by,

    listening my

    saying apply.

Setting each tie,

    searching each sigh,

    hushing each cry,

    eaching our why,

    reaching our sky.


Edited by Boydstun
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Orbits back, forty-nine,

marching, tuned true upon that shore,

pulling through, through that cooling water

under that breezing blazing blue.


Sun-burning young lovers,

stepping those dunes, under desire,

baring on high sands, only we

under that sky, beside that sea.

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Would Be


Would be the rise to wonder,

        this click-shut night.

To those trains’ risen rumbles,

        this silk tie tight.


Would be to traction motor,

        copper, shellac.

To axles’ bright ten-thousandths,

        castings in stack.


Would be for tons two hundred,

        high cranes glide free.

To locomotive thunder,

        we who would be.

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Each Reach


Each reach, root, clasp, or grasp,

     all flights, all calls, all nests,

     all pulsing blood, all valves,

     all meters and accounts,

     bows of gifts, ties of love,

     treasures of loveliness

     in being and thinking,

     in rainbows and forest,

     in commerce and the peace—


Each problem and harvest,

     lay and planting for each

     breath and cry and suckle,

     struggle, rest, and struggle

     to grasp and say and make—

     are only of life, life

     gyring round, rambling to

     life wide-waked to wide world

     and to itself with you.

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His Day


Here on stone,

      sound his days in waves,

      lie his love in blooms,

      these peonies his Junes.


There at far,

      chime his time in hues,

      mount his reds and blues,

      cross this lake, his last grace.


Here on stone,

      washed in waves of tears,

      firmed for steps, no fears,

      full blaze, my clockwork days.

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Still One


Only it, other it is.

Given it is and taken.

Other it is in token.

Spoken it is, other is.


Round itself sailing itself,

taking, making its token,

breath-sail flies and dies, broken.

Rounding ruin, round sails itself.


In, still one, out, rushing roar,

kill after kill, still is still.

Touch and word, still ever will.

One, still one. For say, sail, oar.

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We of Love


Stand in deep winter my night to glassed light,

his spring to door, his smile, his bright,

his bring inside to our words and eyes

into our worlds and ways, and to our yes.


Unfold the bloom night to day, room by room,

on the floors, in falls or joys,

on our shores, wave by wave,

year on year, we of we of love.

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The Castle


Outside the still castle

in daylight not passing,

he has his knowing birds

cooing the only thing:

that died, I come to him

with my other my love.

Smiles knowing in silence,

we go into the castle.


Was it not the reverse?

Was it not he to we,

with our birds, our foxes?

Were his shadow on us

in daylight passing each,

serene in each silence?

Was it not he coming

to this stillness, the castle?

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On to on,

     the still-wash of moon

     shadows the night,

     softly brushes.


On to on,

     earth turn its seasons,

     the take-make-holds

     of roots, of minds.


On to on,

     life rushes, stilling

     in the wash, brush,

     soft of the moon.


Edited by Boydstun
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Dream to Sleep


Under watch, set of lock,

    beat keeps, lets deep away

    into star fields below

    the winding, binding world,

    herely, nowly unmoored.


Rose spotted serene, yet aside, unseen but by me

    in sparkling crystal-lighted crowded room,

    I seek you, hurry out the streets

    up to light rail empty far you more,

    losing our mission, our buoy in the sea.


Shored onto burning Sunday sand,

    you cross-sit seeing me

    walking to your eyes

    in deliciousness of me,

    my form you know

    you how you can you do.


Rocked ever to all days,

    we walk out our door

    to the parade of loves.


Not taken all wishes,

    chambered, full hair blond,

    winded with sheers onto satin

    bare she shines desire,

    forgone, ungrown.


For him found, our rock,

    our flowers, hours, our hands

    let now release to work, create,

    now to day break.


On round whirl round to ground,

    red drop jewel green blade,

    last sun red this last sky,

    sink under weak watch,

    loose lock, last beats,

    back to rolling boy

    in joy of grass and air

    evening over ever.

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It might be less one hoped

              and more.

Fleshed out, timed out, all-run


Rain to soil, swell to stream,


whiffs of evers before

              our days

of open ways with form,

              with clays

handed new, fired in, for,

              our rays.

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Human is desire to be,

living be, me awash we

seekers of earth, sea, and sun.


Our breath and touch, our say

yes to life. Not in frameless-space way,

not we purely living chambers.


Whirl of mind is life in life.

Life is home, whole plane for strife,

all place of makes and loves, all worth.


Exist that is out we, in we live,

we with minds of world ours to give

we makers and embracers.


Nothing at all seen or breathed,

not a whit. Then none could see, nothing be wreathed.

No matter to mind, no mind to live.


No matter touched

nor intoned, no mind is launched.

No inner shores, oars, seas.


Life from earth, sea, and sun

pressed into life mattered to run

for kind, for one. Running to run.


Man, woman, run the shoring sand.

Mattered thought, stars filling hand,

weaving passage, turning situation, tracing all.

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After all

the you or me and we

are stop, still, done, away:

all rush the world old play,

their rise, breathe, love their be,

their arms, words, eyes hold dawn,

race noon, bold burn their turn:

all rush the world old play,

their rise, breathe, love their be.

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So belong, so keep

    the night song your deep

    tourings rise to new

    stays of day’s bright view.


So belong, so be

    in me in world we

    tuners, scalers of

    time, we bringers, love.


So belong, so last

    our one, our days passed

    to they further sights,

    they new we, new lights.

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Say-share these woods, their winds,

their nettles and settles,

their glisten, our listen.


Hand-share this bentwood cane,

its replacing bracing,

its fitting our bidding.


Step-share these boots of we

woods walkers and talkers,

cane handers, world landers.

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That It Had Been


You had gone away to yourself and thought

thank you I had been with you, your story,

that all the story had been.


That trees had been, the world its whirl and seasons,

that you had been an inside and seen out,

that some cool constant of mind had stayed

through the horrors of disease and wreckage

and deaths of the most precious animal.


That tables and mirrors and books

their scent their open

in words to feelings and truths and stories.


That plows and wheat and granaries,

that motor oil and chain hoists,

that red iron and hammer and sparks.


That grapes and wine.

That water.


You came back and we talked of thanks

and talk was through and we made love.

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