The gallant Youth, who may have gained,
    Or seeks, a “winsome Marrow,”
Was but an Infant in the lap
    When first I looked on Yarrow;
Once more, by Newark’s Castle-gate
    Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,
    Great Minstrel of the Border!

Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day,
    Their dignity installing
In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves
    Were on the bough, or falling;
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed—
    The forest to embolden;
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot
    Transparence through the golden.

For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on
    In foamy agitation;
And slept in many a crystal pool
    For quiet contemplation:
No public and no private care
    The freeborn mind enthralling,
We made a day of happy hours,
    Our happy days recalling.

Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth,
    With freaks of graceful folly,—
Life’s temperate Noon, her sober Eve,
    Her Night not melancholy;
Past, present, future, all appeared
    In harmony united,
Like guests that meet, and some from far,
    By cordial love invited.

And if, as Yarrow, through the woods
    And down the meadow ranging,
Did meet us with unaltered face,
    Though we were changed and changing;
If, then, some natural shadows spread
    Our inward prospect over,
The soul’s deep valley was not slow
    Its brightness to recover.

Eternal blessings on the Muse,
    And her divine employment!
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
    For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet,
    Has o’er their pillow brooded;
And Care waylays their steps—a Sprite
    Not easily eluded.

For thee, O Scott! compelled to change
    Green Eildon—hill and Cheviot
For warm Vesuvio’s vine-clad slopes;
    And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot
For mild Sorrento’s breezy waves;
    May classic Fancy, linking
With native Fancy her fresh aid,
    Preserve thy heart from sinking!

Oh! while they minister to thee,
    Each vying with the other,
May Health return to mellow Age
    With Strength, her venturous brother;
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
    Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine,
    Nor lose one ray of glory!

For Thou, upon a hundred streams,
    By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth
    Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,
    Wherever they invite Thee,
At parent Nature’s grateful call,
    With gladness must requite Thee.

A gracious welcome shall be thine,
    Such looks of love and honour
As thy own Yarrow gave to me
    When first I gazed upon her;
Beheld what I had feared to see,
    Unwilling to surrender
Dreams treasured up from early days,
    The holy and the tender.

And what, for this frail world, were all
    That mortals do or suffer,
Did no responsive harp, no pen,
    Memorial tribute offer?
Yea, what were mighty Nature’s self?
    Her features, could they win us,
Unhelped by the poetic voice
    That hourly speaks within us?

Nor deem that localized Romance
    Plays false with our affections;
Unsanctifies our tears-made sport
    For fanciful dejections:
Ah, no! the visions of the past
    Sustain the heart in feeling
Life as she is-our changeful Life,
    With friends and kindred dealing.

Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day
    In Yarrow’s groves were centred;
Who through the silent portal arch
    Of mouldering Newark entered;
And clomb the winding stair that once
    Too timidly was mounted
By the “last Minstrel,”(not the last!)
    Ere he his Tale recounted.

Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream!
    Fulfil thy pensive duty,
Well pleased that future Bards should chant
    For simple hearts thy beauty;
To dream-light dear while yet unseen,
    Dear to the common sunshine,
And dearer still, as now I feel,
    To memory’s shadowy moonshine!

recollecting collections projecting selections injecting protection infection dejection
dyslexic narcoleptic rejecting dejections ******* complexion complicating interjections
perplexed inspectors intercept pterodactyls relaxing in backpacks extracting disillusion
contortionist philanthropist dejected transgression implementing eradications of moss buying patrons
eclectic perfectionist rests limp-wristed whispering disparaging remarks to the wait staff
trombone percussionist impressed and impoverished gravelling wistfully mimicking Rickles
I sit half disheveled grinding my wisdom teeth feeling the fleeting muse sitting in disbelief –

There are fragments of my faulty presence that I wish could be forgiven for
As much as there are obsolete memories,
altering theirselves into agonising keepsakes

The trails I have been trying to erase
The past that I thought I've left on the rearview
The hurting
The fear
The abuse

I have been waking up in the morning
Pretending to forget that these throbbing occurrences are all that I am made of
This is not discontent
This is wound

I remember voices
The voices I've known all too well
I was so little
Accustomed to the sound of TV outside my room

A year or so
The TV was never on anymore
And so dinner was no longer served
And Mother was no longer sleeping
And Father was no longer home

Growing up
I've come to realised that things
Just like persons,
They were also able to grow apart

There was the night which remained the longest
The bed have never felt any bigger
And Lord,
Have I ever felt any lesser

It was three a.m.
I called out
Reaching for Mother
Even I remembered how I sounded

"Where are you?"
There was a split second of the most exhausting silence
Until I heard her distraught voice on the other line
"I am looking for my husband."

That night have changed any other nights
And I have been living with the constant pain
Of having felt that you lost something great
When you never actually had it

I had my years of continual dejections
Until now,
I am still learning on how I should stop feeling like I am in pieces
I don't need anyone
Trying to remind me why I am this way

Trapped in the cages of catastrophes, My wings, flutter in hopes to fly in the
blue skies once again.
Dealing with the blight of long-ago,
Fighting the agony.

The whisper of my voice deafens the sound of the loud,
Yet those words were as quiet as the heart that beats no sound.

The thoughts of failure echoed in my mind,
And with heartaches and dejections, it leaves me blind.

Sometimes, I’m the artic wind,
Which whistles through the desert, breaking the night.
And sometimes, I’m the highest tide
Majestic yet so destructive with a crucial sight.

I wish upon the moon, and I count upon the stars.
For the path, I want to walk on with pride-light and a spark.

I know...

Somewhere along this stormy way,
Lies the hope- untold
That I'd never give up on, they say.
For the truth is crystal clear, and bold.

The turmoil in my thoughts is still unending,
I want to write and tell You since we met,
The certainties produced have no dependings,
Nothing any more seems to be random or a guess.

She made memories taste of cigarettes,
From when I liked to smoke.
She was addictive like Barbiturates,
And recklessness, and jokes.

900 hundred zeroes couldn’t count it,
The everything I feel when I'm with You.
I could climb thirty dozen mountains
And come back never knowing any simpler truths.

Red Wine was our breakfast of Champions.
It's always later than you think she used to say,
Quoting a Roman sundial for a Reference,
Or perhaps a forgotten song by Doris Day.

You are the only lamp lit in my room at night.
The only shadow I cling to in the dark.
I make you up as a reality in 20/20 foresight,
It is destiny you'll be the best of me in my Stars.

She cried once when the Tide went out,
Saying it made the Beach look ugly and afraid.
Every Full Moon at Midnight was the crescendo of a shout,
Sun Risings and Sun Settings only moments in The Game.

How do we know, really know, what is Love's cause -
The unknown unknowings we haven’t tasted yet,
The gap to freedom under all locked doors,
Keeping us prisoners in our innocence nonetheless?

I hear my dejections in these echoes,
My own hope's reverberations off these walls,
This little poem (a loneliness) a Song from Once Ago,
And Her mystery, the Enlightenment she brought.

...

Wrath, rage, fury
Dejections, rejections
Abuses, insults -
The interlude, the consolation
The thought that u see me
The hope that you exist
We will live through this
To say the"Hello"
As the sun sets..