hoe, rake, and wheelbarrow

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

my constant companions of yesteryear

provided me healing to body, mind

and my soul – transforming also land

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

those simple tools with greater output

fed bigger mouths, with larger bellies

grounding me on the very real ground

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

pen and pencil of the humble poor

writing on pages of mother earth

for me, the scholar to read, to live well

© henry victor     25.04.2003

easter lily

the easter lily in my home

has dropped her drooping flowers

but i have decided not to deposit

lily with no flowers in the dump

for i realize, i can never do so

without me, into dump, damning

self, first; for that easter lily

that fashioned the fleeting flower

is not, merely, ephemeral

but, in essence, eternal

in the creator’s mind, a mercy

and for me, a miracle

© henry victor     02.05.2003

the cow and the bull

i saw the mother cow tenderly caressing

the little calf lying at the mother’s feet

engraving in my mind the symbol

for mild and healthy productivity

i also watched the bull putting weight

unreservedly on the cow, not his own

charging ahead to discharge  all lust

hardly a thought of right or wrong

i, purposely, pause a moment to consider

the contrasting acts of the cow and the bull

the thought of holding opposites together

for a complete vision, my real to evolve

© henry victor

 

nothing

nothing i regard with importance

to nothing that i am now a slave

gold i seek not, women i care not

triumph i prize not, kings too stir me not

collapse frightens me not, nor poverty

wealth and lust keep aging with time

leading, sure, to death before i die

teaching me i last longer than these

even eternity is beyond me to grasp

and i crave not for that nonentity

myself is, indeed, only lees and scum

and it’s not worth that careful caring

© henry victor     03.05.2003

my pause

i recess to reflect

but the pause summons no peace

to my somnolent spirit

songs i am yet to compose

threatens from my band to be cut

i struggle from within me to tease

a melodious music to go out

but all seems wedged

into an impasse

like a turtle pulled in all her feet

© henry victor     02.05.2003

the poet

i saw the poet picking yesterday’s crumbs

his only possession, the typed manuscript

and dwelling in a solitary habitation

with no one peeping through his window

he’s that lonely hill, far from other hills

and songs of praise never arrive at foot;

he has withstood snowstorms and rains

his only staple food and strong drink

he dumps piles of papers at his door

nay! rejection notes, with more jeering

harder than real rocks they throw at

to cover alive after washing with his tears

© henry victor     07.05.2003

Canadian citizen

rootless was my childhood beginning

with no granddad nor grandma to call

on, and having no cousins to play, or fight

with, i was then a son of an immigrant!

adopting men and women of dad’s new town

as my immediate relatives and watching them

enjoy my mom’s food and house keeping

i did overlook that i was born an itinerant!

considering a floating lotus, a perfect floret

my only girl’s welfare, a being accidentally

acquired to increase, at least, my branches

i am, now, a new, rootless, Canadian citizen!

© henry victor     06.05.2003

change

seasons change, with it scenes that create

moods and perspectives change, changing values

that change priorities, also, changing memories

with it change faces, changing the change in faith

garments change, with it, music that make

tastes and emphasis change, changing homes

that change addresses, also, changing friends

with it change foes, changing the change of habit

work change, with it the vehicle that carry

identities and personalities change, changing change

that change seasons, also, changing the author

of change, changing decay, and even death

© henry victor     06.05.2003

another poet

time moves swiftly like a rolling stream

waiting not for me, or for my pal

carrying with it only the top soil

leaving behind persons in vain dream

i a lousy sheep roll on a warm bed

letting go the moving with no dam

chasing flies sitting on a lazy ram

without to that goal running ahead

at best i cry for that spilling milk

like a poet composing empty words

at worst i’m like those naughty gods

unconcerned for those weaving fine silk

© henry victor     09.05.2003

i'm Jonah

i’m Jonah singing un-rhythmic song

instead of researching and writing

paper for presentation to correct wrong

in social milieu; much evil promoting

i go to Tarshish avoiding Nineveh

dodging task entrusted to perform;

i sleep much at bottom of the boat

undisturbed by the turbulence out

i grumble when comforts i earned not

from me removed swiftly, for another

to enjoy while i’m in discomfort

wailing with songs in my chosen corner

© henry victor     19.05.2003

walk the path of Jesus

i have halted my hoping

for your encouragement

and you sustaining my work

of justice and reconciliation

and i expect not you

the patron of the patronizing

rich and the insensitive pretenders

to keep my vision alive

for i am brutally betrayed

by the same kiss of Judas, the pan handler

and cautiously rejected

by the chief priests and caesars of today

and thereafter cruelly crucified

by the sadistic fun loving masses

but will i not continue in the same path

of that crucified Jesus of Nazareth

© henry victor