Words of One Beat

One two three.

I count, but the bored dumb does not leave.

Why oh why do they let men work on days of sun,
when no one else does, and no one in their right mind would.
It's not to be done for coin or fun
But because coin and fun come when one does what he should.

At least, I'd like to think so.

One bright fall day, quite late at night,
which was in midst of June
The sun lay thick upon the wight
The snow shone near the moon.

The buds did sing a gay, sweet tune
The birds were full of bloom
I climbed the stairs to reach the top
to clean the most low room.

I saw ten times ten miles from me
A house just out of sight
It stood cut off with two more homes
And it was black-washed white.

( The true words of the poem )

.
SOME one came and knocked
At my wee, small door;
Some one came and knocked,
I'm sure – sure – sure;
I harked, and I peeped out,
I looked to left and right,
But nought could I see stir
In the still dark night;
Just a big black old watch bug,
Tap- tap- tapped in the wall,
Just from out the deep wood
The screech owl's call,
Just the creak of night bugs
While the dew drops fall,
So I know not who came and knocked
At all, at all, at all.

Walt de la Mare

[from an old kids' book I love -- this strikes me as kin to "Those Who Heard"]
.

.
Where dips the rock-filled high land
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leaf green isle, and
By its shore long-legged birds wake
The slow-eyed sleek wet rats;
There we've hid our great elf vats,
Full of red fruit;
Our lips drip the juice of our sweet loot.
Come with us, O earth-born child!
To the lakes and to the wild
Hand in hand, with fays now go
For the world's more full of tears than you should have to know.

Where the wave of moon's rays shine out
To gloss dim grey sands with light,
Far past the marsh we line out
And we dance all through the night,
We weave the steps of old,
Hands we touch and looks we hold
Till the moon shall take its flight;
To and fro we leap,
Chase the foam that floats on air
While your world groans with its care
Turns and calls out in its sleep.
Come with us, O earth-born child!
To the lakes and to the wild
Hand in hand, with fays now go
For the world's more full of tears than you should have to know.

Where the pure stream roams and runs down
From the hills that top Glen-Car,
In rush-ringed pools, when sun's down,
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek the sleep of a trout
And hiss soft words in their ears,
Give them fear in their dreams;
And lean so soft out
From ferns that drop their tears
Out o'er the young streams.
Come with us, O earth-born child!
To the lakes and to the wild
Hand in hand, with fays now go
For the world's more full of tears than you should have to know.

And now with our band he goes
The dark eyes wide:
He'll hear no more when it lows,
The calf's call on the warm hill's side
Or the black pot on the hob
That sings peace to his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the black oat chest.
For he comes, the earth-born child,
To the lakes and to the wild
Hand in hand with us he'll go
From a world more full of tears than he will have to know.

by Bill Yeats
.

See:

MAD
APE
DEN at http://www.madapeden.com/

Where they wrote in words no more than three things in length. (By "thing" I mean those things of which there are five in the word "thing".)

It seems to have been left to the ones who push ads, but it is still worth a look.

.
This might as well have been made just for us: great books set all in words of one beat. When? By whom? Go and see -- odds are your jaw will drop like mine did when I saw it. But then, why think we were the first to think of it? This comes from Boing Boing, a source of cool stuff. You can get the link from them.
.

It was a warm eve late in June; a fair sized crowd was there,
Which well nigh filled Joe's bar, out on the far edge of the square;
And as songs and well worn tales poured through the lit frame of the door
A poor man with no home crept in and stood there on the floor.

"Where did it come from?" one wit said. " The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" his mate chimed in. "Some red eye, rum or gin?"
"Here, boy, go sic 'em, if your gut don't get sick from the work --
I'd not dare touch him with a fork, his stench is like a Turk."

These words of wit the poor wretch stood and bore with no ill grace;
In fact, he smiled as tho' he thought at last he'd struck the place.
"Come, boys, I know there's warm hearts to be found in this fine crowd --
To be in such a group of men would make a monk feel proud.

"Give me a drink -- that's what I want -- I'm out of funds, you know,
When I had cash to treat the gang these hands of mine weren't slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought these pants ne'er saw a sou;
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you.

"There, thanks, that's braced me real good; God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass your door way I won't fail to make a call.
Give you a song? No, I can't do that; my days for song are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and I know my lungs won't last.

"I'll tell you all a tale to make you last, I swear it's true.
Say! Give me just one more glass full, and I'll tell you what I'll do --
That I was once a man of means not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me just one more drink.

"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life in this old frame --
Such small drinks to a bum like me are far too weak and tame;
Pour right up -- there, that's the scheme -- and from your best stock, too.
Well, here's luck, boys, and thanks, Joe, here's the best from me to you.

"You've all been more than kind to me; I'd like to tell you how
I came to be the sort of sot who begs booze from you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with strong arms, frame, and health,
And but for one wrong step ought to have made a world of wealth.

"I worked in paint -- I don't mean that I daubed on bricks and wood,
But I made art, and for my age, the word was I was good.
I worked hard for my muse, and I was all set fair to rise,
For bit by bit I saw the star of fame rise 'fore my eyes.

"I made one great work you may have seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame.'
It brought me scores of scores of pounds and taught the world my name,
And then I met my one great love -- you'll all laugh at this part --
With eyes that turned my brain to stone and sunk right in my heart.

"Why don't you laugh? Is it not ripe that this foul sot you see
Could love a lass and think that she might give love back to me?
But 'twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles to me were giv'n,
And when her lips in love touched mine, it took me straight to Heav'n.

"Boys, have you set eyes on a girl for whom your soul you'd give,
A form the Greeks would carve in stone, too fair by far to live
With eyes that would put the sun to shame, and a wealth of nut-brown hair?
If so, 'twas she, for in the world, there's none been half so fair.

"I'd set to work to paint a face, one fine day, late in May,
Of a friend of mine with fair hair who lived just down my way
And my love said she liked it, and would so much like to prize
The chance to get to know the man with such a pair of eyes.

"It took no time to know him, and scarce that month had flown
Than my friend stole my love from me, and left me on my own;
And ere a year of grief had passed since all my joy had fled,
The gem I loved had ceased to shine and my true love was dead.

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I thought I'd see you smile.
I thought you'd see the joke in it, and you would laugh the while.
What's wrong with you, my friend? There's a tear drop in your eye.
Come, laugh like me. 'Tis babes and dames and simps that ought to cry.

"Say, boys, if you give me just one more full glass I'll be glad,
And I'll draw right here for you the same face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the ball game score --
You shall see the face of my love, drawn right on your bar room floor."

One more drink, and with chalk in hand, the foul tramp set his hand
To sketch a face to buy the souls of all men in the land.
Then, as he placed one more lock on that sweet and well-formed head,
With a fear-filled shriek, he leaped and fell down on his last work -- dead.

Hugh A D'ar, see?

Just a quick note that the One Beat Book of Verse has moved to http://www.larryhammer.com/wordsofonebeat/1beat.html.

      My old host
      Gave up the ghost
So I had to move it all:
      To a place just the same
      But now has my name
In the link by which you call.

---L.

They flee from me that one time did me seek,
With foot not shod, and stalked on in my flat.
I have seen them mild, and tame, and meek,
That now are wild and now have lost the thought
That one time they did place their selves in threat
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
And spend all of their time to seek out change.

Thanked be my luck it hath been not this wise
A score of times more good; and once most of all,
In thin night clothes in some fair guise,
When her loose gown thus from her arms did fall,
And she caught me in her arms long and small;
And then so sweet she did me kiss
And soft said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"

It was no dream: I lay with eyes not closed.
But all is turned, from the ways of the high and mild
To some strange fad of where one loves then goes;
I've leave to go, out of her heart's own good,
And she too, gets to use this days' new mode.
But since I have been served so true
I would fain know what she hath due.


A song by Sir Tom Watt.

---L.

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus with clean hands I can get me free.
Shake hands for all time, make null all our vows,
And when we meet at some time hence once more
Be it not seen in yours or in my brows
That we one jot of our old love have stored.
Now at the last gasp of Love's most faint breath,
When, as his pulse fails, High Thoughts sans speech lies,
When Faith has knelt down by his bed of death,
And now the Pure One shuts by hand his eyes --
    Now, if you would, when all think he is wracked,
    From death to life you may yet bring him back.


The source is here.

Check out the first game here. Face to face! Now that's hard.

---L.

To His Girl, to Come to Bed
John Donne

    Come, my Miss come -- for rest my strength does sigh;
Till I do strive, do I in strife so lie.
The foe too oft, once foe has come in sight,
Stands to, and so tires though he does not fight.
Off with that belt, that like the sky's own zone glints,
Though a world that's far more fair is held in it.
Lose that bright plate that on your breast you wear,
That the eyes of poke-nose fools may be stopped there.
Loose your ties, for that watch you wear now chimes,
Tells me from you that now it is bed time.
Off with that busk whose joy I, green glared, eye,
That it still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown as it goes off, such sweet state shows
As when from the mead's blooms the hill's shade goes.
Off with that band worn on your brow and show
The crown of hair which bright on you doth grow;
Now off with those shoes, and then with no fear tread
In this, a church love's blessed, this soft bed.
In such white robes, God's own folk used to be
Met by men -- thou, girl of God, bringst with thee
God's realm like the Turk's bless'd state; and though
Ill things do walk in white, yet we can know
By this the folks of God from evil sprites:
Those make our hairs, but these our flesh, stand high.
    Give leave to hands to rove, and let them go
In front, in back, in there, on top, and down.
O my New World! my new found land,
My realm, most safe when with one man manned,
My mine of rich cut stones, my King's hold free,
How blest am I in this my trip to thee!
To come in these my bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
    O full nude state! All joys are due to thee;
As soul from flesh, the flesh from clothes must be
To taste whole joys. Those gems that you dames use
Are like the balls of she who raced, in men's views
Cast, so that when some fool's eye sees a gem,
His base bourn soul may lust for theirs, not them.
Like bright paints, or like books' gay front boards made
For lay men, are all dames in such state stayed;
Their selves are books of faith, and it's just we
(Whom their grace, so called, will make us free)
Must see laid bare. Then since, that I may know,
As full free as to a birth room show
Thy self: cast all, yes too this white shift hence;
There is no sin's due for those pure in sense.
    To teach thee, I am nude first; why then,
What needst thou have more on thee than a man?


The true point of verse, just as most things we build and make, is to get in the pants of the one you love (or lust for). I like verse that waves its goal like a proud flag.

---L.

Two things:

1. I think I've caught up the One Beat Book of Verse -- all but this one, I think. If I missed a post you want me to add, drop a note here, with a link to the thing. I'll cry "my bad!" and toss it in.

2. I've tweaked the Oft Asked Things with a few points. Let me know what you think, and if you want it to say more or less.


          Little Miss Muft
          Sits on a tuft
To eat some curds and whey.
          But then came a bug
          Who sat on her rug
And scared the poor girl -- please stay!

---L.

No posts for a while. My bad, but I've been banked up with a verse that's, well, quite hard. So in lieu of that, an old one of mine, by Will the Bard. It's pome five-score, ten, and six.


Let me not let true minds not be wed.
Love is not love which makes a change when it
Finds there's a change by which it could be led,
Or bends with he who would get rid of it:
O no! it is a fixed for all time sign
That looks at storms but will not shake in fright;
It is the star to ships that sail the brine,
Whose worth's not known, though they can take his height.
Love's not Time's fool, though red lips and pink cheeks
In the round reach of his bent scythe have come:
Love does not change with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears out all the way to the edge of doom.
    If this is just plain wrong and to me proved,
    I did not write, nor has a man quite loved.


---L.

Should old friends drop from out our thoughts
And not be brought to mind?
Should old friends drop from out our thoughts
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
for auld lang syne.

And sure now ye'll be in your cups!
And sure I'll be in mine!
And we'll take a cup o' heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne.

We two have run all through the hills,
And pulled the wild blooms fine;
But we've trod miles on worn-out feet,
Since auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne.

We two have swum wild in the burn,
From morn 'til time to dine;
But seas twixt us so broad have roared
Since auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my heart's good friend
Give me a hand of thine
We'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet
For auld lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne.

Should our old friends drop from our thoughts
And slip out from our mind?
Should our old friends drop from our thoughts
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of heart's warmth yet,
For auld lang syne!

Trad, and Rob Burns -- big thanks to the linked site for help wi' the words that threw me off. You up to date sorts could take out "auld lang syne" and put in "time gone by," but I won't sing it that way.

.
My ma, she done tol’ me,
When I was in knee pants
My ma, she done tol’ me,
Son,
A dame will make sweet talk
And give ya the big eye,
But when the sweet talk is done
A dame is a two face,
A heck of a thing who’ll
Leave ya to sing
The blues in the night

Now the rain it falls down,
Hear the ol' train’s sad sound
Whoo hoo!
(My ma she done tol’ me)
Hear dat sad ol' toot go
Chill you to the root, oh
Whoo hoo!
(My ma she done tol’ me)
A whoo hoo, a whoo hoo,
A click and a clack,
The sound will come back
Th' blues in the night.

The chill night breeze will start
The trees to sob out
And the moon 'ull hide its light
When you get the blues
In the night,
Take my word, that home sick bird
'Ull sing a sad, sweet kind o' song
He knows things are wrong,
And he’s right.

From Plains down to Gulf Breeze
From St. Lou to St. Joe
All spots where the four winds blow
I been in some big towns
An’ heard me some big talk,
But there is one thing I know

A dame is a two face,
A heck of a thing who’ll
Leave ya to sing
The blues in the night

My ma, she was right, there’s blues in the night!

by John & Hal
(I did this some years back, but I think I did it right this time.)
.

.
'Twas the last night ere Yule day and all through the house
Not one live thing stirred, not so much as a mouse.
The kids' socks were hung o'er the fire with much care
With the hope that quite soon old St. Nick would be there.

The wee ones all slept snug and tight in their beds
While dreams of sweet treats sang and danced in their heads;
So Ma put her scarf on, and I donned my cap
And we lay in bed for a long, well-earned nap.

When out on the lawn came a crash and a quake
And I leapt to my feet to see what made me wake.
Straight to the sill my feet flew like a flash,
I flung wide the drapes and I threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new coat of snow
Gave things on the ground such a bright mid-day glow
When, to my eyes, full of awe, what should be near
But a wee sleigh pulled on by four pairs of small deer

All drove by a wee man, so old, bright and quick
I knew in a tick it just must be St. Nick.
As quick as eight swifts this strange team of beasts came.
With a tweet! and a shout he called to them by name

"Now Dance Girl! Now Minx! And now Sweet Boy and Dash!
On Star Trail! On Love's Dart! On Big Boom and Flash!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now zoom off and boom off and on your way all!"

As leaves that in front of the wild wind all fly
When they meet with a wall, they mount up to the sky,
So up to the house top the sled deer they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and with old St. Nick too.

And then, in a flash, I could hear on the roof
The taps and the scrapes that were made by each hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and I turned my head round
Down the flue came old St. Nick with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all grimed with gray ash and black soot;
A bag full of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a man who sold toys from his pack.

His eyes -- how their light shone! his smile was so bright!
His cheek like a rose, and his nose like a light!
His droll mouth was drawn up and curved like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke of it wrapped round his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a gut like a ham
That shook, when he laughed like a bowl full of jam.

He was round and quite plump, full of fun as a boy
And I laughed when I saw him how he quaked in his joy.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know that I had naught to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the socks up; then turned with a jerk,
And lay his right hand to the side of his nose,
And with one last nod, up the flue St. Nick rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a tweet
And off they all sped through the night air, so fleet
And the last thing he said as he flew from my sight
Was "A glad Yule to all, and to all a good night!"

By Hank L (Doc L, I dare say?), not Clem C. Moore
Might need work, 'cause jam don't shake, right? Might need some help -- I don't know.
A late gift... one more nut to roast by the fire.
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When You Are Old
by Will B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nod off by the fire, take down this book,
And read it slow, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shades wrapped deep;

How all the men loved to watch your glad grace,
And loved your looks with love that's false or true,
But one man loved the Soul that changed in you,
And loved the sad thoughts as they changed your face;

And, bent down next to the flame lit bars,
Speak soft, and a bit sad, of how Love fled
And paced on the high hills past the head
And hid his face in all the crowd of stars.


It seemed the thing, what with the verse of Will Yeats, to post one by him.

---L.

To Keep Will Yeats in Mind
by W.H.A.

I

He left us in the dead time of year:
The brooks were ice, the ports were all but dead,
And snow made our carved men lose their shapes;
The glass bulbs sank in the mouth of the end of day.
O all the means we have to mark it say
The day of his death was a cold dark day.

Far from where he lay ill
The wolves ran on through the fir woods,
The serf stream was not lured by the quays then in style;
By tongues that mourn
The death of the man was kept from his work.

But for him it was his last day in his self,
An eve of the nurse and wild news;
The states of his corpse left his rule,
The squares of his mind held no one,
A still hush took up the edge of town,
The flow of what he felt failed; he turned to those who like him.

Now he is strewn in some five score towns
And all took up by loves he did not know;
To find his joy in one more wood
And be paid for it by a new code of what's thought right.
The words of a dead man
Are changed in the guts of those who live.

But in the pomp and noise of the next day
When those who trade roar like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have all the aches they're used to,
And each in cell of his self can all but think he's free,
A few score of scores will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did a thing not quite the norm.

O all the means we have to mark it say
The day of his death was a cold dark day.

II

You were a fool like us; your gift lived through it all:
The church wards of rich dames, the loss of health,
You; the mad Green Isle hurt you to your verse.
Now the Green Isle has her mad thoughts and is rained on still,
For verse won't make things come to pass: they live
In the vales where they were said, where sharp men
Would not want to mess with, it flows south
From the range of just one's self and much worked griefs,
Raw towns that we have faith and die in; it lives on,
A way to come to pass, a mouth.

III

Earth, please take this famed new guest:
Will B. Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Green Isle's great cup lie
All verse poured out by-and-by.

Time, that will not take the part
Of the brave and pure of heart,
And in a week gives no more nods
To a hard and well-formed bod,

Treats fine words as gods and gives
Grace to those who make them live;
Lets by wimps, the vain, the cheats,
Lays its bright wreaths at their feet.

Time that with this strange life use
Let by Red Kip and his views,
And will let by Paul as well,
Lets him 'cause he wrote real well.

In the bad dream of the dark
All the Old World dogs do bark,
And the states that still live wait,
Each one set off in its hate;

Ill-wrought thoughts that wreck our grace
Stare out now from each man's face,
And the seas of rue do lie
Locked and iced up in each eye.

Go on, verse man, go on right
To the low point of the night,
Break our bonds with your free voice,
Teach us to sing out our joys;

With a sown field of a verse
Make a grape farm of the curse,
Sing of how a man can't win
In your joy at life's hard strain;

In the dry lands of the heart
Let the spring that heals now start,
In the jail cell of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.



The source is here. I did the first two parts some years since, back in the old place, but the third part -- well, I was at a loss. Now I have part three, plus I cleaned up the first two a bit -- there were a few rough lines.

---L.

.
Oh, I know a bit of song that's just as cracked as it can be
The guy who wrote it kept it, then he gave the thing to me.
I found I could not use it, for it was a bit too blue.
That's where the whole thing ends, for now I'll hand it off to you.

It's a song the crocs croon sweet as they go hop scotch thru' the rye
And they play their ukes for gray-trunked beasts up in the trees so high.
It's a song the ice man sings, as he spoons in all your coal
And the monks take up the verse as they dance 'round the far north pole.

Ain't we goof balls? Ain't we goof balls?
This is the way we pass our time so gay!
Ain't we goof balls? Ain't we goof balls?
We plan to sing this song all night this day.

'Twas a dark night on the green sea, not a street car was in sight.
The sun shone bright as pitch for it had rained all day that night.
'Twas a warm June night at yule time and the snow rained fast as fast
As a bare foot boy with shoes on stood straight up down on his ass.

It was bright morn, and the sun set spread its rays out in the west
The fish up in the tree tops all were snug in their wee nest
The rain poured down so hard, and the moon shone out so bright,
And all the stuff that you could see was hid clean out of sight.

The cows were making cow slips and it made the bells ring wet,
And all the bees were on the bum and might still be there yet
And a man slipped through the barn door and he came out tired and hoarse
So he hopped up on his golf sticks and drove two times round the course.

Ain't we goof balls? ...

As the great pipes pealed the spuds, fair words of lard came from the choir,
The bell boy rang the dish rag, some fool set the church on fire.
"Hold the smoke!" called out the priest, and in the rain he lost his hair.
Now his head is like the world to come, for none shall part up there.

Ain't we goof balls? ...

'Twas a dark night on the green sea, not a horse car was in sight
As I set foot in a drug store just to get my smoke a light.
The man who brought me tooth picks was a dame, so old and gray,
Who used to shine the lads' shoes on the old silk road each day.

"Good day, kind sir," she asked me, and her eyes were wet with tears
As she put her bald head 'neath her feet and stood that way for years.
Her kids, six of them, had no folks, save for one teen-aged tot
Who lived in a house on that same block up o'er a weed-strewn lot.

Ain't we goof balls? ...

(As sung by Hay Wire Mack -- this site gives some of the words I heard him sing on Doc D, but not all. I put in more when it struck me that some had slipped my mind the first time. Watch out: it might sing at you. Note: I crept back in here and fixed some bad words, and some good ones too. Can't stop, you know.)
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