sw00130ut-04.1ditty6poems

The Undulant Trees

        one old ditty and six old poems



  She


 She beat her husband with a stick
 to make him smart and make him quick
 to get in bed and get to sleep
 without a whimper or a peep.


- - -


 Praise the Lord!

     (for Mike Chaffin)


As I stepped
from my door,

a swooping 
hawk

snatched
this bird

right out of its
tree.


- - -


 This Frightening Balance


If mostly we are evil
and cannot escape it,
let us quickly destroy ourselves,
and be done.

If mostly (however) we are good,
let us just as quickly end
our insidious imbroglios,
and begin.

Have not the frustration
and constant suspense
lashed your heart
to a red rock too?


- - -


 Girls and Grasses


Beaded;
Too young for sun,
In a glorious greenness they sway,
Delicate
And spritely as a daydream fairy;
Fulsome,
And heavy,
As a March-time toad.

(Bewhere!Theyare,carefree)
Cummings might/ pun from his grave.
Yet,
Like them, I
Am morning too--
Soft,
Still,
Irresistibly expanding; pressuring
Thinly
To a bluebird burst.
And shining here,
I am bright in their growth;
And weak, but smiling,
Near their quivery
Fingers.


- - -


 In Winter's Tedious Nights


There goes no moth
Nor gray nor emerald bird
But snow will wave the last leaf down
And men will drift, unheard;

Nor maiden word
Nor country less than town
But wind will snap a beggar's cloth
And frozen strangers frown.


- - -


 Sometimes a person


doesn't know where he's at:
Arcadia, Whitehall, or Saskatoon;

if a twitchy red squirrel
is climbing his back

or his body's the floor
of a carpeted room.

Maybe his daughter
thinks he's a strait;

maybe his father
thinks he's a tern.

In broken old churches
fly angels of steam.

Sometimes a person
dies as he dreams.


                 May 16, 1973  -  Brian Salchert


- - -


 Wisconsin Impression


The dark whirls move and the pale men spin
And fingers go stiff with a tingling pain,
And wind over ice and ice over wind.

So down comes the snow where the blue tombs grin
But birds keep away for the birds are sane.
The dark whirls move and the pale men spin.

A man's like God and aman's like Sin,
The knot in the tree and the drift of rain,
And wind over ice and ice over wind.

For twelve long years and a new man in
Wisconsin sang through the frost and the grain.
The dark whirls move and the pale men spin.

But I neither long for milk or fin
In lands that laugh and leave must on my brain,
And wind over ice and ice over wind.

Where weather will totter and tear at my skin
I cannot stay, for the staying is vain.
The dark whirls move and the pale men spin--
And wind over ice and ice over wind.




 -------
Brian A. J. Salchert