Off to battle, he rode in World War I.
He led his calvary into war!
Then, was struck by lightning
Off his steed! He fell, paralyzed and dumb.

Six years later, as he fished,
He was beneath a sycamore tree,
Down fell the lightning bolt to lift the curse
His legs were now able to walk; set free!

Oh, God had blessed what He had cursed
And like Jonah in the belly of the whale,
The tree which He gave He also first
Lay to the silence of the gale

What God had given He had taken away.
So thus, he ambled on so happily
Walking free and true and good.
Yet, six years later, he was struck, could

It be that he was then paralyzed again?
Yes indeed it was, was it curse or freak
No one knows, but frightful of his life
He could no longer walk, and was meek.

Then he died, and laid to rest
His tombstone was struck again.
Was God a tyrant or was He just?
Yet, it proved He was once a man.

To philosophize upon this story
Lightning struck thrice, yet first
It hurt, and second relieved
Yet third it was a curse.

Why would God allow such things?
It is unknown to all Scholastic men.
It just shows God is truly real
So it were better to be His friend.

Yet it were for one more verse
I shall now tell you with this song:
Like Job, Walter had not cursed
But rather he suffered long.

The wind blows so calmly;
The roses are in full bloom;
Invasions storm around thee,
Of weapons forecasting doom.

All for the air of silence
Of poetry and verse;
The great men and the giants
Have fallen to the curse.

For meaning has been lost
And tyrants' claim to fame
Is to scrape off all the moss
And make writers have no name.

For the ancient poesy is forbidden
And the serial of verse
Is given to the bidden
Of petty men rehearsed

Of a few stale phrases
And platitudes of mind.
The bold are off to battle
As the general crossed the Rhine.

And I realize now and forever
I have lost track of time.
But my poetry is my treasure
And is what kept me so alive.

My mind is filled with things
And the images of metaphor.
That is what made me happy
And what shook the world to its core.

To do a job I cannot, but I lend my skill to rhyme
Yet none will purchase my sorrows
For all want me working on the dime.
So I do not know.

At the mall, I'm sitting
And minding my own business.
A janitor comes up behind me.
He politely asks me if I can move...
My dad is buying my soda.
He then tells me, "God has a way of 
"Putting people in your life
"At the just the right moment.
"He provides for you what you need."
I politely get my Coke
And realizing I was rude
Come back, and try to give him a business card;
But I didn't have any on me,
And told him I was a writer.
He told me he was a writer, too,
Thinking at first I was begging for some money.
He wrote "Hell of the Black Dusk."
I search... the engines are hiding it;
Or he lied to me.
Either way, I am at an impasse.
As Sun Tsu said, if you must succeed
Hedge your army at an impasse
Or die.
I either die a writer
Or I live a writer.
I've spent too much time on this,
And can't bear the rejections from McDonald's and Subway anymore.
People have this habit of babbling to me religious platitudes
Not realizing I have a purpose.
This is it.
I knew it wasn't from God because it seemed mean
And seemed more like war than peace.
But, I entertained him all the more...
What's the chance of meeting a published janitor
At the Mall telling you you need to get a job
And God provides the right person at the right time?
I believe in miracles, just not when they
Bristle at the thought of someone buying their precious book
And then get belligerent with you for trying to ask him.

 On Keats' Ode to May Fragment

The mayflowers scent
The forest. My verse
Legendarium--left
To a little clan
As I die upon
the grass one glorious day
Passed down through
Twenty generations--
No, Ten Thousand!
Yet, my little life
Of mad verse was sore
A legacy meant nothing
To me... only the fire
Of truth and a crock
Of lamb stew, fed
By the price of this labor.
What's more, if paradise
Does not open its
Door for me, and I
Not let in,---what was
This labor for but a
Noble pursuit of God's
Face? And if it will
Not be a guide for
Those seeking the same,
I am equally perplexed.

The Good Walk

I did a good
Walk... discussions were
Wide, and large.
Jokes, globalization,
Then we discussed
The historicity of the Bible.
Went down the line.
Discussion was robust.
Walking, I saw a 
Home with a camera.
It whistled and took
My picture.
I don't pretend
To know politics.
But I know I
Don't want my picture
Taken, while walking
Down the street.
I smelled the
Peonies, my Mimi's favorite
Flower--my favorite Roses are Peonies
But smell just like the Rose of Sharon
There is no thorn, but I'll still call them roses--
White and voluptuous were these
Like a rose,
But dissimilar.

King David and Prince Cuchulain 
Lived in stern competition with one another.
Let me account now, of their kingdoms.

David's kingdom elevated the ease of life;
He sought no history, but rather wanted all
For present day. He thought to himself,
"Ancient times were so barbaric
"And men's hearts are not cruel.
"I have the heart of a man;
"I know my fellow well.
"They need no virtue but only wetness of fluids
"From kisses and congress. There is no god
"Thus, all there is in life is here.
"Let them have a good life
"Unbound by law."

Cuchulain was ancient, however 
Believed the strong must prosper
And the weak must die and said,
"Men must be strong, and manly.
"They must live by the ancient rites of olden times.
"They must nurture themselves to be strong
"And noble. And must fight.
"Learn to seize the prize, and spoil the enemy.
"And nobility is in how well we accustom ourselves
"To taking the prey, and doing the exploit.
"For suffering comes when the booty gets plundered
"By your enemy, and you must help your people.
"For only by being strong, and willing not to spare, can you have peace."

The two nobles hated one another
And so St. Patrick came by upon his steed.
He dismounted and sat between them,
Seeing them martial their armies.
From the East, Darius and Cyrus martialed
War toward the West, as these two
Kings were ready to fight one another.
St. Patrick knew no one was safe
For the war was grave coming...
Two kings divided
And two kings unified.

Yet, quickly as it came,
Cuchulain lifted up his array
And while David was preparing
Cuchulain won the people's heart
And they became savages.
They were beasts, every one of them.
And so when Cyrus and Darius
Arrived upon the shores of Ireland,
Great war erupted.

St. Patrick, however, loved the people very much
Seeing the great loss of dignity in the world
And worrying that all would be forgotten, said
"Know ye not the ancient customs?
"Love, peace and joy, and family?
"And God? Yes, there is a time for war
"And a time to uproot, but no man shall
"Have peace with his neighbor
"If all he is preoccupied with is sex
"Or all he is preoccupied with is war.
"Life is not about taking the spoil or prey.
"Life is about hearty friendship with the soil
"And the beauty and treasure of other souls."

I listened to the King of the West
Talk about his education he'd bequeath to his son.
War, violence, primitive man, God is dead;
The economics of relationships and some Sages.

I listened to the other king of the West
Talk about his education he'd bequeath to his son.
He'd do away with all history, and make everything new.
A vortex, eating away all virtue and cruelty.

Declining empire, a Shadow of Rome---
You fight to take all the Roman Territories back.
But, are invaded by Huns and Germans
Goths and Visigoths, Vikings and Barbarians.
The institutions are not so powerful
With various booms and busts.
Muslims then invade, and Crusades.
You bulwark the West
And Schism from Rome
And are now Orthodox Christians.
You rule over religious rites
You make encyclopedias---
You bring the idea to Da Vinci
By routes to Italy in the Fifteenth Century
And Da Vinci compiles empirical observations
And invents the Compendium of Science.
That goes to Britain, and America
While Masons forge their best interests
And their many interests in Geometry and Magic
To create a world where illusions are made
Into leisure. And then Prometheus gives fire
To man, and Industry excels and man has comfort---
The poorest of all were more situated than kings.
And then Arab princes invade, and smash
And European princes apologize for making the world better.
And Irishmen dawn the horns of demons
And metastasize the West with belief in Fairies again.

I heard a glitch in
My podcast and an ever
Critical ear caught
Every unnatural pause in
Everyone. So don't 
Spoil all of your joyful illusions.