Singer
By Jeffrey R. Paine
Inspired on 12-3-03
Voice that
in her youth
had been
as silk now
roughened textured
transformed by
call it ten thousand
nights maybe more
of singing and song
of smoke from ten thousand
smokes maybe more
of ten thousand shots and
at least as many pints
maybe more slaking
thirst of ten thousand days
maybe more of heartaches
heartbreaks day to day
living screams of
anger anguish joy
tears of all the same
ten thousand conversations
some whispered
maybe more
That voice
the woman
who is her song
sings for all
and maybe
ten thousand more
The Great Grade A Gray Day
By Jeffrey R. Paine
February 5, 2004
No, it wasn’t just any day
this great, grade A, gray day
It dawned in many ways
like so many other such days
dark turned to dim turned to gray turned to light
no hint of sun or blue sky in sight,
and once the uniform illumination was set
an ordinary day of grayness was the best bet
But not this day!
No, this was not just any gray day,
but the greatest of the grayest,
a Grade A if there ever was, Gray Day!
So what, you ask, made this day,
so great, this great gray day,
a day Grade A?
Listen but for a moment as I tell
the nongray ending of this tale,
this great gray day was like
no gray day before or since
for on this great grade A gray day,
you laughed and smiled
and pledged me your love,
making it the greatest of the great,
the Great Grade A Gray Day!
Ascendancy
By Jeffrey R. Paine
December 4, 2003; redrafted Sept. 2, 2020
Who lifted up the Gods
Or the God to be
So high above us?
So high we could
Never ever reach them,
even when we reached for them,
even when we fall?
So high and distant
Regardless our desire deserves
Reserve how hard we try
Our prayers appeals depend
To bridge the gap on them
Looking down to hear us see us
Seize us out of this world abundant
Of human and other
Persons unheard?
Not wishing to tread upon
Deity deigning generosity
We hesitate
To call upon
Distant Gods or God
Fearing this is not
The time we really really need
To turn to them: look up!
To ask their help: bend knees!
Fear they will turn us down
With ‘No!’ unexplained
Or worse, more likely
Stay silent, perhaps
Never having noticed
What to us at this small hour
Seems our gravest need,
When they, knowing later will
Take all their strength and
Purpose added onto ours
On our behalf to prevail…
Or, indeed, that such a time
Has long already passed
With Assistance from The Bard
Jeffrey R. Paine
‘All the World’s a stage,’
He said, ‘and
all the men and women in’t,
Merely players…’
Seem like bit players, mostly,
And a few character actors cast
In supporting roles,
But all are leading,
Or so they think,
In the drama tragic
Or comedy dark or
Light of their own lives.
Some are better at
Acting than others,
But few have the depth
Force of presence
Sense of timing
Projection
Comfort in their skin
(Casting report for
one of the better ones: “Can't
sing. Can't act. Balding.
Can dance a little.”)
To land and inhabit
A truly leading role,
Even in their own
performances.
Yes, all the world’s a stage
And of all the merely players in’t,
There’s nary a one
Who doesn’t believe
He or she could not
Write a better script
Be a better director
Or mostly, be
The star of their show
If they could just--
Please oh Pretty Please!--
Be given the chance
Just let them read for
The part, for
Some other role
In some other play
On some other stage.
Awaiting
Jeffrey R. Paine
1978, probably
The lone man paced about
Within the cryptic chamber
In the light of stars and moon cast
Through windows on the floor
“If this is a place of the soul” he said
“Then I would say that
The night is very dark
And very, very silent,
Even for the moonlight
And the singing of the stars.”
All through the moonlit night
He wandered
Awaiting what was there
No specters danced alight on moonbeams
Just shadows on the March breeze air
In the dawn he paused to scribble
A message left upon the stair
“Imperfect lines, forgotten rhymes
Unbalanced composed
Upon the air
Frozen words symbols etched
In haste upon the tablet
Crystal words opaque
Meanings absurd
Clues pointing somewhere fair…
“Perhaps one day--
an ancient universal line
I know--
I shall return to find them
And complete their meaning
Then and there.
“For in this night
The time has passed
And I have gone on
And do I not know where?”
(Inspired by Walter De La Mare, The Listeners, and an evening at Allerton Park)
By Jeffrey R. Paine
Inspired on 12-3-03
Voice that
in her youth
had been
as silk now
roughened textured
transformed by
call it ten thousand
nights maybe more
of singing and song
of smoke from ten thousand
smokes maybe more
of ten thousand shots and
at least as many pints
maybe more slaking
thirst of ten thousand days
maybe more of heartaches
heartbreaks day to day
living screams of
anger anguish joy
tears of all the same
ten thousand conversations
some whispered
maybe more
That voice
the woman
who is her song
sings for all
and maybe
ten thousand more
The Great Grade A Gray Day
By Jeffrey R. Paine
February 5, 2004
No, it wasn’t just any day
this great, grade A, gray day
It dawned in many ways
like so many other such days
dark turned to dim turned to gray turned to light
no hint of sun or blue sky in sight,
and once the uniform illumination was set
an ordinary day of grayness was the best bet
But not this day!
No, this was not just any gray day,
but the greatest of the grayest,
a Grade A if there ever was, Gray Day!
So what, you ask, made this day,
so great, this great gray day,
a day Grade A?
Listen but for a moment as I tell
the nongray ending of this tale,
this great gray day was like
no gray day before or since
for on this great grade A gray day,
you laughed and smiled
and pledged me your love,
making it the greatest of the great,
the Great Grade A Gray Day!
Ascendancy
By Jeffrey R. Paine
December 4, 2003; redrafted Sept. 2, 2020
Who lifted up the Gods
Or the God to be
So high above us?
So high we could
Never ever reach them,
even when we reached for them,
even when we fall?
So high and distant
Regardless our desire deserves
Reserve how hard we try
Our prayers appeals depend
To bridge the gap on them
Looking down to hear us see us
Seize us out of this world abundant
Of human and other
Persons unheard?
Not wishing to tread upon
Deity deigning generosity
We hesitate
To call upon
Distant Gods or God
Fearing this is not
The time we really really need
To turn to them: look up!
To ask their help: bend knees!
Fear they will turn us down
With ‘No!’ unexplained
Or worse, more likely
Stay silent, perhaps
Never having noticed
What to us at this small hour
Seems our gravest need,
When they, knowing later will
Take all their strength and
Purpose added onto ours
On our behalf to prevail…
Or, indeed, that such a time
Has long already passed
With Assistance from The Bard
Jeffrey R. Paine
‘All the World’s a stage,’
He said, ‘and
all the men and women in’t,
Merely players…’
Seem like bit players, mostly,
And a few character actors cast
In supporting roles,
But all are leading,
Or so they think,
In the drama tragic
Or comedy dark or
Light of their own lives.
Some are better at
Acting than others,
But few have the depth
Force of presence
Sense of timing
Projection
Comfort in their skin
(Casting report for
one of the better ones: “Can't
sing. Can't act. Balding.
Can dance a little.”)
To land and inhabit
A truly leading role,
Even in their own
performances.
Yes, all the world’s a stage
And of all the merely players in’t,
There’s nary a one
Who doesn’t believe
He or she could not
Write a better script
Be a better director
Or mostly, be
The star of their show
If they could just--
Please oh Pretty Please!--
Be given the chance
Just let them read for
The part, for
Some other role
In some other play
On some other stage.
Awaiting
Jeffrey R. Paine
1978, probably
The lone man paced about
Within the cryptic chamber
In the light of stars and moon cast
Through windows on the floor
“If this is a place of the soul” he said
“Then I would say that
The night is very dark
And very, very silent,
Even for the moonlight
And the singing of the stars.”
All through the moonlit night
He wandered
Awaiting what was there
No specters danced alight on moonbeams
Just shadows on the March breeze air
In the dawn he paused to scribble
A message left upon the stair
“Imperfect lines, forgotten rhymes
Unbalanced composed
Upon the air
Frozen words symbols etched
In haste upon the tablet
Crystal words opaque
Meanings absurd
Clues pointing somewhere fair…
“Perhaps one day--
an ancient universal line
I know--
I shall return to find them
And complete their meaning
Then and there.
“For in this night
The time has passed
And I have gone on
And do I not know where?”
(Inspired by Walter De La Mare, The Listeners, and an evening at Allerton Park)