rhbeaudin1 – Page 2 – Marc D. Beaudin

Heaven’s Sound

Mother thinks I’ve had enough
I suppose she could not have known;
That all my loves like wings of doves
Have feathers thinly grown
I could have thought my heart was bought by wings so seldom found
And golden thread from a cornstalk bed
That whispers Heaven’s sound.

An early morning pot of tea
And a bookcase full of all
I caught the trees with an easterly breeze
And the birds flew in the squall
Those early days my book worm ways
With birds and trees were bound
And the lady cared, to my tent she dared to whisper Heaven’s sound.

The lady fair in the wood high chair
She looks like sister grim
The fox stood tall in the shower stall
And his suit was pistol prim,
And I grabbed hands to his wedding bands
And chased him round and round
With golden thread and a corn stock bed to whisper Heaven’s sound.

Know You Know Nothing

Know you know nothing
Nothing you can see.
Know you know nothing
Living Number Three.

Marc performing on a rooftop in Manhattan in 1994

Buried in the basement
Collared all downtown
Cows on the horse path
I can’t keep a sound.

Agca tried to kill the Pope
Was it KGB?
My lover walked off with my life
Into eternity.

Now I’m washing dishes
For Canaan and his frowns
Laura’s playing polo
Shankara’s playing clowns.

Know you know nothing
Nothing you can see.
Someone left the lights on
Back in ’83.

From There to Here And Back, Again

The bitter shocks they enter;
the ships of far way:
That sail into parted mountains,
those ships of far away.

That do not see the seasons,
the regulars of the café;
The minds of men who race
to lie where earthquakes play.

The sun shines here in daytime:
the men whose minds race
See nothing in the sunshine,
they see no end, in place.

The bitter shocks they enter:
They wear lines at dawn.
They sail from quiet mountains,
Changing the rook for pawn:

The piles lie here at dockside
and wear their lines of god:
The old men only play checkers:
the old men play only checkers.

Colin Fine
June 1984

Untitled

Bursting with a new excitement
Something like a 12 year old
With a new bicycle.

Running over with love
A new rowboat on a sea
Of swells, turns and gulls.

Fishing for a cloud
When Sun comes sliding outside
Its edge, pouring light.

Warmth and shadow
And fireside chatting,
Partly gazing out of doors.