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Wesley A. Storer

of

Spokane, WA, US

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If ever in Plymouth by the sea

by

Wesley A. Storer

If ever in Plymouth by the sea you should be

If it's cold December night should you invite

To listen for echoes of the early pilgrim plight

Where solitary waves haunt those eerie shores

To hear their lonely sighs their homesick cries

To reside in cold hunger as when they first arrived

The silence is more silent in those pilgrim hills

As if the silence itself is remembering still

The melancholy ambiance that Winter did instill

By a cobble bottomed brook a lonely statue stands

Of a caped and capped pretty pilgrim girl

And I wondered while seeing her standing there

As visions of cold deprivation my mind did forebear

With what eloquence did God bless her final rest

And I wished her well I wished her memory well

Walking beside the graves upon that little knell

As solitary waves foamed their haunting refrain

With thoughts of loyal Squanto and noble Massasoit

While golden moonbeams on a gabled window gleamed

The lantern skied diamond dust stars convened

To have been there and felt that love so rare

To have known to have known someone truly cared

And sleep the eloquent sleep a pilgrim must keep

If ever the cold December night should you invite

If ever in Plymouth by the sea you should be

Song of the Dirty Duck

by

Wesley A. Storer

Songs of the red winged blackbird

from the solitudes of chantilus

SONG OF THE DIRTY DUCK

How could I have been

All those different people?

The snot nosed punk of 12

Scaring old ladies with firecrackers

Tipping over Johns at Halloween

The 18 year old soldier at J.F.K.'s funeral

Who once opened the door for Jackie

With her secret service escort of 3

At the National Gallery of Art in 1963

At 25 involved in a terrible car wreck

Trying to elope with an old lady of 65

Whose own daddy tried to gun him down

In a drunken bunkhouse brawl the same time

Who they say tried to commit suicide at 30

By jumping out of a plane at 3,000 feet

The orthopedic surgeon cussed like Satan

For four hours and forty-five minutes

Putting an 11 inch nail in my left femur

Was I the guy who hitched to Boston broke

Who got shot for being a stool pidgeon

In Dorchester, Ma in Spring of 1988

Who almost died from huge gall stones?

That guy who almost froze to death

Hitch-hiking in Montana in 1969

But why should I stretch credulity

With this and yes even more

When I can scarcely believe it myself

Yes all of those people were me

I guess my mother must of prayed for me

The Desert Rat

by

Wesley A. Storer

A poet is a miner of his mind and soul

Like a prospector is a miner for gold

Back in 1849 a lonely man headed West

To find the desert gold his all obsessing quest

Until one day desperation carried him too far

His water and luck low from lusting yellow dust

He found a covered wagon in the hot sun's glow

With Father, Mother, and Daughter thirsting below

Draw horses dead from no water scarce as gold

Reviving them he gazed into the young girl's soul

And the love of his life her sad eyes did unfold

Feeling a sense of doom his plan to them he told

Travel by night and avoid the hot sun's scold

Ride my mule and when he stops walk on

Saving water four nights will see you through

To the little river where once the cattails grew

I'll get help from Indians don't worry about me

He lied knowing no indians who were as dumb as he

Brave men will die to save an innocent girl's pride

Early that night he watched them ride out of sight

There in the last of the cold Desert's light

His old mule braying his last heartfelt goodbyes

He followed in the distance with weakening resistance

And prayed that God would lend them assistance

They made the river Owens with death closely stalking

And survived the fiery furnace known as Devil's Fleu

She married a godly man whose posterity grew and grew

While far behind beneath the shifting sand

Rest the unknown lover whose love she never knew

Where the bleached bones of a miner forty-niner

lie hidden with their arm around his mule.

Wistful

by

Wesley A. Storer

The last of them can now no longer refrain
No longer from time's call may they remain
The November wind the last of them claims
You know of course I refer to the leaves
Falling on sidewalks and filling up eves
I swished through their wispy sienna seas
Reveling with their levity setting me free
I wished their cheerful brilliance to keep
In a special place somewhere inside of me
I trounced drifting rifts of merry melee
Like a madman gone nuts on a drunken spree
Like a prisoner from his dungeon released
Making the most of their moments with me
Wishing their cheerful brilliance to stay
Tromping the pomp of their stately ruins
Their lonely splendor's prot�g� I would be
And toward that noble end I went a-wooing
No amber pandering prurients can they be
magnanimous little critters of curious debris
Wistful little waifs of nature's tapestry
Their vivacious vibrancy of timely happency
The Chinese Elms' sheets of gold undoing
Scarlet Maple the Tanager's fire pursuing
Scampering and dancing mid rustling mutters
Dull glowering sky gave no time to putter
Their cheerful brilliance my mind to clutter
That lonely day of the first November rain
Their cheerful brilliance my mind did claim
Their innocent intimacy my journey sustained

The Love Song of Chantilus

by

Wesley A. Storer

The wind frolics through the leaves

Of this my gently listing tree

With soothing longing calming ease

With magic music of a Westerly breeze

I wonder what its soft sighing speaks

Some tropical beach or blustery reef?

Does its quiet lull some spirit seek?

As its sound of nothing now reveals

It's quiet interlude of sighing conceal

How I wish that carefree sprite was me

Sailing sailing into rising sunsets

From farthest West to farthest East

Filling sails of romantic Portuguese

Neath stalwart wings of Northern geese

Fill my sail with thy sighing trill

A lonely Norwegian princess We go see

On a mountain by a fiord her castle be

About her palatial walls we will fell

Around its lovely parapets we will gale

Some comfort speak while kissing her cheek

As beautiful lonely Jesu his mother sweet

Her soul with comforting countenance keep

Carry me away then! Carry me away!

To that wild and constant calling shore

That upon my soul you evermore implore

My gratitude will fill thy breathy sighs

With I love you through the endless skies

The Roses of Versailles

by

Wesley A. Storer

ONCE A LAND FOR FLEURS DE LIS

LE ROSAIRE CHERI ET LA MUGUET

EXOTIC COLORED PASTELS MIXING

STRIPED AWNINGS AND UMBRELLAS

CONCERTINAS AND GYPSY DANCERS

PARIS COLORS ARE BLUE AND RED

AND FRAGRANT LINED LEAFY LANE

FLEURS OF ALL DESCRIPTIVE HUE

TRANSCENDING FRAGRANCES ASKEW

HERE LIVED LOVE AMIDST CHARMS

OF LOVE'S SPLENDID ASCENDANCE

WHERE UNDER HONEY COLORED SUN

OF DRIFTING CLOUDS DESCENDING

FABLED IN LOFTY WIT AND PROSE

WISDOM GUIDED LOVE DID REPOSE

HER LOVE OF SENSITIVE PASSION

EVEN HER FOOL HAD SOLID SENSE

ONCE THERE WAS NO LOCKED DOOR

WHERE ONCE WAS BUT IS NO MORE

JESU'S LIGHT A BRIGHT DELIGHT

GONE NOW QUAINT ELEGANT CHARM

HER INNOCENT BOUNDLESS CHARMS

I BOUGHT HER LA ROSE ROUGE IN

LE GARDEN VERSAILLES OF SIGHS

SHE GAVE MOI A BURGUNDY BERET

HOW VERSAILLES GAVE HER SIGHS

SOME OLD LADY SAID I WAS NUTS

BECAUSE SHE COULD NOT SEE YOU

HA HA HA CEST LA VIE HA HA HA

I AM SICK OF THIS TIRED WORLD

ONLY THEE FAIR FLOWER OF LOVE

Fallen Leaves

by

Wesley A. Storer

Light bright wander sprites

In every old wind that goes

Of a free falling merry mix

Of brittle red yellow green

Promiscuous vixens let free

Brisking whisking crackling

Of crispy popping crunching

For walking sloshy bunching

For land of Autumn rainbows

Whispering down royal lanes

Their trains of regal flame

Filled eves and window pane

Nomadic scattering throngs

In our hearts and our sight

In our memories they remain

Singing past suns and rains

Until snows fall from above

Celestial icey mortal frame

Their silver chains reclaim

Pittering and pattering din

Their this to thatering end

Of a gone again cycle story

Like days of dancing angels

For useen memories of glory

Windy breath of Jesu Cristo

To the golden sands of time

A Pilgrim's Lament

by

Wesley A. Storer

In an empty and lonely midnight street

A phantom specter known as Shadow King

Drifted his soft essence into his brain

And whispered in his ear an eerie thing

Fear not said he fear not pray thee

Ancient shipwreck of ancient evening free

Dream love's illusions and yet illness be

From that sick and insipid ancient Eve

Who put her poor maker second to her need

To feel the dance with death thrusting deep

For a curious vanity she desired to see

In her dark nights within of thrusting deep

That could never satisfy or edifying be

Just the never that was never meant to be

Fear not this shadow king said to He

For once the universe was set in motion

I could not easily stop my ordained devotion

To search for that lost and ancient Eve

Burning to dance with death thrusting deep

A burning curious vanity of thrusting deep

So now fade into the lightness that is me

Melt into the nothing of me and be free

And be kissed by the lights of eternity

For I need the night in order to be light

So much in fact I would die for you alone

This is what the shadow king said to me

I will never create man in my image again

For Death O Pilgrim is the death of death

And life the knowledge of good and evil

Better the day of death than one's birth

Autumn Snow

by

Wesley A. Storer

See the satin enshrined sky

Her misty vestured spendor shine

Glossy clouds of pearl unfurled

Ending lustrous Autumn's world

October's riotous delights declined

By cold November's deflaming rain

Then those mysterious flowers came

With no two blossoms ever the same

Their affluence of abundance reclaimed

The North world's six proned domain

Their tiny petals shimmering gleaming

Landing in icey leaves upon my sleeve

Snuffed like little yellow candle flames

How lonely shines the Sun I wonder

Is her warming gaze her only fame

By the high flung clouds restrained

While below no two snowflakes are the same

Their unique dimensions exquisitely framed

Mysterious phantoms of a fabulous design

Unique mini paragons of mysterious time

Landing on soggy leaves at my feet

Painted daubles ruddy colored baubles

Twinkling glimpses scarlet tinted

Golden frozen lights taking flight

Wobbling in watery frenzied rivulets

Melting into glory at my feet

Dropping in the gutter at my feet

O City of Ceaseless Roaring

by

Wesley A. Storer

O CITY OF CEASELESS ROARING
WHEN DEATH YOUR LIFE DID CLAIM

I MARVELLED AMAZED
HOW WELL DEATH KNEW YOUR NAME
COULD IT BE OH CEASELESS CITY
ATTRACTING WRONG KINDS OF ATTENTION
THAT BAD PASSIONS PUT AN END TO YOU
YOU NEVER LOST YOUR INCONSOLABLE GAINS
(You never found them to begin with)
FOR TO YOURSELF YOU LIVED ALONE
SOME PIECES OF LOVE YOU BORROWED
A PENCHANT FOR BEING PROMISCUOUS
DISLOYAL DISHONORABLE AND TREACHEROUS
ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU TRIED YOUR BEST
BUT YOU MUST LEAVE LIKE ALL THE REST
THE INDIFFERENCE THAT TOOK MY PEACE
LONLINESS NAWING MARRING MY SLEEP
POLICE AND FIRE ENGINE SIRENS HOT RODS
THERE WAS A FLAW IN YOUR BEAUTIFUL THINGS
THE TRAGEDY OF LIFE THE INNOCENT MUST PAY
YOUR WICKED MEN ENSLAVED THE POOR AND MEEK
TO KEEP THEIR BEAUTIFUL WIVES FIT AND SLEEK
THEIR BEAUTY UNFAIRLY JUSTIFING YOUR RAT RACE

(signed) the last beatnik

Mother's Day

by

Wesley A. Storer

A song for love my heart would find

In orderly oracles of lyrics divine

A song of songs all the angels sing

Echoes of their distant chorus ring

Celestial vestured angels of Spring

With their flowing meadows of green

Verdantly flowing landscapes serene

The ruddy winged angels of the dawn

Flourishing horizon winged paragons

Crimson glories never gone for long

And a blue winged angel of mornings

Her soft chiffon the dawns adorning

Spreading satin white billow shrowd

Shading the world with velvet cloud

The gold winged angel of the Autumn

Bright colors paint arbored columns

Splendor reflects many leafy jewels

And a rekindled faith in God renews

With glorious rustic essence to you

A white winged angel named Snowfall

None found quite the same in design

Crystalline symphony crystal rhymed

Many orange winged angels of Summer

Yellow winged butterflies of Summer

Bless us with an angelic transition

The echoes for whom the angels sing

To the lord of the Angels they sing

And close to motherly love are they

The LORD is a live and living thing

He alone for whom the angels sing

Poem to Robert Frost

by

Wesley A. Storer

What made the snowy branches sway?

At first I thought they were saying goodbye

When I wondered at the snowy branches sway

In the snow covered trees across the way

On the morning of that cold November day

Then I realized it was the snow squirrels

And I could not remember seeing them before

And so I thought they must be saying goodbye

But then their telepathic messages came to me

As silently I heard the words God was saying

For softly the snowy hand of God displayed

So many things taking my peace of mind away

So many things today making our hearts ache

What better way to praise a gracious God

Than to write a very simple little poem

About snow squirrels and snowy branches sway

It is not right to cause this mass of confusion

With despair and never ending rude intrusions

To delude our faith and hope with false illusion

When to know that God must truly love us all

Is the only noble goal worthy of a conclusion

Poem to Robert Frost

by

Wesley A. Storer

At first I thought they were saying goodbye
When I wondered at the snowy branches sway
In the snow covered trees across the way
On the morning of that cold November day
And then I saw it was the snow squirrels
And I could not remember seeing them before
And so I thought they must be saying goodbye
But then their telepathic messages came to me
So silently I heard the words God was saying
As softly the snowy hand of God displayed
The many things taking my peace of mind away
So many things making my heart ache today
What better way to praise a gracious God
Than to write a very simple little poem
About snow squirrels and snowy branches sway
It is not right to cause this mass of confusion
With despair and never ending rude intrusions
To delude our faith and hope with false illusion
When to know that God must truly love us all
Is the only noble goal worthy of a conclusion

Autumn Snow

by

Wesley A. Storer

See the satin enshrined sky
Her misty vestured spendor shine
Glossy clouds of pearl unfurled
Ending lustrous Autumn's world
October's riotous delights declined
By cold November's deflaming rain
Then those mysterious flowers came
With no two blossoms ever the same
Their affluence of abundance reclaimed
The North world's six proned domain
Their tiny petals shimmering gleaming
Landing in icey leaves upon my sleeve
Snuffed like little yellow candle flames
How lonely shines the Sun I wonder
Is her warming gaze her only fame
By the high flung clouds restrained
While below no two snowflakes are the same
Their unique dimensions exquisitely framed
Mysterious phantoms of a fabulous design
Unique mini paragons of mysterious time
Landing on soggy leaves at my feet
Painted daubles ruddy colored baubles
Twinkling glimpses scarlet tinted
Golden frozen lights taking flight
Wobbling in watery frenzied rivulets
Melting into glory at my feet
Dropping in the gutter at my feet

The Mysterious Spring

by

Wesley A. Storer

SONGS OF THE RED WINGED BLACKBIRD

My name is Chantilus.

I am a red winged blackbird

You have seen me on a cattail in a slough

Or fences where prarie marsh greenery grew

You can tell my song by its distinctive trill

Every trill is a memory of my travels, a song

Of my wanderlust, of enchantment, and joy!

And sometimes,I'm afraid, yes, even sorrow!

A fire within me seems to feed on itself:

A marvelous instrument for the transformation

Of energy, which I need for flying, singing;

I get great energy from a few little things

If you could hold me in your hands I would feel

very warm to you, especially on a cold day!

Song # 1 ---"The Mysterious Spring"

Once on a fly-over of Rogersville, Tennessee

I visited the fabled spring that ebbs and flows

It seems odd how every few minutes it flows:

And then for an equal amount of time, it stops.

The most brilliant minds in the world

Cannot explain why it should do this

None know for sure the mysterious secret

Of the spring's spirit that ebbs and flows

But I remember hearing how in days of old:

A native princess fell in love with a youth

Who was a warrior of an enemy tribe:

And on the banks of the spring, they met,

and surrendered to the awful fires of love

For it is said we do not choose who we love

Her jealous admirer found them and slew them

In each other's arms, and the poor spring,

Missing them, records their last heart beats.

Its water is sweet and clear!

The Foghorn's Song

by

Wesley A. Storer

(from the solitudes of Chantilus)

There was a story told me long ago

About a poor lonely man

who was kidnapped by a foghorn.

"I came to hear the foghorn" he said

to the desk clerk of the hotel,

because it helps me to relax".

He had come to the rugged coastline,

a small town off the coastal plain

Near salty spray and the bounding Maine

To hear the breakers roaring refrain

And to forget about the broken pieces

Of his impoverished wretched existence:

Those broken pieces of a miserable life

that he sadly could not place together.

But the foghorn reminded him of goodness

Of joyful serenity, and soothing solitude.

An easy sense of drifting in time

would steal over him as in the dark

he sat listening to the old fog horn,

And he wondered how many fishing boat

Captains and sailing boat Captains

Loved the old foghorn for keeping

Their ships off the rocks, and considered

its sound the greatest music on earth,

and the lighthouse the greatest light.

And the man enjoyed the foghorn's song

To such an amazing overwhelming degree

That late one evening the foghorn called

his name and drifted him away

To a land of meaningful sights and sounds

Where He lived happily ever after

With dignity, pride, and peace.

I think God is like that old foghorn.

The Lost Gypsy Pilgrim

by

Wesley A. Storer

Somewhere in a grove of hickory

The band is hidden by the trees

A wagon's curtain flutters in the breeze

And a vermillion ribboned horizon

Reflects the lowering November sky

Crimson clouds waved with ember hue

Passion shrouds of claret satin strewn

Of burgundy velvet rosy deep maroon

Amber tinged rifts below the gray

And there with sensuous swirling lilt

A kneeling red lipped gypsy girl

Wrapped in a scarlet gyspsy quilt

Gazing intent at a crystal sphere

Filled by golden beams of lantern moon

There reflecting her transfixed swoon

Searching for the ghostly reflection

Of lonely gypsy souls in the Earth

Diamond bright eyes shining in night

Kneeling by the gypsy campfire bright

In crystal glass a lonely soul she sees

Like cold mist rising from the sea

A dismal leaf on a barren reef

A dreamer without a dream to dream

A wanderlust rover with nowhere to roam

Longing with her spirit to be free

A bauble in her bracelet he would be

A twinkle in her happy eye he would be

A rhinestone in her looking glass to see

A silver chain hearing her heart beat

And this prayer she hears him speak

Oh Lord of all the skies and seas

Oh to dead and forgotten be

To all the world but Jesu and She

Lilac's Rainy Day

by

Wesley A. Storer

I have vaguely known I am not my own

All good and bad knowledge within me

Alienating me from God I wish I knew

So I desired in my lonelier solitude

That Jesu in his gracious time might

Grant to me a loving passionate wife

So overly promiscuous I might not be

But it seems his good pleasure is no

So I will stray the ancient pathways

To a sunshine famished land of shade

The streets of green Spring splendor

Her beautiful old tree covered hills

Where God the fragrant lilac pursues

Mid song bird's song in blossom blue

A resplendent melodious glory renews

Her sunny snow thawing yearly review

lilacs and fragrant rose lined woods

Gusting branches swaying in a breeze

Her gentle rambling rain soliloquies

Her quiet voice the glory of silence

Living in mysterious moments of time

Her edifying scenery presented to me

Full of beautiful lonely clouded sky

Maybe a gentleman's opinion He wants

But preferring for his companionship

Lighthearted innocence as his friend

At play in the green jostling leaves

Occasionally searching for me with a

Stalwart feeling of eternal serenity

Tea Tephi

by

Wesley A. Storer

O lovely daughter of Jerusalem

Daughter of Pharez married to Zarah

Lovely bride to the Scarlet Thread

From whom the royal blood was hued

When Jeremiah on an Eagle's wing flew

To IsRaELAND the thread so true

Bringing stone of Scone with you

Please accept my tribute please do

Past forgotten name of ancient fame

You thrill me through and through

As only the poetry of GOD can do

And our lives are the poetry of God

That we mangle, misread, and abuse

As no unmetered sonnet can ever do

Sunset Carousel

by

Wesley A. Storer

Songs of the red winged blackbird

I trim the candles of my dreams

Dim cinders that once did brighter beam

As the days God gave go leafing off

Wondering if my life was meant to be

To follow the sunset's circuitous reign

Where rosy layered rifts go drifting

Magical mixtures of vapored misting

Where all things vain quickly wane

Etched from her story of crimson glory

Her eternally glorious traveling show

With diamonds and rainbows all aglow

Sunrise to the East, Sunset to the West!

Dwarfing a ship's bright sail gently listing

A crazy train of color, carousing, spinning.

Sometimes with a rolling rollicking moon

On the great ocean's moon light highway

See! If swift I be, she may grant my request

And be my steady sunset to the West

And though I'll always be behind her

See how easy it is for me to find her!

And if I can capture her lovely face

Perhaps restored youth will be my fate

Born from her warming passionate flames

As the sunset renews her glorious fame

A requiem for lost loves and fatal quarrels

And a promise that west of the sunset

Is being born a lighter and brighter world

The lightest and the brightest and the best

The Death Of Long John Silver

by

Wesley A. Storer

That cold day no rosey glowing sunset would show

From the North a cold cutting wind began to blow

Ivory drifting flakes covered the copper ground

Like tiny pieces of eight in a lady's lacey gown

As old Long John Silver pegged hiw way to town

Some ruddy icicle leaves gleamed old ruby beams

By Emerald ivy walls the old cemetery surrounds

Where He pegged disconsolate the burial grounds

He pegged and pondered where he might be bound

When came a daunting impediment of coldish rain

No saving grace in that hellish rain He found

Aye He spied his fate awaiting him then mates

He felt the light of his life beginning to fade

Feeling full affect of the rain's hellish rage

But he called to God as the skipper of his soul

"LORD I be just a beat up old sinner now ye know

As me freezing body live and breathe did ye do

What that priest who me cutlass slashed sayed?"

A misty ghostly being before him came stealing

Such beauty and wonder he had never before seen

He swore by his hook he didn't want being a crook

Wanted sunken treasure in a tropic harbor's nook

Where upon his deformities none again would look

Where none his poverty would ever again forsook

With chilling repentance his corpulent body shook

The Lord of many mercies his many sins forgave

As his gruesome form lie freezing on his grave

For they buried him where they found him laddies

Dark Wandering Stars

by

Wesley A. Storer

DIRTY SNOWFLAKES FALLING

A MILLION YEARS A SECOND

ON CRANK AND METH

I SEE THEM EVERYWHERE

THE HEARTLESS HEARTBROKEN

THEIR HARD COLD STARES

RIPPING SLASHING TEARING

RAPING TRIPPING LYING

WASTING DISSIPATING

NOT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

ONLY HUMAN ANIMALS

WHO HAS DONE THIS THING

TO MY PEOPLE?

Qualchan's Prayer

by

Wesley A. Storer

LITTLE WHITE STONES THAT ROLL

My brother of the Sun

My brother of the Snow

My brother of the Rainbow

And the flowers that grow

It pleases me your heart

Is with me

When they hanged me from the tree

That day so long ago

My brother let them know

That I died hating them

And I still hate them so!

Tell them to take my name

From the evil green links

Where they SWING their evil clubs

At the little white stones that roll

Poor Lonely Haunted House

by

Wesley A. Storer

See that old house sitting there all alone

Not far from the roaring freeway's drone

Was this haggard specter once indeed a home

Its rocked out windows paint peeled siding

Gray boards on the front porch hanging loose

Missing chimney bricks on its patched roof

And what are the sad moaning sounds I hear

From this sunken apparition lacking cheer

Looking like a shrunken phantom of poverty

Moaning groaning in the windy dark nights

A darkened haggardly specter beyond repair

With weeds growing taller than its stairs

No control to stop her sad neglected death

So sad and discouraged the house must feel

What bad stories could an old house reveal

Being a member of the city's low rent area

What ghosts hide immersed entombed waiting

For their guilty misery to be brought down

When the boards holding them are torn down

Are its old walls hiding a whisper of love

Forgotten behind a sullied mournful shroud

Some words of joy as it waits tearing down

A worried mothers secret and weary weeping

A dad hiding in the basement from Preacher

Johnson's scolding words about dereliction

A scared lonely child afraid of her future

Being given no genuine affection by reason

of no affection between mommsy and daddy

How lonely that poor old house must feel

such sad memories she is keeping concealed

When she wanted only love and all the best

everyone under her roof could have no less

Is it the old house weeping I keep hearing

Or is a night wind blowing around its eves

Moaning like a poor Eve expelled from Eden

Ghost Town Steeple

by

Wesley A. Storer

There stands the old gray steeple

Watching over the sleeping people

Above the lustrous rustling trees

With their golden flowing leaves

To where now have they gone

All those ancient sleeping people

Is it they whose sound of sighing

Piqued my mind to asking why

Neath these golden swaying boughs

Shaking their sunny amber gowns

Like ancient wedding bell vows

Is it their wistful silence heard

In burbling brook and warbling bird

Is it they with such haunting ease

Swinging to and fro the rusty gate

In the dry wind churchyard breeze

Kicking up dust in the empty street

Rolling along a lonely tumble weed

Do they moan about the rusty eves

Edifying me to a state of peace

Making knowledge a base cursed thing

For what can there me more than this?

The rested mind gratefully perceives

This place better than the rest

This place that is blessed the best

And I feel no aching clamoring need

The pulpit that thundered Hell to see

For I will not think of Hell today

Spoiling the perfection God has made

Little Blue Planet

by

Wesley A. Storer

Once there was a little blue planet

Who faced away from the Sun

His lonely life was not much fun

For speed to turn he had none

He could see cold mysterious stars

Twinkling blinking and winking afar

Always cold in front and hot behind

Until one day the lonely little fellow

Heard a motherly voice whisper mellow

Maybe a little push will start you spinning

And your feeling better will be beginning

And with her help he found that he might

Spin around to his heart's delight

And it was so much fun he found

He could not even think about slowing down

Faster and faster they went spinning round

Till the poor old Sun became dizzy

Not knowing if he was going or getting

They were everywhere at the same time

Taking up space at one and the same place

Riding the great Mother light thru space

With songs of color and living rhyme

Sold Down The River

by

Wesley A. Storer

There lived a man long long ago
Whose story is often told
Who had a coat of many colors
Red blue yellow green and gold
And he had some big bad brothers
Didn't like things he told

REFRAIN
He(she) got sold down the river
Sold down the river
Sold down the river all alone
Don't say that you're the winner
That you did it all on your own
They got sold down the river

all alone

REPEAT REFRAIN
They brought in old John Henry
Wrapped up all in chains
To slave the Southern plantations
One day out picking cotton
They told him his poor old momma
Got sold down the river
Sold down the river all alone

REPEAT REFRAIN
And they sent our poor boys over
To fight the Vietnam war
Although McCarthur told them not to
Then the sad story got told
How Mr. Walker sold the Cong our code

REPEAT REFRAIN

The story of the Lord is also told
30 little pieces of silver got him sold
Just to prove what people say is true
He got sold down the river
Sold down the river just like you

So yer A Poet Huh

by

Wesley A. Storer

So yer a poet huh said she

Well that doesn't impress me much

Because poets are a dime a dozen

Yes that is probably true I replied

But poets who are really interesting

You cannot find them for love or money

Just because you have a 40,000 dollar car

A computer that is the marvel of the day

Doesn't mean you have anywhere to go

Or anything exciting to say

Green Cedar Christmas

by

Wesley A. Storer

There is a green Cedar Christmas tree

That lives and breathes inside of me

It glows with big bright bubble lights

Little siver bells of tinkling delight

Glossy blue juniper berries of glass

Icicled silver globes held fast

Wrapped inside a crimson crystal chain

And fragrance as fresh as Summer rain

It was the first tree my Mother gave

In 1949 To my brother and me

It has been gone now for fifty years

Fifty years of trouble sorrow and tears

And yet I know the tree still lives

For its memory became a part of me

Its glory has tarnished a bit I guess

Nothing it seems worked out the best

But once on a brilliant Christmas Eve

Our eyes shined in the candle's gleam

As we stared in wide eyed wonder

At our mother's bejeweled Christmas scene

There will never be another as beautiful

Until with Jesu's glorious peace we be

As that Christmas of the green cedar tree

My Mother gave my brother and me

Merry Christmas Jimmy Dean

by

Wesley A. Storer

James Dean was Poetry

If only you were free

To be or not to be

Who you'd like to be

Would you be

Could you be

The James Dean

The James Dean of Poetry

If you could write like he spoke

Like he moved

Like he looked!

Man!

You'd be filthy rich!

All the Angelies you could kiss!

All the Natalies you would kiss!

All the Julies and the Leslies!

Their sweet wonders you would see!

A joyful occupation that would be!

If you were the James Dean!

The James Dean of Poetry!

Well there now then

Different Drummer

by

Wesley A. Storer

Today the green rolling hills I wandered
My glooms surcease desiring to squander
suddenly a meadowlark's cheerful ringing
With resplendency his sweet song singing
clearly his cheery song he was bringing
I have seen you as you walk along so sad
Come nearer to me and you shall be glad
To see the enshrining essence that is me
Your great Poe could not as happily sing
No applause with his poor spirit resided
No heartwarming rapport with him reposed
Mozart made destitute by jealous friends
And Shakespeare was preserved by a queen
So come with me then poor man if you can
On warm Spring winds my sweetheart calls
With all her affections given only to me
The unfettering winds of perfect freedom
Sang this burnished lemony banana fellow
In his perfected tenor soprano contralto
My binoculars towards him closer brought
Then his visage closer allowed me to see
That the light was indeed a bright light
Truly enshrining the essence that was he
For her eyes alone was his light shining
The glorious golden light surrounding he
And he shared his wonderous gift with me
And we parted I a poorer but happier man

Lily was there

by

Wesley A. Storer

With Lily Tomlin's adlib from "The

search for signs of intelligent life

in the Universe", by Jane Wagner.

She was truly a season's splendor passing

It seemed for her wild Irish roses grew

Filled with their golden nectar enclosed

Their pink fragrance pure wind flowing

As with flashing eyes her story she told

Chocolate chestnut eyes of glowing coals

Eyes brighter than glorious orbiting moon

That day I heard Lily Tomlin spoon

The most brilliant ad-lib I ever did hear

In Schubert theater of Boston's yesteryear

FROM

"The search for signs of

intelligent life in the Universe."

I heard her bag lady chracter say

"I wish someone had told me before I

started out,

How boringly predictable life becomes

when you have everything."

And than a man in the back balcony shouted

"Lay off the Kennedys"

Lily stopped her show and solemly apologized

We never found out what the man meant

by hollering "Lay off the Kennedys"

Blue Heart Special

by

Wesley A. Storer

I never told you I love you
Because I love you
I never told you I love you
Because I had nothing to give you
A man must prove his love is true
In a world where all the good things
It seems to me were always already taken
That doesn't mean I won't always love you
Although I will probably never tell you so

Blue Monday Millenium

by

Wesley A. Storer

Dear friends it doesn't look good.

Dear friends have you taken a look?

It's a blue Monday Millenium.

I dreamed of Carrie Nation

by

Wesley A. Storer

My eyes have seen the evil

Of the coming of your Lord

As you sip your cups of rum

In Meth and Crack head slums

All you hard hearted sons

You fiercely countenanced sons

Of grapes of wrath demon rum

The Ghost Church

by

Wesley A. Storer

Songs of the red winged blackbird

from the solitudes of Chantilus

The old man had seen it that day

The old man was sure he had seen it,

Pedaling his bicycle slowly along

A very beautiful little stone church

Standing on holy consecrated ground

That day that day so long ago

On the lake shore drive

Only where had it gone?

He could not find it.

He had viewed it's beauty there

There was a wedding that Summer day

A bride and groom standing out front.

A priest guiding them into holy wedlock

The lonely old man could not find it!

Did I just imagine it he wondered?

How could I do a thing like that?

So back and forth he peddled, back and forth.

But no, the beautiful little church was nada.

The beautiful little church that had blessed

His lonely heart with dreams of bliss one day

See the lonely old guy riding back to Spokane

See how he wonders as he wanders

Had it been a mirage? A trick played

by the terrible loneliness of his heart?

For he of all people was very much aware!

There is No fool like an old fool

The bride and groom had looked so lovely

So happy and blessed by the little church

Reminding him of someone he felt close to

Strange he could not place the resemblance!

But I, Chantilus, was told by a little bird.

The old man had seen himself

In a younger day

The church he had seen had been in a dream

Absolutely Less Than Nothing

by

Wesley A. Storer

I judge a poem by what it says
Not by the manner in which
It is said
Not by Iambic Pentameters and
the like
Boring meters and cadences
Flaunting repetitive monotonous
redundancies
Invented by people under tyranny
Not free to speak their minds
Their poetry means
Absolutely less than nothing
To me
They are chained to the letter
Of the law
Rather than to the spirit
Of the law
His truth shall set you free
PRAISE JESUS

Diamond Teardrops

by

Wesley A. Storer

There once was a lady

Of Diamond tear drops

If ever was she was

Baby Jane Johnny Guitar

And Autumn Leaves

So faithful and true

Smoldering French blood

So sweet and so light

So sweet and so tight

Dreaming fanciful delight

Where are all the ladies

Of diamond teardrops

Exotic in