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Wesley A. Storer

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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 protégé 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
SO
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 individuals
Of charming distinctions
And intriguing dimensions
Avec amour aussi pur
et clair que Le lillies

My Little Pet Spider

by

Wesley A. Storer



As narrated by Festus

I wonder where the little feller thinks he's goin'
A skitterin' so slowly across my wall
Maybe the little scutter thinks I don't see him
As behind the electrical conduit he begins to crawl
What does a little spider eat if anything at all
Whatever it is it must be something purty small
Maybe those little things that can make me itch
And when I look there ain't nothing there at all
Every morning around seven he comes a crawlin'
Almost like iffen he were making a social call
But if I was a mite smaller he'd eat me too
I looked again and lo behold he weren't thar at all
Did he fall or disappear? Where did the jasper go?
To move so slow and yet too disappear so soon
Gives me pause to consider just who's foolin' who
But I reckon he knows in this old room he's safe
From birds and bats and frogs and bigger spiders
Who would make him lunch if outside he stayed
A little dude hiding from a world mean and crude
Hiding from Heckle and Jeckle and Kermit and all
Preferrin instead those little no seeums to attack
And I wonder if maybe in the eyes of God
I'm no more significant than a spider on the wall
Someone said energy can't be created or destroyed
Minus one little electron maybe all would fall
But I know there is just one indisputable fact
In my room I hardly ever have to scratch

The Beautiful Lonely

by

Wesley A. Storer


SONG OF CRAZY HORSE

There was a warrior who loved loneliness
A Vision showed him the Great Spirit Way
Of loneliness in the great empty space
Loneliness gives meaning to all our days
The windswept prarie's undulating waves
Hear her most blessed and sacred oblivion
Of the beautiful lonely you should know
Up where the air is fresh and clear
And Great Spirit's voice is always near
So that one day you will come to know
It's pure water from crystaline glaciers
And crystal springs and burbling brook
Spacious green meadow silent hidden nook
Hear the voice of the beautiful lonely
Let her spirit unite within yours
And value the company of your people
Journeying through the beautiful lonely
Sighing love songs through the windy pines
For always she is calling to you always
I am lonely for you again my child
Come home Come home to me now my child
My lonliness for you will never die
For you love my world of beautiful lonely
Come let us sleep and take rest together

For Jennifer

by

Wesley A. Storer

Sparrows

Can you hear them singing
The January birds of Spring
Merry voiced melodious songs
Resplendent visions bringing
To a Winter bleakened scene

We never notice them though
When exotic songs they sing
Their brief little refrains
Rhyming best with Spring
Our poor busy lives so vain

Somehow their grace remains
Like the cooling Summer rains
And the relief they bring
So like your lovely lips
Lips like birds on the wing

I Saw Poe's Raven

by

Wesley A. Storer

The sound of the rain hard on the pavement
Reminded me of bacon sizzling in the pan
Rose lined Lilac groves in fragrant stands
The Locust petals my senses did command
Smelling like grape soda all along the strand
And little green peas from Cottonwood trees
Turned to white fluffs floating in the breeze
In luxurious leisure I strolled by the sand
Securely rain slickered firmly in command
When he waved me over with a motion of his hand
"This man wanted somebody to be at his funeral.
I'll pay you $50 for fifteen minutes of your time."
To make a quick fifty my approval did remand
And into the funeral shrine to beat the band
With absolutely no other living soul in sight
Just that mean looking old dead guy and I
That day I saw that mean looking old guy
In his casket there off boulevard La Grand
When the 15 minutes were up the sun shined
I walked up to him my departure too confide
Threw my half drank half pint of whiskey
In an inconspicuous place down by his side
So he could have a drink on his one last ride
To heaven or Valhalla or whatever God decides
And before I turned away from him I noticed
A tear starting to form in his old dead eye
Which is odd for I am not a sentimental man
Outside there was a haggard looking old bird
An old crow or raven my eyes did quickly avert
The sad undertaker asked if 50$ it was worth
Out of sight out of mind I quickly replied
And headed for the liquor store in a fright

Truly thou are an evil Fig

by

Wesley A. Storer


The street musician's Lament

He is a modern day Lazarus
Passing the rich man's door
Feeling the North Wind
Blowing sore
Where is your God of yesterday
He ask the inn keeper in mirth
Rejoice says the inn keeper
We have won
They pay for protection
From the gun
But he is a modern day Lazarus
Passing the rich man's door
The gangbangers want his guitar
They take money from his jar
He is like Jonah in Ninevah
Praying for God to destroy them
As he feels the North Wind
Blowing sore
To sleep in an alley

The Norwegian Street Musician

by

Wesley A. Storer


I struck a deal with YOD
by yolly
I write him a poem he likes
He let me play songs I like
On my guitar and harmonicas
Yust like Yorgy Yorgensen
by yolly
YAH it's de WEY to go!
by yolly
And the old devil and YOD
They laugh togetter
by yolly
At the destruction
Of the wicked as I play

A Bucket Filled with Joy

by

Wesley A. Storer



Everything had turned to grass
The house the barn the well
Burned as firewood filled in
Lost in wide prarie expanse
As he searched for his past
Of long ago prarie mornings
But he tripped on the vail
Of a buried bucket or pail
Just an inch or two above
The edge of an old cow trail
It was that old oaken bucket
That once hung in their well
The one his sweetheart and he
Once drank from so happily
Before she died at age 16
As he dug out that old bucket
Her love for him returned
Like a joyful sacred mystery
A glorious wonderous ecstasy
Filling his old heart with joy

Jake the Rambling Rake

by

Wesley A. Storer

Dern Jerry, you fergot the ending again
cowboy esoterica

Once a poor gambler named Jake
Shot a poor Dentist by mistake
In a crazy alcoholic daze
Tempting those surly hands of fate
Not facing up to what he dud
He put himself back on the rud
Down to Lonely Guz for more fund
Tempting poor Hall, Awardus, and Jeeves
With Montana grass lush and green
Fur as far as the eye could see
Things happen for a reason it seems
But gunning down a poor dumb dentist
Is not really a reason serene
For starting a really good scene
He beguiled a poor gal down on her luck
Who didn't know love from a purple duck
And fell in with murderous rakes
From whose knowledge was no escape
For tempting the surly hands of fate
One day he got strung up by the nape
By Hall, Awardus, and old Jeeves
While Hell bitch tore off Hall's sleeve
His running killed Bosco, Jody, and Jenny
O'Malley, Spittle, Jeeves, and Awardus
From a ruint leyg down in Miles City
And Corie left Clarie by the Platt
Fow a San Francisco mansion full of rats
Giving Awardus's money to a nunnery
To help make that gay city big and fat
Her prayers brought Awardus from his grave
And He now help Nicholi Craze
Steal fancy cars in sixty seconds flat

The Forest Witch

by

Wesley A. Storer

The Moon was a glorious orbiting sphere
And the night a bright nocturnal Lyre
As an old woman slogged through a bog
Of crickets frogs lilly pads and logs
Looking at flowers roots and shrubs
She took a nibble from a yellow nub
What if by a nibble of this I might
Find a cure for screams in the night
Driven by baby cries and hunger moans
From her little forest cottage home
Where a crystal window clear as rain
Was the only treasure she could claim
Many a maiden the laddies adored
Owed existence to that old hag's door
Her bubbeling pot held nutritious brew
Prayers of the priests were reserved
For those paying for blessings deserved
When bread was more precious than blood
The killing fire a cold ominous stare
In those days of yore way back there
Put them all together and they tell
Twelve Hundred and fifty years of Hell

Song of the oblivious beneficent

by

Wesley A. Storer


Today we hill and meadow wandered
When a meadow lark our senses filled
His crescendo bequeathing quote
Swept the cobwebs from our souls
Harken humans so you may hear
My light of living splendor clear
A living mystery is there secured
Great Poe of noted and worthy prose
No heart blessed rapport gave repose
Mozart destitute by a jealous friend
To Shakespeare no friend would lend
Only I am worry and trouble free
Sang that glowing luminescent fellow
In perfect tenor soprano contralto
In joyful innocence supremely mellow
In his halo of godly golden yellow
So sang that glorious orator kind
In words no king shall ever find

Those Loving Bronx Girls

by

Wesley A. Storer


"Those Loving Bronx Girls"

DEDICATION

TO THE CHANTELS

"The Gorgeous Blend"

What a gorgeous blend
Of Gospel
And Rock n Roll
Such a gorgeous blend
Should be treated
With care

DEDICATION

TO LAURA NYRO

"The Wine of Wonder"

A Divine Contradiction?

From "Oh Sweet Blindness"

Lets go down by the Grapevine
Drink my Daddy's Wine
Please don't tell my Father
He don't believe in the
GIN MILL SPIRIT

Sat Schqueaky Bass Drum

by

Wesley A. Storer

On sa day I vas born vat did I hear?
Mine Fodder playing sat Gott Tam
Squeaky Bass Drum
Ven I get bigger and go to sa church
Vat is it you sink I should hear
Mine Fodder in sa Church Choir
Playing sat Gott Tam squeaking bass drum
Ven you graduated from sa High School
Vat vas it sat you heard?
Me in sa band playing sat Gott Tam
squeaky bass drum
On sa day of mine vedding
Mine bride to be ran out of sa church
Ven in sa vedding march she heard
Sat Gott Tam squeaking bass drum
I made sa million dollar rock n roll hit
But sa big city D.J. vudden play sit
He heard sat Gott Tam squeaky bass drum
I got drunk and spilled oil on sa floor
And slipped and banged mine head on sa door
Trying to fix sat Gott Tam Squeaking
Bass drum
I got in sa dumps and I got in sa grump
And I took sa drum to sa dump
But it duz no goot for you see
Ven sleeping I hear sat squeaky bass drum
Ven I am dead down under sa Earth
And above I hear a funeral dirge I bet
I hear sa Got Tam squeaking bass drum
If by grace I get to sa Pearly Gates
I bet I vont have verey long to wait
To hear sea angel named Gabriel playing
zat gott tam squeaky bass drum
If I go down to sa devil I greatly fear
He vill be zerr tormenting my ears
Mit sat Gott tam squeaking Bass Drum

The Heaven of her Presence

by

Wesley A. Storer

To stand in her presence
Was to be in Heaven
She was a Maryland girl
From down around Severn
How easy to be in love
The essence of her presence
Was like being in Heaven
She was 16 He was 17
For a few precious seconds
Their star auras were blessed
Escorted to that sleazy bar
By those military merry makers
He sent her a little gold cross
On a little golden chain
In 1964 from a base in Germany
They met for a minute in 1966
She was promised to an Adventist
She seemed so silent and sad
As he made his final farewell
To the heaven of her presence

He called me Kerouac

by

Wesley A. Storer

They found him dying
Somewhere around
3:OO Clock in the morning
At East Maverick Station
That Fall, 1989 Morning,
In Boston
Thay said he fell down
The subway steps
He was the one who
Put me on to "the Star Rover"
by Jack London
He'd done time in Walpole
For some minor offense
He slept under a bridge
He gave me his bed one night
At the Pine Street Inn
When I was feeling sick
He slept under the bridge
He was very knowledgable
In a literary sense
He always called me Kerouac
It made me feel very good
I try to live up to it
Rest in peace dear friend

In Days of Robert Johnson

by

Wesley A. Storer

BIRTH OF THE BLUES

Last night I heard Robert Johnson
Sing and play that first time thing
If a poor man could make a dollar
Some gal would come and take it away
And leave him lonely the next day
"If I had power over judgement day"
(I heard him sing)
" Ain't no woman be allowed to prey"
If a poor guy could make a dollar
Some gal would come to take it away
And leave him lonely the next day
SO FELLAS
Better keep that pay check commin' in

The Peasant Girl of Paris

by

Wesley A. Storer

The World she lived in
Gave her a sadistic addiction
That fed on her flame of beauty
Still a trace of nineteen
On her lovely fading frame
When She came to him
To his poverty and need
To his empty dying soul
A most undesirable man
She knew it and he knew it
She gave herself a few times
And To Him
She is the greatest mystery
The World will ever own
And he believes God is kind

I Luf dos Field Museum Lions

by

Wesley A. Storer


Vun Time I visit sa Field Museum
By sa big Lake Michigan
In Chicago by sa Soldier's Field
Ver sa Chicago Bears plays
To see sa Ghost and sa Darkness
You know I luv dos lions
But vy I don't know
They vud haf ate me too yah?
So vy should I luf dos lions?
I zink its because dey remind me
Of sa girl who ate my heart out
Zen I sail on sa Emotional Rescue

The Beatnik's Halloween

by

Wesley A. Storer

He gaped at a star as he traipsed
It twinked out in a cloudy cape
Power lines droning their eerie surge
Like some hellish freakish scourge
Like violins before symphonies begin
Humming their tuning up funeral dirge
He took out his flute and gave a squeak
As the dark night his soul did tease
Like rain the withered dead flowers
The breeze the leaves in the eaves
A rain glow black cat gave him a fright
Paws glowing like blackberries in the night
He blew his flute and gave it a squeak
And the cat hastening its speed fleed
As the rain dripped from the bare trees
And then came the lonely howl of dogs
From a cold and clammy incoming fog
From that old cemetery down the street
Was the coffee house out here this far?
He recalled that old movie 'The Leopard'
The poor girl's blood coming under the door
His soul throughly purged and blurred
He took out his flute and gave a blurp
Like a poor bum in a rich man's car trunk
YAH MAN!!!
But a Rolls Royce is a beautiful thing
And it comforted him dauntless on
Such are the rewards of good thinking

Night Winds from Eden

by

Wesley A. Storer

A little bird flew out of Eden
Like silk on a satin dream sky
Catching me one day by surprise
Thus quothing in cheery chirp
'It has been said by some
That in Death there is no sense
Of the passing of time -------
A second or a million years
Is gone in a cathedral chime
And it is said of life by some
Happening once it might happen
Twice or if lucky even thrice
But I sing what a mercy its been
You've not known the knowledge
Of how happy they were in Eden
For happiness such as theirs
Might have been thine
Had they not got so smart
That they can destroy the Earth
Arousing my serious displeasure
With their lustful disobeyance'

The Problem with Cloning

by

Wesley A. Storer

The problem with Cloning
Is that the seed Embryo
Retains the same age
As the donor cell
Making cloning futile
Youth seemingly comes
from nothing detectable
Making cloning futile
They are lying to keep
their jobs
The odds against being born
Are usually 1 to 4 billion
to one
So God does not blame himself
For the mess you make of life
He knows your lucky to be alive
But God is absolutely wonderful
He has a plan for salvation
For those who love his truth
And He is returning one day
To destroy those who destroy
HIS EARTH

I live and die alone

by

Wesley A. Storer

The Winter's piercing lingers love
It nurtures not the tender dove
The Winter lingers piercing dear
Leaving Life's random chance to fear
Many people have lived on this earth
Who found they could not afford
To be as good as they deserved
Only God knows how hard they tried
Just to be as good as they were
Sometimes the cards of life fall hard
Sometimes life's rivers run perverse
But to live one's life and die alone
Is a fate no human being deserves
Yes it's true many a better man
Probably received far less than I
But to live and to die all alone
Is a fate nobody deserves
Poverty is the worst form of violence
But I will not work for ath-thoes

The Rose of Paris

by

Wesley A. Storer

for Devie

This is the sad little story
Of pretty little Cindy LaBree
Who loved poetry and art
Who died from a broken heart
When one day her handsome sway
Left her poor heart to pine away
No more nights of broken rest
Without a lover's soft caress
Her poor heart knowing best
Left her a cinder heading West
Poor little cinder Cindy LaBree
But a high wind carried her East
Taking her far out over the Sea
And released her high over Paree
To a garden where the Seine flows
Where she was adopted by a Rose
A most lovely Rose named Devie
The most beautiful Rose in all Paree
O come to me sweet flower of love
My heart lies heavy in the night
I am old with no good end in sight
Comfort me with kisses in the night
Oh to die kissed by the Rose Devie

The Poetaster's Complaint

by

Wesley A. Storer

I am not a master poet
I am a poet disaster
I am a poetaster
They in authority who know
Say that poetry is verse
Of predictable syllables,
accents, stress, and rhyme
Which my imagination finds
My free expression binds
Beyond powers to define
So I write words in lines
Of uneven syllables and rhymes
Nameless as bastard chimes
In Yankee Doodle Time
Which makes me a poetaster
Disdained by that art divine
I have read many metered lines
Most of them bore me every time
With their stifling banality
But these diciples of discipline
Of superior character never give in
Some conceit likes them well

The Pilgrim's Plea

by

Wesley A. Storer

You owe for pain

Yes dear friend
You owe for pain
Sure as the day
You were born
Ask any lawyer
You owe for pain
When Adam and Eve
Lost paradise
God killed animals
To clothe them
They owed God
For animal pain
But see how much
God loves you!
He has already paid
For pain you made
If you can understand
And appreciate
You owe for pain.

Newport Girl

by

Wesley A. Storer

When that bright smile
Lightest brightest and best
Breathed into your soul
Sweeter than a rose
Setting your heart aglow
It seemed like from paradise
Its sending was composed
Neath skies of ocean blue
And deep translucent hue
Clouds of velvet satin
Soothed her charming youth
Dancing willow trees
In the honey bee breeze
Set her mind at ease
Like flowering tides
Of crystal misting rhymes
And rainbow prism beams
Wreathed in emerald green
Vermillioned wraithed layers
God's poem of dawning delight
Through dewey lilac leaves
Bequeathed their sacred bond
Their soft affections fond
As that little girl gleamed
Her smile one day their way
They say it happened then
A smile God's grace did lend
To melt the hearts of men
With a smile of living gems

The Old Hay Loft

by

Wesley A. Storer

Manger cribs and ladders
Its platforms and stalls
And big gabled bays
With doors that sway
Pitchforks and aprons
That rustic rustling
Of horses chomping hay
Its' leathered permeance
Of ambient luxeriance
So intriguingly charming
To the first time gaze
Of the very young
Fragrant foliage
From moonglow meadows
Orange dandelions glowing
Sunlit diamonds dancing
Golden foibled facets
A river of rolling gold
Ivory winters melting
Thick green blocks
Of ice cracking thaws
Resplendent springs
Wild rose lanes
Rutted roads
Hay Wagons' clatter
Loaded heavy with
Clover blossomed
Honey bee dreams
Past berry bushes
Buffalo berry rubies
Blackberry jewels
Marmalade opaque currants
Firecracker wrapper new
Nightime bejeweled sky
Shining diamond nights
Crystalline Constellations
Until Blackbird awakens
From his sleepy sweet dream
Exploding into the senses
With his mating call
Just a few of the dreams
I dreamed with the owls
In an old hay loft

The Sky Tree

by

Wesley A. Storer

See the sky tree sway
Rocking top bobbing melee
Reaching always reaching
To Heaven on its way
Always growing on its way
Too lonely for heaven to stay
Where he dreamed he told her
He loved her one fine day
But he couldn't fall in love
For he had nothing to give
So he sits below its sway
Listening to its sighing sway
His rhyming pining compadre
Beneath the sky tree's sway
Maybe someday he will be a tree
Swinging in the wind high and free
And God
Will plant the flower of her heart
There in the roots of his feet

The Rat Poison Poet

by

Wesley A. Storer


He gets blood clots
Gives himself daily
Injections
Of blood thinner
Liquefied rat poison
They give no pain pills
They have tough love
For everyone
He writes love poems
For lost gypsy girls
Haunting far haunting near
Haunting leading leading
Neath skies azure clear
Beyond the next meadow
Beyond the next hill
Promised vows lost words
For there is something
Their hearts must hear
And the secret He would know
Of what their hearts must hear

Port Said

by

Wesley A. Storer

Why he stayed single

Her lithely form few will see
Sleek virtuous voluptuousness
The Sheik's dancing queen
Like liquid golden strands
Amid purple burgundy sands
And Arabian sequined nights
Silver baubled ankle preening
Ruby bangle wrists agleam
Emerald toe rings of green
Ebony rivulets veil screened
Dancing in cadenced trance
Smooth as a metronome's swing
Smooth as orbs around the sun
That undulating tummy bunny
Blew away our minds with
Mirages of rosy caravans
Palms and naked gypsy girls
To get near carried a curse
She danced for kings on earth
One night of nights long ago
A crazy kid of alcoholic cargo
A break from Kismet borrowed
Managed to somehow sneak in!
To the old congressional Port Said
City of the Kennedy Whitehouse
On 14th street or thereabouts
That dream of loveliness supreme
Few mortal men will ever see
Except in fondest of their dreams

Kiss of Sa Cobra Queen

by

Wesley A. Storer


For Faith

Vuns in sa alley a strange thing I seen
Zat most lovely of vimmen sa Cobra Queen
From behind sa dumpster I saw za whole zing
A poor sailor holding her in hiss arms
En ven he bent over to kiss her sweet
She became a cobra and gave him a tweak
Ent sa sailor boy fell dead at her feet
I tripped ofer a garbage can trying to flee
ant zer she vas stanzing in front of me
Poor boy said she you haf vitnessed my crime
Ent now you must kiss me unt zen die
I begged let me liff I vont breese a vord
But her eyes drew me slowly to mine hurt
I shielded mine eyes vit heartfelt shriek
Ent I heard her laff mit a malicious glee
Uf course you vont you're going in sa earth
But I vuddent take mine hand from mine eyes
Fool said she look at me ent zen die
But I vud not take mine hand from mine eyes
Ent I vas vun fool who survived her bite
Do you know fool vas it means to defy my bite
It means sat your dingus vil alvays be dry
For I'll give my kiss to sa next girl you try
ent so zen I kissed her unt zen I died

The Dead Poet

by

Wesley A. Storer

God by his Son will not hold
The sins of his lonely soul
against him
For the very first words
That God in Eden spoke
were these:
'It is not good that
the man should be alone'.
And besides he was a poet
And poets play with God
AND GOD LIKES THAT!!!
As many poets often find him

The Old Mother Hen

by

Wesley A. Storer

THE LESSON

Once there was a sad little boy
Who played behind an old house
Near an old cattailed slough
In the Montana of long ago
Where upon the Summer days
An old pet hen watched over him
Cooing and clucking all around
But the lad felt henpecked
For reasons we don't understand
And upon one very hot day
Placed a bucket over the hen
And found a new place to play
A few days later he returned
And turned over the old bucket
And found the old hen dead
Then he knew he was very bad
And went crying heartbroken
To his bed
'What happened to the white hen?'
He remembers his Mother's voice
And he was scared almost to death
For he knew he was very bad
He grew to be a pretty good kid
Because of an affectionate old hen
SO MOTHERS
Don't leave buckets around kids
and old pet hens on hot days

The Joy of Innocence

by

Wesley A. Storer


She is strength of freedom
Helping as no one other
To be as nothing again
Like the robins and wrens
In their airy innocence
Like the rainbow prism
Its nebulous pastels arisen
By purest innocence defined
Defying the tossing gales
Of stormy windswept swales
To icicled sapphired hills
In sunsets glowing serene
In tinkling pink crystals
Over fields of snowy lace
Melting into the emerald glaze
Of the ocean's briney face
To where Nightingales grace
The thickets and thorny place
To be as nothing again
With nothing left to find
But treasure in God's mind
Flourishing like flowering bowers
With no thought of the hour


Holy Splintered Jesus !!!

by

Wesley A. Storer



I'm a man of terrible mixed feelings
I am capable of great kindness
I am capable of great cruelty
My religion is very personal
Your Jesus will never be my Jesus
He looks and acts too much like you
Your holy spirit will never be my
Holy Spirit
He looks and acts too much like you
Your God will never be my God
He looks and acts too much like you
Your picture of Jesus will never be
My picture of Jesus
It looks and acts too much like you
Doing nothing on the Wall there!
My religion is personal
You have discredited him and used
him for purposes of creating division
Saul of Tarsus is your God

The Beautiful Lonely

by

Wesley A. Storer



There beside the Aspen tree
By the bubbeling Spring stream
She kneeled to a lost dream
By fragrant sweetpeas serene
Beholding again that sacred place
That seemed by the angels graced
Where the glow of merrybells
Covered a once visable rise
The Moss roses mysteriously found
Below the cloud enshrined sky
Her quivering lips pursued the lines
To an old nursery rhyme
But she found she had forgotten it
In the ravaging demands of time
AN old Cedar her tears assuaged
When to her heart he did speak
The best thing to a life well spent
Is the early demise of an innocent child
Before the sins of this wicked world
Have its joys and happiness defiled
May the peace of Jesu be thine

My Old Bicyle

by

Wesley A. Storer


It was given to me by a friend
After somebvody stole my Univega
An old J.C. Penny one speed
One day on a long bike ride
Its rear tire slowly began to leak
Valiantly trying to forstall its defeat
I hid it down an old railroad grade
Thinking I'd forget its old shape
Laying there lonely and weared
But i found that I could not
For it had given me the sense
That it was trying to do its best
And that was the first time
I'd ever felt that noble sentiment
Sop on the third day I repined
And journied back to ease my mind
Sometimes it seems almost alive
Leaning there against my wall
Its crome shining in the light
I guess someone before me
Loved that old J.C. Penny bike.

Gold Fang

by

Wesley A. Storer


Yah I vas dere in sa steerage section
Vis sa rest of sa third class passengers
Trying to get to sa promise land U.S.A.
Zey made me vash pots and pans all day
Vun day I had a few minutes to spend
I valked around on sa main deck
Ven sat rascal Gold Fang grabbed me
"Do you know vas I haf here", He roared
He showed the silver coins in hiss hand
"Dese are six of the thirty denari
Sat Judas throwed on sa temple floor!"
"Get rid of zem zey carry a curse!" said I.
He sneered ent I saw his golden fang
A long old tooth vis sa gold cap
"Zere power for evil I adore", He screamed
Ent he flipped me off vis his golden finger
Yah by Gott he had a golt finger too!
Next night Gott vas vaiting in sa ice berg
Dey locked me in vis sa screaming poor
It vas zen sat I had a vision ent seen
Sat rascal Gold Fang on sa Starboard bow
Being helped in sa life boat dressed as a frau
He gave me sa bird vis a sneering scowl
Ent i saw his golden fang glowing wild
Ent zen by Gott's mercy I blacked out
My ghost is still lying on sa ocean floor
Behind dat still locked 3rd class door

The Beautiful Lonely

by

Wesley A. Storer



There beside the Aspen tree
By the bubbeling Spring stream
She kneeled to a lost dream
By fragrant sweetpeas serene
Beholding again that sacred place
That seemed by the angels graced
Where the glow of merrybells
Covered a once visable rise
The Moss roses mysteriously found
Below the cloud enshrined sky
Her quivering lips pursued the lines
To an old nursery rhyme
But she found she had forgotten it
In the ravaging demands of time
AN old Cedar her tears assuaged
When to her heart he did speak
The best thing to a life well spent
Is the early demise of an innocent child
Before the sins of this wicked world
Have its joys and happiness defiled
May the peace of Jesu be thine

My Old Bicyle

by

Wesley A. Storer


It was given to me by a friend
After somebvody stole my Univega
An old J.C. Penny one speed
One day on a long bike ride
Its rear tire slowly began to leak
Valiantly trying to forstall its defeat
I hid it down an old railroad grade
Thinking I'd forget its old shape
Laying there lonely and weared
But i found that I could not
For it had given me the sense
That it was trying to do its best
And that was the first time
I'd ever felt that noble sentiment
Sop on the third day I repined
And journied back to ease my mind
Sometimes it seems almost alive
Leaning there against my wall
Its crome shining in the light
I guess someone before me
Loved that old J.C. Penny bike.

Gold Fang

by

Wesley A. Storer


Yah I vas dere in sa steerage section
Vis sa rest of sa third class passengers
Trying to get to sa promise land U.S.A.
Zey made me vash pots and pans all day
Vun day I had a few minutes to spend
I valked around on sa main deck
Ven sat rascal Gold Fang grabbed me
"Do you know vas I haf here", He roared
He showed the silver coins in hiss hand
"Dese are six of the thirty denari
Sat Judas throwed on sa temple floor!"
"Get rid of zem zey carry a curse!" said I.
He sneered ent I saw his golden fang
A long old tooth vis sa gold cap
"Zere power for evil I adore", He screamed
Ent he flipped me off vis his golden finger
Yah by Gott he had a golt finger too!
Next night Gott vas vaiting in sa ice berg
Dey locked me in vis sa screaming poor
It vas zen sat I had a vision ent seen
Sat rascal Gold Fang on sa Starboard bow
Being helped in sa life boat dressed as a frau
He gave me sa bird vis a sneering scowl
Ent i saw his golden fang glowing wild
Ent zen by Gott's mercy I blacked out
My ghost is still lying on sa ocean floor
Behind dat still locked 3rd class door

Streets of Silent Screams

by

Wesley A. Storer

Her love was like the flowers
A soft and caressing splendor
Of visual warming grace
But her soft petal dreams
Were torn apart at the seams
On the streets of silent screams
Raped at the age of fourteen
Treated worse than trash
By her conformist peer group
For not being a cool swinger
Now they still lust after her
Those Hell Hounds on her trail
Saying she possessed free will
She asked for it! she wanted it!
What good has free will availed?
She wanted to be liked, accepted.
So she gave them what they wanted
And endures being called a tramp
They met at the public school

The Good Samaritan Poet

by

Wesley A. Storer

Perhaps poetry should rule supreme
If you want to know someone
Read their thought life on paper
If they have the mental presence
To express their inner essence
For we are not who we think we are
Rather we are what we think
The Commies define poets thus
Petty bourgeois sentimentalists
Engaging in vanity and self indulgence
What do they really know for sure?
When they are like everyone else
Seizing heavenly treasures by force
Lacking humility of circumspection
Let's choose to follow the Samaritan
Rather than obey the Levite

Pilgrim Springs

by

Wesley A. Storer

The weary pilgrims have returned
From new ground they have turned
See the fields and sandy strands
In their new found pilgrim land
Once a poorly blessed assmblage
On that dreary bleakened shore
Where solitary Winter lingered
The leafy woods and flowered lea
Its sixteen hundred fifty-three
Teeming life forms jump and leap
As if Earth's grip to leave
There is a feel to this land
No spoken language can command
Scarlet tanager and lark divert
Homesick stare and heartfelt hurt
From fragrant new turned earth
Settlement sentries stand alert
By little houses humbly reserved
These weary voyagers journied far
Dilligent labor their sorrow barred
To plant the oats and hoe the corn
With pumpkin, turkey, table adorn
To hunt for ducks geese and more
By emerald pristine springs
The joyful pilgrim bon vivants
Bring corn and fish and clams
Bushy brooks and partridged nooks
The old birch lined rocky glade
From misty bays and rutty capes
Rutty trails and flowered lanes
Ivied lanes and scarlet flames
Until britttle November leaves
Brisquely jostling in the breeze
Warns again of Winter's approach
Those working Christian bon vivants
Bolstered by their holy confidant
For a few once truly believed
They were blessed in their need
What demon would follow them here
With nothing demons desire to fear
The demons will come later

Street Light Caveat

by

Wesley A. Storer

The Wedding guests were assembled
As golden shafts of glowing light
Formed a pastel prismed bow
Just before the wedding march
Would their faith and love extoll
joining eternal the bride and groom
In tender devotion's eternal bloom
When suddenly the bride dissembled
A familiar memory made her tremble
She sees an old blinking street light
Winking and blinking thru the night
It always waylayed her girlish fright
Winking and blinking thru the nights
From her window she sees it bright
As rocking shadow branches played
With its yellow crescent they swayed
Winking and blinking sweet dreams
Saying I love yous thru the night
That old street light shining bright
Winking and blinking through the night
'Do you take this man to be
His lawful wedded wife.'?

Amour Mache

by

Wesley A. Storer

Felix loves Yvette
(so does Claire)

It was a manage a twois
A lover's triangle you might say
Under the pearly skies of May
Flowers were everywhere those days
And for lilacs the city was named
But nothing our love could save
It was the love of roses mache
And its scarlet particles flowed
The valentine blood of her soul
In poor little crimson pieces
From our valentine paper mache
Little crimsons scarlet maroon
Oh Yvette I loved you so!
That lilly blossomed May
And there was a song we liked
Now I have sadly forgotten it
Three is always one too many
Au Revoir Mon Amour Au Revoir

They Would Not Let me In

by

Wesley A. Storer

There is a ghost of very great renoun
Of a pretty frulein from old Berlin town
A Dead baby beneath her sorrowing frown
She was abandoned in the winter of 1933
On a frigid and freezing Christmas Eve
By her Russian lover on a vodka spree
She gave birth on that cold sacred night
Behind a coal heap in fear and fright
Went door to door to save the baby's life
From the freezing wind's killing might
But her reputation was sullied it seems
By horrible stories of her previous deeds
The best intentions of those Communist men
Would not grant consent to allow her in
From her fearful and perilous plight
She froze with her baby in her arms
To the concern of no one's great alarm
Her ghost is seen on crisp Christmas Eves
To people she likes she merely screams
"They would not let me in!"
To drunkards she gives blood curdling shrieks
And they die from freezing shakes in the street
There in the icey frozen street at her feet
If Christmas finds you in that forlorn place
Fear that Frulein in her red frosty lace
With frozen tears for her baby on her face

Final Day Mornings

by

Wesley A. Storer


In memory of C.M.Archer

A poem can be a prayer
And a poem can be a curse
A poem can be a love affair
For much better than worse
All in how it's written
The construct of its verse
He's just an old guy now
A clown on a merry go round
The Merry-go-round of Earth
Spinning from death to birth
Strong coffee and mild cigars
Are the objects of his regard
As God's kind will imparts
The mornings of final days
To the error of his ways
So write a poem of mercy
And write a poem of grace
For the clown spinning around
Can no longer show his face

Falling Higher

by

Wesley A. Storer

It has been said by some
He who deserves love the least
Is he who needs it most
You say 'That's always you!'
In this world you can be right
And still be wrong
If the truth is unbearable
And in this universe
How do we really know
Which way is up
And which way is down?
Perhaps falling is up
And going up is down.
But one thing is for sure
NASA likes going up
Rather than coming down
A millionaire joy rider
Returned from paradise
Told me so!
Well maybe when we die
We are all weightless
Wouldn't that be nice?

Love is never yesterday

by

Wesley A. Storer

As the years swiftly diminish
All their hopes for love desired
To what avail to what effect?
Does its fastidious obsession
Rob our rest with its misery
When the cold uncertain fate
Of the cold uncertain grave
Is the end upon which we wait
When love was never yesterday
And yet
Who knows what bright tomorrows
The veil of eternity borrowed
From present striving sorrows
In some mysterious compensation
Serendipitous kismet or karma
For a better love tomorrow

Sa Punk und Sa Squirrel

by

Wesley A. Storer

In vun uf my incarnations I vas a bum in Boston
A snitch told sa cops I mugged an olt lady
Trying to ingratiate himzelf to all sa girls
Und dis vas uf course completely false
Dey took me to Mattapan for mental observation
Mattapan vas sa big Boston bug house den
Das ven I saw sa ghost of Mattapan
Valking around vis ein ice pick in his back
Everyvun vas scart und didn't know vas to do
Vun day I asked it vas in sa hell happened to it
Und zen suddenly sa spook jumped inside me!
Ent I vas valking down an empty sidevalk
Vere I saw sa punk sitting on sa park bench
Nervous ent fidgety like he vas needing sumzing
Zen I saw sa squirrel jump on sa top uf his head
He scream and jump vent nuts ent flipped his lid
He chazed sa squirrel right up into sa tree
Vere he caught hiz arm in sa crook of sa limbs
I valked right up unt helped him to escape
Ent laff ent laff und laff right in his face
I turned to go and got his ice pick in my spleen
I turned around unt got his ice pick in my liver
I turned around ent got his ice pick in my spine
Ent right zen ent zere I lait down unt died
Unt I never voke up in Mattapan again ether
So if you effer see a punk squirreled up a tree
Just let zim be unt go call up sa police

The Sacred Wind

by

Wesley A. Storer

Where in endless sojourns
Dost thou betake thyself?
To secret unseen dreams?
Of your palatial spaces?
The yellow paged Autumns
Where your freezing flame
Brushes with crimson stain
Once green leaves of Spring?
Painting their amber lilting
Like cameos in purest glass
Where once in pleasant shadow
Clung lovers in passions grasp
Kissed and cooled by thee
While lost in wandering
Changing thy changeling scenes
Seeding fields in flowers sweet
Sweeping again the sandy beach
When the ocean's call you heed
In sometimes cavalier veneer
Raising skirts to lovers' cheers
Giving the breath they breathe
The way it has to be
The only way it can be
In your mysteries unseen

The Healing Wine

by

Wesley A. Storer



For my lonely old friend and me

In Memory of
Richard Emmanuel Hoffman

Once long ago I was a bum in Cana
In the land of the children of Israel
I was with an old friend who was dying
Under the shade of a sycamore tree
And I was very very grieved
There was what appeared to be a feast
At a home down the way we could see
Someone said 'They have no wine!'
A while later a strange man came to us
Dressed in white and as sad as could be
He was not what you would call handsome
But our spirits leapt for joy within us
He said, 'Strong drink is for the perishing.'
He said, 'Drink to your friend's recovery
and he will be well again do you believe?'
And I took the cup he offered me
I drank and my lonely old friend drank
We drank, and my old friend was relieved
From the sickness that was killing He
I know you think this is a big fat lie
Because it is not in the book of holy writ
So I do not really expect you to believe
This story of why the LORD turned
The water into lovely healing wine
For my lonely old friend and me

The Sacred Promise

by

Wesley A. Storer

Oh a gentle sun is smiling
On her dimly faded brow
Faithful to her wedding vows
Lying there in her coffin now
He cavorted with this and that
And many heifers he did plow
He was always a bully to her
Fetch the firewood slop the hogs
Make my dinner and don't be long
Her joy was feeling special
To this oath breaking vessel
Swearing by his FAITHER and MOATHER
He'd never made love to ANOATHER!
That he'd forsaken all others
But today the poor lady died
To become Christ's eternal bride
While he still goes swinging swell
Broken Trust Covenant breaking liar
A husband only to the Hell
That He gave her

Wild Les Irish

by

Wesley A. Storer



the grizzled old man looked worried
When Wild Les Irish of Southie appeared
'I gave you money to buy me some wine
While I was working on the assembly line!'
A look of guilt crossed the old man's face
'I,I--- ddd- drank it, his hesitant reply
Irish roared, grabbing the old man's throat
And with both hands commenced to choke!
And the poor old guy looked very remote.
But his expression turned to sheepishness
And then his expression turned to glee
Then a tear in his eye, all there, did see
For Wild Les Irish was only kidding
And the strength of his fingers, forgiving,
With the greatest affection the old man
Had ever in his miserable life received
And everyone in that homeless joint
Knew Wild Les Irish had made a new friend

The Bells of Eternity

by

Wesley A. Storer

Lord give them rest
In the quiet place
Transforming blessed
By thy earthy grace
As bells of eternity
Chime in endless age
Fading untold stories
Melting unsung glories
Who in their time fill
The ever present needs
Pleasant glowing roses
The eyes desire to see
Whether in the ground
Or swaying in the sun
Always apart of the one
Nourishing or nourished

Emotional Cripple

by

Wesley A. Storer


HI THERE!!!
I WAS AN EMOTIONAL CRIPPLE
I NEVER DONE THE DRUGS
I WAS NEVER MARRIED
I WAS NEVER ABLE TO EXPRESS
MY LONGING AND DEEP AFFECTION
FOR THE OBJECTS OF MY DESIRE
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN!!!!!!!!!
SO GOD GAVE ME MUSIC
MY GUITAR AND MY HARMONICAS
AND HELPED ME TO PLAY THEM
I AM SOMEWHAT FEEBLE MINDED
SO GOD HELPED ME WRITE
POEMS FROM MY HEART!
I WAS KILLED TO DEATH
PLAYING MY GUITAR AND HARMONICAS
BY A NY.NY. BULLY GANG
ON 42 STREET IN MANHATTEN
NOW I AM IN HEAVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

Distant Lights

by

Wesley A. Storer



Through the dark and starless night
Alas, the random phantom sight
Of the lonely prarie lights
And he wondered as if dreaming
If love lived under the beams
Of their silvery golden gleams
Into his dark and lonely soul
They glowed
Sacred silent serene

We Bombed in Bangor

by

Wesley A. Storer

You haf perhaps heard of New Haven
Und uf starry futures in stone ungraven
Vel mine friends, ve bombed in Bangor
Mine guitars, harmonicas, and me
I vas sinking maybe 'king of sa Road'
Vould put on maybe quite a show
But, as alvays, I vas wrong again
Und every sing I ever done vas dumb
Yes, starlifers, ve bombed in Bangor
Mine old guitar, harmonicas, und me
Sa lady in sa antique store said
Ve bored her
Und sa people didn't know no song
Sat vas called 'King of sa road'
Und sat maybe I should go back home.
Yes, mine friends, ve bombed in Bangor
Mind old guitar, harmonicas, und me
Der vas just me und all sa hip hops
Und all of sa Stephen King wannabe's
Und mine despair und poverty und me
I though sa boredom vas going to kill me
But zen I vas run down by a beer truck!
All for sa best most mercifully

Bohemian Sunrise

by

Wesley A. Storer

Lonely Man

Sunlight on the Penobscot
Spanish Bagel and coffee
Ronald's friendly cardboard face
Later a cheap cigar
Take a bus to 'Bahaba!'
To look for the Gypsies
Stay in a free shelter
Nestled by trees of green
Tlyink to talk like sa Bohemians
Valking down old Highvay vun
Looking for lonely light houses
Shining white in the sun
This is a day boredom free
For a moment you think about
All the Delores Claibornes
Of the world
And then you don't feel so blue
Lonely Man. Lonely Man.

Leaving Eden

by

Wesley A. Storer


Bar Harbor, Maine, Aug. 2, 2001

They say those leaving Eden
A sorrrow the parting brings
Missing that special thing
One last time again
Swimming on Sand Beach
Whale watching on the sea
Or luminous Autumn leaves
Visiting the village green
And some truly believe
Grieving while leaving Eden
Is the way to be
Before remembered serenities
Can tarnished or ruined be
By careless word or deed
The heart lives by faith
The foolish lips deny
Pleasant memories of Eden
Is the way to be
After the sorrow of parting
Sets us free

Ocean Mother Home

by

Wesley A. Storer

This road by the lonely known
Is the road they called their own
On this road that none can own
This road they walked alone
By their ocean mother home
She kisses them on the roam
Her washing crystal tears atone
And give cleansing refreshments
Love lies not in its possession
We are bored even with perfection
We love others not for what they had
But rather for the things they lacked
As they labor and struggle on
They the beautiful lonely sea sown
And love is a hunger for home
On this road by the lonely known

The Rain Bells

by

Wesley A. Storer


Home

Once in hidden mountain valleys
Known only to kith and kin
Lived the mysterious rain bells
Free from strife and sin
Where their soft angelic singing
Preceding the purifying rains
Would with rainbow prism beams
To the rain bell's glory sing
And the sunset's lavender glow
Reminded all of ancient homes
When the leaves of memory
Would like tiny rainbells fade
With the deewey suns of May
To renew the ageless way
When their keys to forever
The rainbell chimes unchained
With their ancient infinite rhymes
Eternal blooms again to claim
So linger a moment longer
For to say the loved you
Is why they rang