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	Herbert Witzen
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Herbert Witzen, 25 november 2018

How Flows This Wild and Often Hidden Stream

How flows this wild and often hidden stream?
What, but trapped in the body the haunt,
this love of mine, the world cannot see;
maybe should not, a select few souls only
picked for some outward squint and awkwardness.
Do I value you, O abundant spirit, in the thoughts of the world,
where you too often lie, far off, not in me, where I forget you?
O myself!
Myself! Well, I cannot obey that entity and its demands all through;
I must caress and oppress what needs each,
and by each present the world a cankerless flower.
What an outfit to wear! Which does not show
but in the inward of the eyes, and whose soles guide the wearer,
and not the wearer it. And what choice,
that would not misrepresent and slander another I,
and bring to bear a hackneyed and false impression
of a simple side, a mask, a map
for thieves to steal the golden store.
I suggest that I, courageous and wise,
which is securest and tenderest:
thieves and invalids far off and below,
space to step around or step over.

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Herbert Witzen, 10 february 2015

Sonnet 6

O, beauteous petals, wilt thou not bloom?
’T is but thy faith which to too-honeyed nectar steals,
And but those combs thou use’st to consume
Which leave but trickéd drones and searching-feels.

And though no prick of rose, nor winded-sigh,
No poet’s moon nor pleasantry with flow’rs;
Will spurn thy stake from plucking-out thine eyes
Or caulking spores from springs and pleasant show’rs:

Still; thy Eternal petals shall not fray,
Nor steal with sickled-fancy from the wold;
Which, like the sun, doth always warm the way
And lead me to you, my beautiful, my soul.

For on that living bed doth give thee life,
The breath of love that gagéd thee my wife.

Kyle Stephen

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Herbert Witzen, 23 march 2012

Words of Pompei

Do not quote the law to us. We carry swords.

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Herbert Witzen, 19 december 2011

For Mother

The most beautiful people we have known are those
who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have
found their way out of the depths.
These people have an appreciation, a sensitivity,
an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep
loving concern.
Beautiful people do not just happen.

Eliz. Rox

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Other poems: How Flows This Wild and Often Hidden Stream, Sonnet 6, Words of Pompei, For Mother,