W. Mahlon Purdin: First Poems

Introduction: On these pages the reader will encounter forty-two worries, songs and war poems which were written between the dates of January 1968 and February 1974. They are of varying quality and intention. In this, my first attempt to compile a choerent presentation of my verse, I have faith which has been sustained by many readings before friends. The reader who enjoys free verse will find this a disappointing experience, for while I have written some of that genre, very little of it is present here.

Many of the poems deal with war. This was not an original design built into my work, rather, I believe, it is a more naturally occurring phenomenon of my life and mind.

February 1974
Bloomington, Indiana

I

This is a book of poetry,
Perhaps archaic and perhaps old,
It is as well a suspended story
Of a time when the heart weak, the mind was bold.

This is a pilgrimage, which I
Am still upon;
A short report before I die
Am buried and am gone.

It's not, nor does purposrt to be,
A classic which sweeps the land,
Tears the sky, or ripples the sea:
More like a printed stretch of sand:

A matrix in which I was
Born and bound,
Gagged and ordered,
Lost and found.

Time was, is, and will be
Passing on eternally.
Here is a piece of passing time
That was, and is, memorably mine.

If in your slight peruse
You should chance to find
Something here which you can use
We will meet mind to mind.

The beings that I know and love
Gave me hope that made me free
To dream and write my poems of
The things I've done and had to see.

To them and those who read and know
That shining eyes are mark and mate
Of life and death and joy and sorrow,
These next few poems I dedicate.

J. E. B.

Jim, you are a 'good old boy,'
Who thinks the world is just a toy,
But, unfortunately, it is not,
You must briefly have forgot
That life is a trouble start to finish,
That's the way it's got to be,
For if life were such a simple thing,
You'd have never known me.
I came here from times of trouble aplenty.
The blood still drips from my hands;
"When I was one and twenty..."
I fought in foreigh lands,
Where the air was cleaner,
The people were nicer,
The cause was horrible,
And I was wrong.
I was a fierce fighter, Jim.
What I did would turn your heart within.
You would run from me aghast
And I would have seen you for the last.
It's a hard world that troubles me,
Turns my soul in agony,
That still it fools the few,
And there's nothing I can do.

XXXIV

Thoughts To A Dreamer (No. 2)

A skinly crease upon her thigh,
A silent look within her eye:

A book is in her hands,
Who knows what,
Perhaps it's Lewis Carroll,
Or maybe "Camelot."

Beneath tinted glass looks closely
A very sensitive face,
Upon the Jabberwock, or a palace
Of some Authurian place.

Smoothly, waves like strands
Upon her shoulder lie,
And darkly shade her figure
Softly to the eye.

1.

From afar I absently love,
Dreamily, as poets do;
As if time and space, a demon pair,
Were quite as empty of
Restraint as my shuffled share
Is of returning love.

It's a trouble feeling, that I,
A troubled sort to start,
Enjoy to think of on the sly,
As if some unparceled part
The censors let slip by:
You are a dream of my poet's heart....

2.

Time has slip-shod placed
Me upon this isthumus waste,
And if this trek I must complete
Then somewhere here I might just meet
My dreaming, drifting destiny face-to-face,
And if not here, certainly some similar place:
Frenzied, frazzled, flipping with life
Beneath a heavy-handed scaler's knife
That strips away the color, the mystery,
And leaves the fading form miserably
Deepening into a stupor,
An endless pause of fervor,
Which is neither death nor brief:
A middle world of silent suspended grief.

3.

I came to like the warmth of blood
That after battle bathed my hands;
As in the traveller's booted tread there's mud
From walking on forbidden lands.

Oh, Shakespeare's lady of intrigue
And the spot that would not, "Out!"
Are of the same and deadly deed,
But to mine are whispers to a shout.

Am I damned for all time?
Am I damned for all time?

The trouble here is not so easy
As to simply slip away.
No gentle friend nor field breezy
Can its subtle suture shoo away.

It's my soul the trouble's in.
I know, I put it there.
The line of life though short and thin,
Must be more than their stingy share.

4.

You are gone now, lost and unseen.
You were struck down straight and clean.
Time was your enemy, ambition, it's aide;
Together they slew you limply
And gracefull you fell.

Take comfort, you were not the first,
Nor will you be the last.
The evil-doers still march on
Inticing dreams in silve cast.

Quietly you transpire.
Upward now your days swiftly pursue.
As inwardly congeals your desire;
All in union pressing forth with you.

Death is strengthening the weaker you grow:
A silent pursuer who you never know.

5.

Tired

Jesus, I'm tired
Of those memories
I fired.

It seems so long ago,
But it was only then, you know.
Then, now, when:
Yesterday, tomorrow, and again.

Success soothes
The war that wooes,
all is forgotten, those two by two's.

Time ago, time ago,
Time to go, time to go,
Over and over and over and then:
Yesterday, tomorrow, and again.

6.

Gather in a freedom place
That moves at a slower pace.
Make your bonds of love,
Never thinking of
Ways to improve the human face.

7.

Springtime is the lover's season,
Winter is the warming time,
Summer's when lovers're teasin',
And Autumn flaps its wings in pantomime.

8.

It's not the solitude
When I'm alone
That soothes me,
It's more like the sea
Or a thankless eagle blown
On wing suddenly
(And I dare not intrude.)

9.

A gentle whisper in my ear
Dispels all worries and all fear.
A simple touch upon my brow
Makes me thankful for the here and now.

Religion for me is a simple life,
Away from the banker's dollar and the butcher's knife:
Away from embattled mankind,
Into the warm of a loving mind.

10.

Gently I touch
More with mind than hand
Gently I kiss you
Softly on the lips

For a moment you are mine,
For a moment you are mine.

With care it is I hold
And with love it is for me
That gently I embrace
Softly with my heart

For a moment you are mine,
For a moment you are mine.

11.

Thoughts To A Dreamer (No. 2)

A skinly crease upon her thigh,
A silent look within her eye:

A book is in her hands,
Who knows what,
Perhaps it's Lewis Carroll,
Or maybe "Camelot."

Beneath tinted glass looks closely
A very sensitive face,
Upon the Jabberwock, or a palace
Of some Arthurian place.

Smoothly waves like strands
Upon her shoulder lie,
And darkly shade her figure
Softly to the eye.

12.

The world is a pear I bit as a boy,
Halfing a wily worm's worldly ploy;
And did a slippery, slimy, slink destroy
As, unknowing, chewed it up with joy.