It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records . . .

Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

A butterfly dancing in the sunlight, 
A bird singing to his mate, 
The whispering pines, 
The restless sea, 
The gigantic mountains, 
A stately tree,
The rain upon the roof, 
The sun at early dawn,
A boy with rod and hook,
The babble of a shady brook, 
A woman with her smiling babe, 
A man whose eyes are kind and wise, 
Youth that is eager and unafraid—
When all is said, I do love best
A little home where love abides, 
And where there’s kindness, peace, and rest.

Charleston south
Charleston north
Charleston back 
Charleston forth.

...................hey! hey! 
...................hey! hey! 
Sway, black girl, sway!

Charleston left 
Charleston right 
Charleston day 
Charleston night.

...................clap! clap! 
...................clap! clap!
Charleston, Charleston on the map!

Blues songs sad
Blues songs gay 
Blues songs moan 
Night away.

...................hey! hey! 
...................hey! hey! 
Play, jazz band, play!

Black gals nice 
Black gals mean 
Black gals fat
Black gals lean.

South Street
South Street
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Living in the arms of wide mouth day!

when i can creep into our 3 am bed
slink into the sliver of mattress
you saved for me watch the streetlight
slice through the curtain leaving a streak
of fluorescence in your hair stare
at the ceiling and wait   maybe
you’ll steal back the covers maybe
you’ll offer me your leg maybe
you’ll beg for quiet then in a whisper
so not to stir the monster masquerading
as jeans on a chair you’ll ask get any
writing done?  no, read two articles though.

they say love is no different than large amounts of chocolate.
also, the cocoa bean will soon be no more.

                       The cool light turns
everything gray—my fingers settle

in the grass. Wingless cicadas sleep
beneath leaves curling like ribbons

Now is the time to feel alive. Clouds
rear back until light is the holy word

The grass blades under me come to
patterns of rest. Pendulous branches

and fibrous bark make a crown. If
I cannot be a mother I still want no

life but this one pocket of air rising
through the water like a rosary bead

I pray to a God who keeps me here
Soft light from the foliage shatters

I can give up happiness. I’ll go bury
my dreams first thing in the morning

 1 

 There is a large crowd of young folks 
 Hurrying down the road; 
 They are going to have a picnic now, 
 And spread the news abroad. 

 2 

 They are wearing beautiful bouquets, 
 And carrying bright tin dippers; 
 New straw hats are waiving high, 
 And patent leather slippers. 

3 

 Their hats are made of fine chiffon, 
 And decorated too. 
 There will be plenty of goodies 
 For your friends and for you. 

4

 They will have a big barbecue. 
 And a lot of other stuff. 
 They are going to eat and drink 
 Till everybody puff. 

5

 They will have cakes and candy by the heaps, 
 And ice cream pressed in cake; 
 Peanuts parched fresh and hot, 
 And a lot of fine milk shakes. 

 6 

 They will have fish croquets by the bushels, 
 And cocoanut jumbles too; 
 They are going to feed their friends and foes 
 And have enough for you. 

 7 

 They are going to have a big dance 
 And have a jolly time. 
 They want to show their handsome looks 
 Because they look so fine.  

 8 

 One barrel or two of lemonade, 
 Mixed all through with ice; 
 Lemons cut and thrown therein 
 Gee! it’s awful nice. 

9 

 Of all the fun and jolities, 
 And all the places of rest, 
 Just go to an old picnic ground; 
 They tell me that’s the best. 

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.

The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.

Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

Love is a rainbow that appears
When heaven’s sunshine lights earth’s tears.

All varied colors of the light
Within its beauteous arch unite:

There Passion’s glowing crimson hue
Burns near Truth’s rich and deathless blue;

And Jealousy’s green lights unfold
‘Mid Pleasure’s tints of flame and gold.

O dark life’s stormy sky would seem,
If love’s clear rainbow did not gleam!

Heaped sweets and a treasure
For a new sin to play with,
To pass a night and day with––
Heaped sweets for a pleasure.

Who and who will win them?
Who will carry virtue’s pall?
Of what use are sins at all
If someone does not sin them?

Who will take the treasure?
Run and run on light-winged feet;
Who will buy my sweetest sweet
With a new found pleasure?

How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;

—This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.