I sat with a dynamiter at supper in a German saloon eating steak and onions.
And he laughed and told stories of his wife and children and the cause of labor and the working class.
It was laughter of an unshakable man knowing life to be a rich and red-blooded thing.
Yes, his laugh rang like the call of gray birds filled with a glory of joy ramming their winged flight through a rain storm.
His name was in many newspapers as an enemy of the nation and few keepers of churches or schools would open their doors to him.

Although a sea of whisky filled each lung,
he would have called out from beneath a wave
just to console the living, but his tongue
was heavy as a stone inside the grave.

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

Dying and giving birth go on
inside the one consciousness,
but most people misunderstand

the pure play of creative energy,
how inside that, those
are one event.

Hverdags synes os Solen, skjøndt ei vi vove den skue,
Fængslet af Vane og Nat blænder dens Lys os for stærkt;
Saa den himmelske Dyd bekjendt os synes, skjøndt ukjendt,
Prismaets kløvende Glands see her i Støvet vi kun.

Islam had taught us, 'Show friendship to all' '
‘In times of hardship share each other's grief '
‘Extend hand to help, don't allow him to fall'
'When friends are afflicted partake in their pain'
If only so steadfast in our affections we could be
Khair-ul-Umam, we'd be called, to which all agree.

Here is dust remembers it was a rose
one time and lay in a woman's hair.
Here is dust remembers it was a woman
one time and in her hair lay a rose.
Oh things one time dust, what else now is it
you dream and remember of old days?

when the sun dips as if forever,
when streaks of feeling
silver the horizon's brow
and the waves start up in excitement,
frothing and insatiable,
my thoughts betray me
and i can barely feel the world...

I feel my heart melting
in the mildness like candles:
my veins are slow oil
and not wine,
and I feel my life fleeing
hushed and gentle like the gazelle.

HERE lies Duns Scotus
Who died of lotus.