The early poems of:
Lee Rector
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My powers of instinct are broken down
Into a mental pacifier.
The directions I take are none other
Than those of ones least connected to me.
I have lost my courage, my will, my devotion,
And yes, I have lost my God.
For my god can be called the essence of falsehood.
My character is as the erosion of the soil
My life as an equipage on a rocky road.
My era will eventuate into the greatest jumble
Of all languor.
My mind, the most lethal weapon I possess.
1964
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Life in a nutshell
Could be described as this
You shoot a rocket for a goal
And always you will miss
You catch a falling star
And it will burn your hand
You buy a cut-rate island
And find it only sand.
But if you stop to think,
Still life is rather grand!
1965
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Driving rain,
Why don’t you fall elsewhere?
I can’t get the chance
To dry my soul.
I can’t get the chance to live.
Streaking lightening,
Why don’t you strike elsewhere?
I am blinded by
Your intensity
I can’t get the chance
To see.
Thundering roar,
Why don’t you call elsewhere?
With wet soul
And blinded eyes,
Your call
Will not be answered.
1965
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When I first opened my eyes
I saw that I must be
The one to take the initiative
To spread the word,
As I felt my talents grow
I decided to leave the greatest epitaph of all.
When I felt my growth cease,
I faded…
1965
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Welcome death,
So wonderful to find you at my doorstep.
My tears will never miss my life,
Although they’ll miss my mind.
But never the less, you’re a beautiful sight
To such a weary occupant.
I often wondered when you’d call
But now I could really care.
This side of the wall is so pleasant
I’d never cross the line.
And now I’ve answered a question for you.
That’s why grandpop’s not home for Easter
And why a séance does not uncover.
1965
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Reprise for everlasting faith
Distinguishes between the noble.
Complete control of all that ain’t
More so never over.
Last day of earth
Be still for some
And roust about for others.
But never cause undo of love
And heaven be uncovered.
1965
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We are an overemotional sect
But will never be forgotten.
Some of us believe in God
Some others think it’s rotten.
But no one will let us down
We’ll always be a copy.
And some of it is rather good
But most of it is sloppy.
1965
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Antagonistic as it might be
The last forever ceases
And calls the little running man
For one brief moment to stop
Forever seemed the second’s pause
For called from death’s own evil
For leaving the earth’s orbit
To visit, calls the Devil.
1965
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I sat and watched the ripples on a lake
And watched the shadows on the water cast.
I listened for waves on the shore to break
And thought of poets watching from the past.
I felt the cooling breezes on my brow
And drifted into ahypnotic sleep
I saw leaves flickering colors from the bough
While floating over the unknown blue deep.
But then the sun o’re purple mountains dipped
As sadness o’re my weary body fell
And closer to the sore my small boat slipped
To break the soothing dreamy evening spell.
Such peace came to me when evening died
As alone I rowed into the dark of night.
1966
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Why so wonderful a life
Should be destroyed by regret
To consecrate such destiny
And relevate such fate
When crossing rivers wide
Or passing canyons deep,
The never ending song
Forsakes the eyes of others.
Verily I come to you
Asking for the knowledge
To aid falling objects,
But never myself to slip.
Trudging through the forest hills
You undergo the resurrection
While digging the blossoming flower
From its eternal resting place.
1966
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I see a tree,
A hangman’s tree,
An oak of sturdy stature.
Your leaves are gone
Yet still you stand
With bulging joints and muscles.
Your hardened bones and arthritic walls
Are still so very stable.
Your wiry hair obstructs the sky,
The brown leaves few are clinging.
You stand so strong.
Your position long.
Your past I wish you’d tell me.
Behind you stands
Deserted lands
Of death and wandering
To eternity.
But here you form
To weather the storm
And to shelter birds and mosses.
Your twisting arms,
Your writhing arms,
Your beaconing to me.
You sad old hangman’s tree.
1966
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I want to run with the legs of a child
Like on a springtime day, just running wild.
I want to think with the mind of a boy
No cares or woes playing with a new toy.
With all fears and worries eternally suppressed,
A smudge on his cheek and a tan on his breast.
No cares about money, society or employ,
Just the love for a tree in the heart of a boy.
To wade in a brook with tough nimble feet
To sneak a taste of sour and turn it into sweet
Thinking not about wars or things to destroy
But the breath of a song from the creation of a boy.
And the glory of the sunrise, also of its set
And the thrills of the night, the mysteries you’ve met
Ah yes, just the simplicity of a blond-headed boy
Shirt and shoes off exploring all for new joy
Oh, God! Why can’t that again be me?
For the thrill of the boy, with his first view of the sea.
1966
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Now listen to me,
My friend the sun,
And clear the skies
To shine on this one.
Where’ere I go, sun,
Let me see
The green of every
Frozen tree
And if he wishes winter gray
Give me the warmth of summer day.
When ever you may hear my call
Break through the clouds to shine on all.
Oh listen to me, old father sun.
Don’t ever hide your proud gold face.
And never wander from this place.
And melt the snow.
And bake the ice.
And hatch out hibernating seeds and things.
And cause a jungle of beauty to grow.
And let the foul northward go.
Shine out for me, old man the sun.
Let the children outside to play and run.
1966
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God,
Oh, God.
Wherefore art thou?
Art thou in the trees?
Then speak to this lonely creature.
You don’t exist, nor do I,
And with that statement
I’m satisfied.
1966
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There are nine in the hangman’s house
With long ropes for the hangman
And his children and his wife
They’ve come to take him away
And leave his dependents to sway.
Nine ropes for the hangman
All of which are tested for their strength.
And the hangman winces as the others make him think.
Nine ropes for the hangman, who will cry
As the rope holders watch the hangman writhe.
And the hangman prays for mercy
As he watches his children swing.
“Take my wife, and let me free,” the hangman sings.
They took his wife and strung her up.
The hangman thinks that he is safe.
They take the hangman to the lake.
They throw in all his children.
They throw in his homely wife.
And then they take the hangman,
And with him they take his life.
The hangman cried through the whole ordeal
Unlike did his wife and kids.
And then they left, with extra ropes
And prayed God save their souls.
1965
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My delinquent soul, opaque in its way
Is the praiseworthy puff of the earth.
My goal is to disconcert all that is righteous.
I have a rigid stem with the taste of alum.
And my mind will discourage the holy!
1964
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A tear is like a drop of dew
From the weeping sky
The dew falls like music
In the cool of the night
Yet the tear falls in sadness
From the weepers eye.
But tears may fall from laughter
And dew may turn to rain.
It’s not the drop of water
But the sincerity from which it came.
1963
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When will I die?
Will I live first?
Why do I wonder?
I wonder,
Why do I wonder?
Death!
What.
Hummm.
Birth?
Life?
Ahhhh.
Eternity?
Hmmmm.
1962
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What is water?
H20?
No.
Life?
No.
What is water?
Who knows?
Only one.
God!
God knows!
1962
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What is love?
What is passion?
Who can say?
Only a fool.
For only a fool
Can’t love.
The wise man will say,
Who can say?
Only a fool will know.
Can you say?
Can you love?
Do you have passion?
If not you are a fool.
I am a fool.
We are all fools.
1962
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Who is insane?
The conformist
Or the non.
If the conformist,
All.
If the non,
Few.
I say all.
All say few.
What is proven?
Be yourself,
No one else,
And the world
Can be insane.
1963
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They’ll look at my skeleton years from now
And scream in horror to think
That this was once a civilized body
And now the body ain’t.
They’ll plaster together all that was
And imagine what was not
Then smiling at their handiwork
Will begin at another spot.
1964
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© 2001, Lee Rector, Reno, NV, USA, 606 Nebadon
Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.
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