Climbing to heights you never can climb,
The jungle lies in your deep red heart,
Claiming you after a timeless time.
Men of your hue have turned away
From club and arrow and trail and cave—
Deep in your brain you long today
For the fires where the dancers leap and rave.
Open the window; there waits without
One who will sate your primal lust;
One who will grip you and strip and flout,
Humble your pride to the pulsing dust;
Make you a woman primal, debased,
Tame you as you wish to be tamed,
Waking the days when girls were chased
Hard through the reeking woods and shamed.
What do the men of your own race give?
Honor and wealth and tenderness—
What would you have to fully live?
Shame and pain and the whip’s caress!
Wild and ecstatic, burning pain,
Fingers that yield not to your plea—
Loins against which you strive in vain,
Blows and a brutal mastery.
Men may rise to the shining gates,
Out of the ancient bestial sea—
You are still, with your loves and hates,
Primal woman—and ever shall be.
Open the window; your masters sleep;
Wary and cautious; wake them not.
You feel the hot blood raven and leap,
Coursing veins that are passion hot.
Open the window; he waits without;
(Eyes agleam in the gliding gloom)
The jungle raises one gloating shout
As a black man glides in your moonlit room.
Toper
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Toil, cares, annoyances all fade away;
I care not who may run for President.
I drowse and swing my rum the live-long day,
And watch the shallops skimming o'er the bay.
To the Contended
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Bide by the fluted iron walls
Take ye a serving wench to wife;
Drown in the pot the bugle's calls,
Trade your spear for a peddler's knife.
Turn to the vendor's paltry strife,
Gird ye round with doors and bars
Safely snore in the lap of Life—
I must follow the restless stars.
Wait at the doors of your master's halls
—For the faithful server, boards are rife—
Make no oath when the whip-lash falls—
Hark to the counsel of your wife;
Trade your harp for a peddler's fife.
But gods, the spray and the plunging spars!
Here is my heart—in the heart of Life
And I must follow the restless stars
Envoi
King, there are stallions in golden stalls,
But bars of sapphire are only bars!
Bide in peace in the high safe halls—
I must follow the restless stars.
A Tribute to the Sportsmanship of the Fans
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Headlock, hammerlock, toss him on his bean again,
Jump on his belly and boot him in the hips,
Clamp the scissors on his neck
and choke him till he's green again
Get the fans wild-eyed, with froth on their lips.
Barlock, body-slam, nibble on his ears again—
Its just like eating cabbage—and kick him in the groin,
Butt him in the belly, that brings the cheers again,
The fans want a run for their hard-spent coin.
Flying-mare, toe-hold, twist his neck around again,
Wrap his legs around his waist and tie them in a knot,
Stamp in his mouth so his teeth cannot be found again,
The fans paid their money so make it good and hot.
Stranglehold, leg-split, jerk his knee-caps loose again,
Crack his ribs and break his arms, leave him life-long lame,
Send him out on a shutter—then listen to the boos again,
The kind fans howling that the battle was too tame.
Visions
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I cannot believe in a paradise
Glorious, undefiled,
For gates all scrolled and streets of gold
Are tales for a dreaming child.
I am too lost for shame
That it moves me unto mirth,
But I can vision a Hell of flame
For I have lived on earth.
The Voices Waken Memory
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The blind black shadows reach inhuman arms
To draw me into darkness once again;
The brooding night wind hints of nameless harms,
And down the shadowed hill a vague refrain
Bears half-remembered ghosts to haunt my soul,
Like far-off neighing of the nightmare's foal.
But let me fix my phantom-shadowed eyes
Hard on the stars — pale points of silver light—
Here is the borderlad — here reason lies—
There, vision, gryphons, Nothing, and the Night.
Down, down, red spectres, down, and rack me not!
Out, wolves of Hell! Oh God, my pulses thrum;
The night grows fierce and blind and red and hot,
And nearer still a frim insistent drum.
I will not look into the shadows — No!
The star shall grip and hold my frantic gaze—
But even in the stars black visions grow,
And dragons writhe with iron eyes ablaze.
Oh Gods that raised my blindness with your curse,
And let me see the horrid shapes behind
All outward veils that cloak the universe,
The loathsome demon-spells that bind and blind,
Since even the stars are noisome, foul and fell,
Let me glut deep with memory dreams of hell.
The Weakling
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I died in sin and forthwith went to Hell;
I made myself at home upon the coals
Where seas of flame break on the cinder shoals.
Till Satan came and said with angry yell,
"You there—divulge what route by which you fell."
"I spent my youth among the flowing bowls,
"Wasted my life with women of dark souls,
"Died brothel-fighting—drunk on muscatel."
Said he, "My friend, you’ve been directed wrong:
"You’ve naught to recommend you for our feasts—
"Like factory owners, brokers, elders, priests;
"The air for you! This place is for the strong!"