zebratta (zebratta) wrote in zebratta_poems,




Threshold Publishing Company
PO Box 4033
Blaine, WA 98231 USA

E. L. van Hine

The Last Days

Are at last, at end
And here I pray
For the end of these hard days of want;
And harder days of memory
Of poverty and strife

Let there be an end to strife
The losses that were so many years

Let there be an end
To suffering the loss of something
That was never mine to hold
The life I live is never
Quite mine, or quite so sooner old.


This Strangeness

I have lived a year of days
Between the moment you appeared to me
To take my pains away
They cannot be taken
Not for minutes, nor for days
The pain your love awakes in me
Is strange

Never was my openness and light
Been so warped to craze
This sojourn is the end of pain-filled days.

Was it this I must become
Learn the hardest lesson ere I wake
Forever chastened by your lust?
I will not forget
The ache you put inside of me
It will ne’er be slaked

Look what you have done to me
And only you it seems
Are willing for my death to bid me come
This strangeness will not go
Not by my turning shy
Nor by my quiet show
I must be resolved
And in my knowing, undissolved

Did I waken you?
Today, I doubt
Your enlightening is hopeful
But not the purpose I had come to you about,
Will I waken you?
This, I ever doubt.

For L.


The End of Pain

Is in my peculiar sight
I had yearned for peace, and prayed
Until it came to me by night
Never was my heart so full
And never will so slight
As when I found surcease at last
In the stillness of the night.

I have had my fill of pain
Of wandering
Forever in the search for some new thing
Is it now found?
Can I rest at last
Knowing I am safe and trusted?
This will soon be seen
It is time my wandering should cease
It is time for the rule of peace.

18 06 07


My love is not
As I would have her be,
Determined in sobriety
Rescued by the Lea,
She is not, nor has ever been
What I would have her be.

I am not what she would have me be,
Living on the verges of materia
A pauper in the masses
A failure in my art
Beginning, tottering
In avoidance of that Fame
Bloated white with anger
And so obviously lame.

And I will never be
And truly said, neither will she
We struggle with the memory of passion
And of pain
We strive against the ghosts
Of what we used to be.

22 06 07


So, my sweetness
Humbled first by memory and Fame,
We have begun again
Richer by degrees
Wiser than we were
When we were shamed.

Oh how I wanted you
My love, I cannot lie,
Passion has the strength
To make me cry,
I ached forever
Till I died,
Thus was my rebirth described.

Give me time
And I will grant you peace
The patience that I never felt nor showed,
Give me peace, my precious soul,
And I will grant you time
And in this way
I will be yours
And you, forever mine.

For Lea,
28 June 07

The Nickel Man

Let me tell you about the Nickel Man
Foreigners, my father said
Foreigners to whom I once was wed,
Foreigners for whom
I once was bled.

War broke out within me
As the Foreigner laid bare
And I trembled as my poem
Received the Ayer.

I cannot say all that I know
But that I have the worst
I cannot say what Judgement has pronounced
But I am both weak and terse
I will not say
The meaning of this verse.


The One I Love

Has done her worst to you
And rendered me to null
And this, if it means the worst
I cannot forgive.

Messiach, is this our wasted day
Will that unread prophecy
Quietly, unknown, be now fulfilled?

We have drawn companions close to us
Who serve us naught but ill,
And we who would be faithful,
Labor faithful still

We are too few
And once again, I ask
Are the lamps of evening
Merely two?

For the Numen

The Proud Monarch

Why does she hold herself apart
This salutary strutting hen
Who serves in quiet grace
She makes me wonder
As to knowledge she withholds
Perhaps she nurtures memories
Of glories of her ken

I was the leader
Of a band of ruthless men
She may not endure me well
This queen of Emerald Isle
She may not approve
My foreigner’s rough style.

I am abjured
But we are bound,
She must serve me too
Or go to ground
She may endure me yet
Before this Round.

For the Master-Servant

Who can say

The meaning of this cold and summer day?
Am I surrounded by my friends
Ere I am cold?
I fear what comes
In this third millennial Rain
I fear the revelation of this Storm.

I have been stained
And few have seen the memory
Of my pain.

I hesitate, but have not long
Before the end
Before the world will see
The Time and Tide upend
And all will be renewed
Washed to glittering effulgence
From this stew
I will be among them
Until the world has ended
And is new.


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