Poetry of Girard Dessins

Poetry of Girard†Dessins


Once, in bower bloomed, to grace this sceptered isle,
a Rose of Humanity, the fairest Rose of England to e'er smile,
who's noble heart and loving hand
gave unto us, Humanity to understand.

So much, to so many, she did give;
her tender heart poured out as through a sieve,
for her need, love to give,
was stronger than her need to live!

Alas, and woe! Sleeps now, the beloved Rose of England,
no more to grace our sight, no more to give her loving hand;
but lives on, in our lives and memory,
and in what we, from her noble heart, make her legacy!


Though we stand separated at Stygian shore,
and know this must our finale to her be,
let it be our paen of "Diana, je t'adore!",
rather than dour dirge and elegy,

and let this, our requiem and blessing be,
that God, in His Mercy, has let us know at all,
Diana, Princess of Wales, so loving and free--
Love's divine face, so rarely seen since Man's Fall!


How I did, as a child, run and play,
and enjoy each and every glorious day!
Now, my heart and mind run far more than my feet,
but they still, the joys of each day repeat!


Upland whispers gather, and ride,
to bring their murmurs amongst the trees,
in winds which no more than life abide,
but in their moment, define sweet mysteries!


Whether I have e'er been loved,
is not half as important
as whether I have loved,
for only in giving, is love's portent!


Love may not, the only inspiration be,
but without love, all others are empty!
Love may not be, life's entire consistency,
but is, all else's reason to be!


How is it mankind has ne'er learned life's purpose,
after so many generations of instruction and rehearse?
This life is but a school, of the divine art of alchemy,
where we're to learn to convert our base clay into love, perfectly!


Do I exercise too much poetic flourish,
do I beauty, love, and ecstasy, too much embellish?
If thou thinkest so,
only tells me, thou dost not them know!!!


I think that I shall never be
a fine, or e'en good, poet, me--
t'is no matter! my verse's not meant, others to please,
only's my way of adoring beauty and truth, in life's lees!


This corporeal clay
does the breath of life obey,
for t'is the soul that's entered in at conception
which compels the physical body's being and animation.
These bodies of clay are but our garments for a time,
for our brief sojourn in this peculiar mortal clime!

Nay, these dusty bones and flesh ne'er do live,
only are animated by the mystery the soul does give!
As with a shirt that's soiled or torn,
we discard at day's end, for a fresh one to be worn,
so it is with what we foolishly think's the end of death--
we e'er mistake the garment worn, for soul's, life's, breath!


I do not long for death,
but neither do I fear it--
one cannot inhale his next breath
until he exhales the one that preceded it!


Measure not age by calendar or years, no more than wealth by jewels or gold.
Age is the hardening shell, worn by tears,
and the weakening heart, losing all passions so bold,
losing youthful hope and dreams, so devoid of fears,
and losing faith in promises we were told!


What promise of greatness, of worth,
of honor, men do daily throw away,
preferring mere existence's dearth,
content simply to let life eke away!

What chances for accomplishment,
what chances for doing good,
for adding so to life's fulfillment,
they've not e'en understood!

Out of ignorance, men may perish,
but out of ne'er living, they atrophy,
and live in a world of countless fears, nightmarish,
ne'er to e'en know life's possibility!

These are the mutations, the retarded ones,
whose lives will end, ne'er counted for anything,
who'll live in shadow, ne'er to know bright suns,
to whom death will only another face of not living bring!


In the hallowed daily rituals of indistinction
by which we choke our individuality, our creativity,
we do perform the elective surgery of our own extinction,
choosing collective unconscious to our own nativity!


Spirits of the dead sail free,
above the fires which have their bodies consumed;
So, too, may our spirits sail free,
arising from the fires of tribulations which have us contumed!


Man is in essence a luke-warm creature, incapable of greatness
in either good or evil,a passionless creature,
a mediocrity due to his sloth and ambivalence,
too self-centered to love,too insecure to be loved.


I'm left but to write this verse for you;
if not me, perhaps it someday you'll remember,
perhaps e'en without displeasure that it you once knew,
when comes for you, bleak December!

Once there was a shadow of a man,
who silently rejoiced just to see your smile,
a broken-down shell of the former man,
who'd have walked just to see you, many a mile!

When comes, that bleak and lonely day,
and's faded, that beauty upon which you did rely,
remember, and be comforted by remembrance's ray,
that once was a man, cared for the real you, which does not die!

When's gone, all you cared about,
and's left but that which you disdained,
never realizing t'was your best redoubt--
remember one who always it proclaimed!


Long, long, eíer so long ago,
long before mountains appeared on the pages of Time,
or Orion didsít draw his bow,
there was Love in the heart divine,

and Love, God didsít adorn
with gowns of fabrics divine;
space, time, and universes bejewelled with designs of stars born,
perfumed with mysteries sublime!

Let women wear their fabrics and beads,
and let men them adorn with gifts and rhyme,
for Loveís pleasure, upon giving feeds,
and has been so since long before Manís time!


Love is giving--
this we know, the living!
The greatest gift I could give thee
would be immortality,only Godís, Whoís promised we may live
if we but love and follow His way
through each and every day!

His way is strange, you see-
it is narrow as can be,
but engineered so two can walk it easier than one,
for there are footings set for steps of love; without love, none!
So I can give my love to you, as you do to me,
and together we can easier walk His way, and be free.
And if Loveís in our hearts when we reach the Door,
weíll enter into Paradise, when weíve crossed the moor!


It is thought that war takes the very best,
but war is only greedís child, obeying itís behest--
greed takes most of the best; war only gets the rest!

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Who has seen, thought materialize?
Then, cans't not know, Creation's size!


When we finally learn to pray,
we more listen, than say!


They'd his blood on their hands,
those who placed the lilacs there,
those who called out the bands
and to pretend to mourn, dids't dare!

They'd his blood on their hands,
those friends who dids't him eulogize,
those comrades with gold in their hands,
who dids't his widow and son patronize!

They'd his blood on their hands,
those deemed the government's best--
t'is ever the same, in all lands,
great men of principle are killed at greed's behest!


As night blanketing the earth
obscures her wonders from sight,
so it is, where occurs, spirit's dearth--
those things most precious in life, are veiled from sight!


At dusk, I catch sight of the old man, seated asleep,
on bench o'erlooking the harbor below, and beyond, the deep.
Below rides an old derelict ship, at anchor arest, asleep,
from countless forgotten journeys worn down, likewise itself unable to keep!


And mornin' dawns
on the lovely Emerald isle--
Faith! 'tis Eden's lawns,
beflowered with lovely colleen's smiles!!!


In Ireland, for luck, they kiss the blarney stone--
how much better to kiss, from whence the blarney's strewn???


Out across the zebra-sky,
those stripes of light and dark which go by,
the winds chase clouds, lightening, and stars,
and ne'er the delight of the eternal child mars!


Perhaps it is we who have never had love,
who most intensely give love,
for it is the only love we will ever know,
before we unto dreamless sleep go!


In the valleys of noise,
e'er run the restless girls and boys,
e'er seeking more and newer toys,
e'er trying and refining their ploys,
e'er seeking, unwitting, but life's decoys!


It may seem shoddy
for a prostitute to rent her body,
but she does not sell her heart or soul
as do most women who "respectability" extol!


What strange perfume,
the peculiar savours of artificiality,
with which women today themselves contume
and adorn their modern chimericality!


Amidst tempest abroil, surging, mountainous waves
crash silently upon the shore,
that boundary between Rejection's sea, as in absences raves,
and alienation's realm of quickening hoar;

that ill-begotten exile of castaways,
from whom capricious Fate wrested the helm,
as condemned their remaining days
to this hospice of decrease, alone, in alienation's realm!


Is it worse to be alone, alone,
without the deceive of company,
than to be so, and it not be to you known,
as you live deception's comedy???


Silent anguish assails and corrodes
the lonely heart of the man
who's spirit under rejection erodes,
who's love no one wants, or can!


Always the giver,
never the liver,
the man of a weary fifty-two
realized his race was through,
and that he had, in his fervor for love,
but deceived himself with his own love;
ne'er realizing it was a one-way street
and he but accomplished a herculean buffoon's feat!

Ne'er loved, his love but used,
endured, and despised if not abused,
he contemplates the cold, empty hollowness
which is the void, love's antithesis,
and at long last, he is no longer a child!


Now I'd turn and ride down
unto the crossing to the land of forgot,
where all feelings and memories drown
in passage to the shore of Not!

My heart I bequeath to here rot;
useless it was, and unto grave in useless land
let it lie--I need it not, in the Land of Not,
nor anything of it to understand!


I see a man with no legs,
who, pained, sits and begs,
but t'is we who ignore him, who're life's dregs!!!


Love is the enzyme
which metabolizes Life's rhyme!

I want not, woman's charms,
without a heart that e'er them warms.

Alas, I am Romantically prone,
for my heart's my most erogenous zone!

Love may make a fool out of you,
but being such a fool makes a Love out of you!

Listen to your spirit and heart--
they somehow know things your mind cannot impart!

Computers have enabled a whole generation
to learn and practice mental masturbation!

People today crave psychogen
instead of life's full ken!

Before happiness e'er full blooms,
our impatience, it consumes!

Dreaded love! Dreaded love! Bane to the insecure,
who want no more than superficial impostiture!

We have great difficulty seeing clearly
through the fog of our own insecurity!

Wisdom, like understanding, is a deceit,
for t'is e'er incomplete!

You would be only of the mold?
Why, would you be avoirdupois sold?

Lugubrious insincerity of the chic
adorns modernity's mutant elite!

Pride is like the Emperor's New Clothes--
it obscures from us only, the lie we chose!

The flower children didn't so much grow old
as lose faith in the truths they once told!

Faith, where there is no hope,
does closer to Divinity grope!

God bless the tears
which water our years,
and nurture life's true endears!

Only God and Nature give for free--
t'is indeed a measure of our poverty!

Humanity's more transpired
than inspired!

Who is so great a liar as this,
as to not long again, for love's first kiss?

Poets and prophets should be anonymous,
for t'is only the words, are momentous!

If you are not your brother's keeper,
neither are you his stoner!!!

What greater compliment may a man pay a woman,
than that he'd give her his heart, again and again?

Only a Rose, I see before me--
what you are is largely up to me!

In the ways of the world, I'm beyond wise,
for I'm wise enough to them despise!

Abides the night long,
for those who bear loneliness' wrong!

Drugs will give your sperm
an irrevocable "perm"!

There is nothing chaste
about precious life's waste!

No man may serve two masters--
not even pastors!

Love and tenderness are not sin,
and never have been!

No one sees, the human fetus prays,
for yet remembers the priorities of our days!

Time doesn't flow in the normal way,
when love begins and ends your day!