A diadem of dewdrops crowned a rose one breathless night
Reflecting myriad moons and stars that vanished with the light.
One time a vagrant sunbeam cast a rainbow on my floor
Its burnished beauty briefly burned then dimmed forevermore.
My senses sang an ecstasy to see cloud shadows glide
In phantom chase across the bright and chequered countryside.
And so I sing the fragile things of sweet but short duration
That hover lightly as a sigh 'twist dying and creation.
I hail the beautiful but doomed: The falcon-hunted dove,
Fair sights that fade, sweet sounds that still, blown blooms,
And oh,---your love.
--RMH (2nd Prize, 1962, Calif. Fed. of Chaparral Poets, Alpha Chapter)


Whose lot is caste,
he is to wait,
endure his tract of time.
The smell is now,
and half of yesterday,
the lies have lain for ages on
ten thousand tongues.
Tomorrow does not wait,
but taunts instead,
as carrots hung before
the ass's nose.
shades and color vary,
soldiers come and pass,
tomorrow is aloof. --AAH


Barricaded goats,
wood corral in Nayarit,
where it is cold on winter night--
the rain drove's din
like ice.
Peyones tread by road
as if they didn't know.
Having passed thereby on two
occasions, my
remembrance is sharp. --AAH

(with half-hearted apologies to William Cullen Bryant)

Whither, 'midst falling dew,
  While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Whence fell this crown of gloppy poo
  That's lately come my way?
Vainly the fowler's eyes
  Might mark thy distant flight, to shoot thee dead:
Take careful aim, thyself, in dimming skies,
  To mark his balding head!
There is a Power, whose care
  Teaches thy way across that pathless coast,
And gives thee prowess in the air
  Few bombardiers can boast.
All day thy wings have fann'd,
  Past cirrhus clouds and crimson sun;
Stoop closer now, to the welcoming land,
  And never mind my gun.
For soon thy toil shall end.
  Thou'llt find a Nobler Home. You question
How? Our kindred Souls in bliss shall blend!
  --By roasting and digestion.
Thou'rt gone! I MISSED! The heavens late
  Have swallowed up thy form; yet, in my heart,
Deep hath sunk thy lesson laid atop my pate,
  And shall not soon depart:--
HE, who, from zone to zone,
  Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long path that I must trace alone,
  HE craps upon my head tonight! --RPH, 1988, 1994


God, man, racing stripes are really
I'm going to have them on my next surfboard,
if I had cobalt blue stripes,

          (Three of them,
          two thin, and one wide,
          the two thin ones paired.
          One on the left hand side.
          Slanting diagonally from
          right to left, downwards.)

and a saffron fin.
Wow, that'd be really boss,
man. --AAH


Four names she spoke in the darkened room,
Like stones cast from the heart--
Embers of hopes she'd lost and dreams that died--
Colder than ashes of the dead fire she lay beside
On that clouded night in November
When the naked stranger hovered above her,
Breathing hard.
When he pushed into her she said his name too,
Not into the impersonal darkness,
But into his ear, so he'd hear it.
The dream was beginning again.
That's about when the clouds parted
And the lightning flashed down and hit them both.
They writhed and screamed in its blue heat,
Gasped for breath, hearts bursting, and cursed this dream
As strange and wrong! They'd make it die, as dreams must,
To leave in time no trace, not even a name to speak
Some night by a dead fire.
She throttled the dream with her bare hands,
Not once, but many times.
He kicked and stomped it with big male feet.
They both left it for dead.
They awoke many mornings thereafter,
Often enough in strangers' arms, to feel
The dream still tugging at them, insistently,
Like an abandoned bastard child of their brief soul-mating.
Until, with wide-open eyes, they finally saw:
If it's still there when you wake up,
It wasn't a dream. --RH


The park folds
with first fall of rain:
tugging lead,

side to side
brite kites flutter down.

fold tite into
brown canvass bags
reels wound.

Under arm
flapping white sails
plucked from wave crest--

with cracking of storm;
bring dalmatians and children

umbrellas depart. --AAH

ALL ABOUT HONEY (on a photo of his wife with a honey jar)

The sweetest honey is not in the jar.
The sweetest honey's wherever you are.
As bees follow nectar, I follow my star:
Not dim in the darkness, nor seen from afar,
But bright in my heart, where always you are. --RPH
When chariots clattered 'round the walls of Troy
They say that you already throve.
By human reconing, you were a boy,
One of a large and lusty grove.
The gnawing and the boring Brotherhood
Passed by and left your musty bark entire.
Anon, the swords of lightning scythed the Wood,
To seal your Kingship with a Crown of Fire.
How fractional, the breath and deeds of Man.
What Monuments of his have had short stay.
Still flourishes amain your verdant span
While all else that is Earth-borne feels decay.
Life-hoarder! Can it be your destiny
When man has charred his world with Solar blast,
That in the wrack not only will you be
The oldest and the largest, but the last?
--RMH (2nd Prize, 1961, Calif. Fed. of Chaparral Poets, Alpha Chapter)

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