Jeffrey Hull

© 2006 Nina Camic All rights reserved.

The rising of the greening shoot,
   The budding of the vine,
The plucking of the heavy fruit,
   The aging of the wine;

The counting of the bridal chest,
   The preening of the groom;
The rip'ning of a mother's breast,
   The swelling of the womb;

The gasping of the primal breath,
   The wailing infant's cry;
The suckling babe denying death
   And cooing at the sky.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

The house I used to live in
   Was ramshackle and plain,
The roof about to give in,
   Big holes let in the rain;

The floors were warped and squeaky,
   The doorjambs out of plumb,
The window hinges creaky,
   The rooms were painted glum.

Now evensong or matin
   Cool quiet rules my home;
The rooms are lined with satin
   Above, a roof of stone.

The alabaster remnants
   Of where I lived before
Are draped like honored ancients
   And laid out on the floor.

The ages pass in stillness
   From counting now exempt;
Walled off from pain or illness,
   Past praise or plain contempt;

But yet I miss the old place
   And friends who once dropped by,
Familiar as my own face–
   But most of all, the sky.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

© 2006 Nina Camic All rights reserved.

The scene of our devotion
   Was once the forest plain;
Before that was the ocean;
   Before that was the rain.

The meadow where we wandered
   Lay once beneath the sea;
And moments, idly squandered,
   Construct eternity.

If time is but illusion
   We are not less the same,
Like blooms in spring profusion
   That just a while remain.

The gardens dear to lovers
   Like lovers pass away,
And Time the bowers covers
   Beneath the coolest clay.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

Mandelbrot fractal set. Wikipedia, under creative commons license.

I must have blinked my mind, for logic's train
   Deserted me, and there I stood: bereft
Of repartee, unable to explain
   My tortured lay of mental warp and weft,
   Ideas woven, wand'ring right and left
To reach an end and then begin again,
   A teasing circularity of theft
Purloining wit to leave a barren brain;

For fractals of mentation replicate
   By simple rule in sparse economy
Of left-or-rights that ever bifurcate
   In parsimonious autonomy,
   And trace their strange taxonomy
To work their spell at last and subjugate
   My head with ruthless heteronomy–
And lucid judgement discombobulate.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

Portrait of Dr.Gachet, Vincent van Gogh, June 1890

I had a portrait painted
   To suit my vanity;
I saw it, almost fainted–
   What had he done to me?

I had a bio written
   To justify my life;
I must say I was smitten:
   It flayed me like a knife.

I had a garden party
   To celebrate my fame;
With food and drink most hearty–
   But then nobody came.

I had a fancy funeral
   To give my soul a boost;
But misdeeds, late or sooner'l
   Come waltzing home to roost:

I lie here six feet under
   In mould'ring fancy clothes
And cannot help but wonder
   How fitfully I doze.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull