From: gh1r+@andrew.cmu.edu (Gaurang Hirpara)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Whistler's Moon: 3 Cycles of Many
Date: 16 Oct 92 01:25:12 GMT
Organization: Senior, Electrical and Computer Engineering, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA


Just something I've been adding to now and again.
I'd be interested in hearing people's interpretation of what this
is supposed to be about, compared to the vision i had.

-- dan

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        Whistler's Moon : 3 Cycles of Many


        1st Cycle
        ---------

        In the Heartland, under the windswept plains
        Beyond the deepest night and the roaring trains,
        In the land of the wheat and golden cranes,
        And the old cars kicking up the dirt lanes.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        From the furthest fields, back from his roam.
        Glittering eyes, golden hair, mussed up beyond care,
        Where are those torn sleeves that he'll wear?

        In the Heartland, the wheat fields race along in joy,
        Past the grizzled gaffer and the little little boy,
        Under the midnight moon and the glittering stars,
        The night time summons Venus, Jupiter, and Mars.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        From the cities of his dreams, in many a dusty tome,
        Under the quarter moon and the glittering stars,
        He walks on his tired feet, followed by groaning cars.

        In the Heartland, the litty boy wanders on the tracks,
        The grizzled old gaffer ponders on all He lacks,
        The misery and the beauty are rolled into one,
        They all wait a little while, for the rising sun.

        In the Heartlnd, the big men wander the streets,
        In their cups and boredoom they create such grand feats.
        Reaching from the deepest depths to the lofty heights,
        Plunging back into the darkness, one look at the Lights.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        From the highways and byways that he did roam.
        Under the glittering stars and the rising moon,
        He comes home, oh all too soon.



        2nd Cycle
        ---------

        In the Heartland, the windows gape and yawn,
        Over the fiery streets, the Devil's black spawn,
        Under the great blue sky and golden fields,
        Watch and wonder, the scythe Johnny wields.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        In the glittering streets the angels groan,
        The darkened trees swaying in the breeze,
        Watch as the Sun dog growls and flees.

        In the Heartland, the widders watch and wonder,
        Beyond the horizon, lightning and thunder,
        The skies raging in a sea of black,
        Some great Dragon preparing to attack.
        In the Heartland ,Johnny Bradford comes home.
        A fire in his eyes, a myriad of stars His dome.
        In the one hand, the scythe of darkness gleams,
        In the other, the Vial of misery teems.

        In the Heartland, the trees rise and shake,
        In the forests green, by the shores of every lake,
        The red moon rising, from the furthest shore-
        A bloody refrain echoes, a call to war.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        In a roadster red, gleaming white and chrome.
        Down the dusty lanes and over the white hills,
        A myriad of spirits moan, conquered wills.


        3rd Cycle
        ---------

        In the Heartland, the hills rise and fall,
        Wildflowers roar, answer the distant call.
        The red moon rising high in the sky,
        Watch now the blackbirds fly.
        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        A pale and withered, bent and shapeless gnome.
        Glittering eyes oh so red,
        Listen to his heart, beating oh so dead.

        In the Heartland, the mountains crash and die,
        Coyotes growl on the fringes, mournful cry.
        Glittering stars pop up in a darkening sea,
        the Dragon rising on the horizon, at last free.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        Consumate wanderer, how far will he roam.
        Wicked teeth gnashing, grinding in pain,
        Watch now for the Night Rain.

        In the Heartland, the window shatter and fall,
        from the furthest farm to the Town Hall,
        Grey mists rising on old Cemetary Hill,
        A Gathering of Fear, coming for the Kill.

        In the Heartland, Johnny Bradford comes home.
        Under Home's broken, cold grey dome,
        Over the dirt lanes and winding streets,
        A Dragon so dark, to all He meets.




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