Non Omnis Moriar (1937)

(Translation from Horace)

(I shall not die entirely)

Cleaving clinging rock I carved a monument,
Sky grazing grandeur of the pyramid it humbles.
Gnawing rains, nor wearing winds, nor centuries
Death's legions plodding endlessly could crumble.
Death shall leave me life, for portions funeral
Flames fold entwining, yet a part shall be eternal.
Fame renewed, increased, endures rejuvenate.
High priests in silence with the virgins to paternal
Jove proceed; while men as coursing cataracts
Praise fling to one who far excels in art, in weaving
Words melodic, like the lowly Daunian
Ruled rustic tribes, then rose to realms majestic cleaving
Lasting lyrics. Noble muse of Delphica
Take pride deserved in me thy son and twine with laurel
Wreaths my hair. (Horace lives eternally.)


The best way to be a pastor is not to be one.

Trout Stream

Tumbling waters boulder broke

Pause where a willow dips,

Laving her leafy tips.

Rushing current's splashing stroke

Swirls in a symphony,

Glides o'er a fallen tree,

Wearied waters torrent tried

Rest in the shadows cool,

Ripple the lillied pool.

Rolling rainbow's painted side

Ruffles the resting stream,

Troubles her wistful dream.

Thomas and Peter believed in themselves despite their mistakes, and became saints.

William Malewitz - The Beachcomber

Dreams And Reality

Dreamers dwell in distant realms
Unmindful of the tangled trails that test their conquerors.
Actors grasp the lurching helms
Of present deeds, and careful cruise where rash adventures
Were lost.

Some imagine martyr's crowns;
They picture death with torture; fairly feel the pain's intensity.
Deeds portray these shackled clowns
As weighted by human earthly scales, with standards set, eternity
To cost.

Bowed before the sword of scorn,
Or twisted on the rack of ridicule, how many preserve?
Dreams of conquest, fragile born,
Are trampled in the test of daily deeds, in earthly atmospheres
Are lost.

- William Malewitz, The Beachcomber

Are you working on the solution or are you part of the problem?

Train Whistles

Each time at a crossing
Train whistles intone
Their song with a feeling
So strangely their own.
From deep in the distance
Low moaning is heard;
The tone is entrancing,
Somehow I am stirred.

Again it is softer,
Night hushes the sound,
Till mellowed in shadows
My window is found.
There dwells in my mem'ry
Long cherished and dear,
A thought of my home,
When train whistles I hear.

- William Malewitz, The Beachcomber

Preaching a sermon is like hunting rabbits. They run in a circle, and you better stop them the first time around or else.

The Lost Poem

The rushing sun-flecked rapids sang the words,
Complaining oar-locks told it to the lake;
Its rhythm was the winged flight of birds,
My stumbling footsteps followed in its wake.

'Twas finely etched in candle flame at night,
The clinging oak leaves lisped it as a prayer;
Away from earth and toil, by starry light
Its shadowed pathway lured me unaware.

That lightly whispered song too soft to learn,
In haunting tones pleads temptingly ahead;
'Twas lightly held, escaped nor will return,
But memories dear now comfort me instead.

-William Malewitz, Songs Of A Beachcomber

The height of felicity lies in simplicity.

Song, The Sword

O storm stalked sphere, awaken!
Crimson clouds blot out the Son.
Song's cushioned, cased in velvet words,
A stifled thing.

O song forged sword, forsaken!
Battles watched are never won.
Young men, unsheath thy swords, let words
In battle ring.

O rust dulled barb, long hidden!
Softened song has worn thine edge.
Cease resting, rise in flashing light,
A keener thing.

Can swift swords strike unbidden,
Slashing strew that tangled hedge,
Slow, choking earth in twinings tight
As "isms" cling?

O bard, peace lulled no longer!
Clasp thy pen, send forth a song.
Bright, gleaming clear in tones of steel,
Thy words let spring.

Thy pen's clean blade make stronger,
Whet its edge. Set right the wrong.
Foil singing, cleave the air and feel
The strength it brings.

- William Malewitz, Songs Of A Beachcomber

People die in bed.

Imprisoned Soul

(Inspired by seeing an eagle caged in a zoo)

Pinions preened in mountain gales,
Storm sheened, swept smooth and glossed.
Talons cooled by cloudy trails,
Fire eyes, wedged wings wind tossed

Noble bird! Thou Freedom's sign,
Cage cramped, dull worn with dust.
Spirit free, untamed, designed
Sky king, earth bound by lust

Weak thy wings by worldly cage,
Flex free, escape and fly.
Soaring strength a battle wage,
Leave earth, world bonds defy.

Eagle soul to vistas soar,
Wheel wide, breast winds and glide.
Free soul to heaven's shore
Speed, sky winds feel and ride.

Pining spirit, prisoned bird!
Skies call, fresh winds entreat.
Freedom dwells above assured;
Earth's murk, world force defeat.

-William Malewitz, Songs Of A Beachcomber

There are too many administrators in the Church, and not enough pastors.

Sunset

The sun's last longing look at the quiet cove
Caught a heron soaring slowly o'er the lake.
Day paused to meditate, a birch before her eye.
Earth seemed to contemplate the day about to die.
The lake, lest left alone, with caresses strove
Mirrored trees to charm till moon and star should wake.

A water-lily slowly her petals closed.
Dusk clad beauty silent stood. Then soft and low
Her vesper antiphon intoned. With plaintive strain
Nocturnal nature's dulcet tones joined in refrain.
The chanting swelled as song was in song inclosed.
Velvet shadows softened, gilt with sunset glow.

Reluctant rower slowly in rhythm rowed
Shoreward. Chapel's silent spell was strongly felt.
The stirring symphony, the soft enchanting light,
Incense, a rhapsody, intoxicate delight;
This finely-formed cathedral, God's abode.
Reverent the rower lingered - nature knelt.

- William Malewitz, Songs Of A Beachcomber

You may be a diamond in the rough, but if no one discovers you, you never get a chance to show your light.

Songs Of A Beachcomber By William Malewitz

"A Beachcomber is a restless searcher for treasures other men may have lost. The search for truth and beauty must be ceaseless. Poems or songs as they are sometimes called must be lived before they can be composed. Some from college days represent the hopes and ideals of youth. May the thoughts and ideas found along the many and varied shores of life by a Beachcomber bring you joy."

- William Malewitz