Foghorn Leghorn

dissociative phrases slip in and out
foggy dew, fog lifted, foghorn, leghorn. ;)
creative buzz,
cackling energy welling
glad to be free.
free of the fog. there it is again,
chase the pent up rush.
ideas in a fuss,
hear the thrush! now focus. crisp.
clear, feel the clarity, contrasty,
images, razor sharp, like a knife.
now soft, fluid like water.
oh bother. chase the convolution
harry it like a cat and his mouse
or a bird and his prey
wait. where was i again?
– 12/3/09 – 1

Tonyia

my little girl,
i loved you so much.
i had such hopes,
sweet dreams of holding you,
playing with you,
watching you grow.

i felt you grow inside.
God had taken part of me,
and fashioned something precious,
something lovely,
exquisitely beautiful,
embodied of hope and love

but i lost you.

you were my little girl,
not to hold, never to see
unable to watch you stretch
your arms for the first time,
never to see you experience
this wide wide world.

you were taken too early,
a life, my life,
so short, so tenuous.
my stolen child,
my heart broke for loss.
when you were taken,
part of me was taken too.


This poem was written for my Aunt Barbara, who lost her first little girl (Tonyia) two days after she was born.

Indescribable

I desire to express an invocation
an elocution most profound
But my words escape me
The ephemeral nature of my heart
cannot grasp the discarnate theme
ethereal, mystical, divine

Cry out, Cry out, inarticulate tongue
insensate instrument of mans desiring
Let the heart give forth praise
indescribable
 

Death, O Fallen Angel (Death Be Not Proud revisited)

Oh Death! Thou vaunted fool, proud son of sin’s defiling,
Oft thought of as potent, supreme, and unyielding
How hast thou fallen, been debased and made servile
Those who feared thy touch, who you thought to defile
Will not be brought low, nor in dark oblivion sleep.
For thy touch, no longer bitter, is so very sweet,
And though the greatest men slip the bounds of earth
To rest because of thee, yet you are bound by birth
And the life of one man, whom you could not contain.
And you do even choose the time and station in vain,
Being subject to the beck and call of every beggarly
Thief, proud king, and common chance. In the company
Of disease and contagion, you pass your time, for you
Have no better association. Thy touch is soft in lieu
Of pain, as once it was, now dulled and sweetened till
The passage of this life, with opiate and dream will
Slip peacefully into eternal bliss. O Death, where now
Is thy vaunted pride. Gone, and no longer can’st thou
Escape thine own touch. O Death, even thou wilt die,
Eternal death for you awaits, when we see Him in the sky 

This poem was written in response Trash Talking Death, a post written by Joy.