A woman who yearned for great fame
Had a long, unpronounceable name.
When asked, Are you mad?
She said, Not at my dad,
It's really my mother I blame.
He wanted to christen me Jane.
She said, Oh my dear, that's too plain
Let's call her Ophelia,
Lorraine, or Amelia
I could change it to Jean or Marie
And be famous in no time, said she,
But I'd come back to town
As a woman of renown
And no one would know it was me!
Monday, September 27, 2010
He said, but I, reluctant, turned away
And blindly ran, and furious from his face
So he waited, and he watched and he called from far behind…
Be mine. Be mine.
Faintly I discerned it through the party noise and wine
Be mine. I still love you, Valentine.
And I drowned it out with music and everything was fine
for my head no longer echoed with
Be mine... Be mine... Be mine...
Then a crash...a terrible quietness... the silence was sublime!
All I had for hearing was the snorting of the swine
And the seconds madly ticking as they counted out the time
Then I wanted
Then I waited
Then I missed
Then I listened
Though it seemed a desperate chance
my life was on the line
and I thought I heard a shadow of a voice that said
A voice that seemed so distant it was difficult to find
Yet I made the desperate journey
Cowed before his holy face
He was Justice. I was Crime
And He said it one more time
And I surrendered
I am thine
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
I'm not complaining about the clouds, mind you.
I'm not unappreciative of the wind and the shade. Nor do I mind the gorgeous shards of white and gray created by the sun's poking around trying to find a way through the swirls of cloud that cover the entire dome of sky.
I just want rain.
Enough dust already!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A man who owned only one suit
Wore it proudly and said, What a hoot!
It's as comfy as can be
And I got it for free
For stealing a bank full of loot.
When asked what he thought of the style
He answered, Well after a while,
the stripes get annoying,
And the odor is cloying
But complaining would just be futile.
First line prompt #3
Monday, September 20, 2010
I told myself it couldn't be, but then the patches spread.
The doctors gasped; I found myself alone outside the city;
I wept as people watched in fear, their loathing mixed with pity.
Alone I begged beside the path where once I'd proudly walked; They threw me little scraps of bread, but no one stayed to talk.
I missed their touch, my son's small hand, my father on my arm, my wife--If she should get it too--
"Unclean! Stand Back!" "Alarm!"
I waited...and I wearied...I'd forgotten how to pray.
I grew cynical and surly, and I dreaded every day
One evening brought two hurried men; I heard their tattered speech: "He's meddlesome...he'd better leave...he angers all the priests. He breaks the sabbath, quotes the scripture as if it were his own,
Talks to sinners...and touches things that were better left alone."
At a distance in the evening gray, I saw them all outlined,
a dozen rushing far ahead, and a weary one behind.
I dared not think. I only ran, with a burst of speed that drained me,
feet tearing on the jagged rocks; but nothing would restrain me.
Then in the dust beside the road I crumpled overcome,
I bled unclean upon the path. To what depths had I plunged?
I heard my own heart throbbing, then footsteps on the path.
I covered my head to shield it from the traveler's certain wrath.
Footsteps tired...slowing....stopping. I dared not face the man.
I just cried "If you are willing....Sir I know, I know you can."
Then I felt it. His hand upon me. "I am willing. You are clean."
He had touched me. I was human. I was not a thing obscene.
He had touched me! The untouchable!
"Show the priests that you are well."
"Don't tell anyone who healed you."
But of course....I had to tell.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Every now and then I like to respond to one of Mad Kane's Limerick Prompts. Her latest challenge is giving a first line and asking readers to finish it. This week it was: "There's a fellow who loves his caffeine..."
Here's my entry.
There's a fellow who loves his caffeine
And his handy espresso machine
He blames, with conviction,
His mother's addiction
And claims he's inherited the gene.
I found this great picture to illustrate it, a machine worthy of a coffee addict's love.