Mary Anderson: Rekindled Joy
REKINDLED JOY
Mary Anderson - October 19, 1994
Joy of being
from childhood's day
long thought lost
or gone away.
Returning breaks the walls
around me grown;
love reclaims its golden own.
Mary Anderson: Paradise
PARADISE
Mary Anderson - November 2, 1994
What a very long time He took
to grow a universe
and all therein.
Then flash, there we were
in Paradise
setting up a fruit stand.
Mary Anderson: Lackadaisical Day
LACKADAISICAL DAY
Mary Anderson - May 1995
Small leafy shadows
like minnows of the air,
pause,
then dash across the patch
of morning sun
asleep beside my chair.
The golden square
awake now
amid the dithering glee
checks to see where the action is
then seems to speak to me.
Hey, girl, put away that list
of things to do today.
Go get dressed, comb your hair,
and come on out to play.
Mary Anderson: On Leaving
Mary Anderson's last poem she wrote less than a month before she died.
I do so miss her.
BumbleBeeBoogie
------------------------------------------
ON LEAVING
Mary Anderson - 1995
If you'll remember my laughter
and forget my tears.
Recall my courage
and forgive me my fears.
Let go my indifference
and hold fast to my love.
It will be easier to leave
for the homeland above.
BumbeeBoogie, your friend was indeed a remarkable writer.
But alas, she did not publish. Thank you for relating her work here. I enjoyed it a lot.
My favorite is one you named Pride of Authorship.
I have just had time to read a few. She had a remarkable voice. More later.
From Virginia I've returned
to read every word
and to feel the comfort of home
while poetry surrounds with calm
All the musings and confusing
vagaries of marriages
combine to make the muse
whine, whine, whine
and I can't get Dixie out of my mind!
Diane
Diane, how was the wedding?
BBB
BBB, it was beautiful. The groom is a fine, southern gentleman without the usual, sometimes terribly irritating, affectations of the south.
Young lady in white with Irish eyes glowing
The groom in his tux, a fine figure and knowing
That life with her will be expensive and glam
But to know her is to love her, expenses be Damned.
Bridemaids in rich, deep rust colored gowns
Like jewels they flowed past the flowerless lawns.
Young beauty at its full-flowered prime
Smooth skin, soft eyes they have so much time
So much time that is fleeting without ever seeing
Where it goes or what it costs or
How it grows into life that provides the sweet beating hearts of time past and future-and strife.
Timeless love and senseless pain fills us all with life.
Sweet, terrible, wonderful life.
Diane
Diane, wonderful description of young love, but with an almost wistful mist of remorse for time lost by the viewer.
BBB
True, BBB. As I age, I realize how much time has gone by without notice or true appreciation--a knowing that is bittersweet.
Thankfully, I notice and appreciate all the time now that I know what is really important in life--love.
Must go now--see you later on a2k.
Something downtrodden I'd say...
It's no good being the rehab father,
can't be like the loveless mother...
To hell with suffering in dysfunction.
And it hurts to continue hopelessly but...
My faith is a wraith obscured,
it accompanies pain long endured...
How vague is my faith
in the shadow of pain?
Don't ask for I'd much like to refrain...
There!
za tiny green star
glittering
on the edge of the twilight clouds
is trying to signal
the planets
to line up
as
God intended.
Shh.
The planets say
There are no green stars.
yet
there she hangs in heaven
a bit yellowed but surely
green.
Night moods flicker like a restless candle
Bending to a breeze that shadows every corner
Surrendering only to the touch of dawn
My life's a turmoil
A neopolitan swirl
If you will
Lifeline's a coil
An umbrella twirl
Cap with frayed bill
Edgar
Edgar, Unlike Mary Anderson, I just push a button somewhere in my head and the words come pouring out. Very similar to your spontaneous poems except your's are so much better than mine. Maybe, if I keep working at it, I can improve the quality now that I'm retired and have more time (if I ever finish unpacking moving boxes) to think and to write.
Mary struggled with every poem she wrote. She knew what she wanted to say as she searched for just the right word, agonizing over each one. She always thought she could do better if she had more time. Sadly, it turned out that she didn't have much time left to perfect her craft.
BBB
The morning sky
presented itself
in an indecisive tapestry
of cirrus red
and cumulus grey.
Will it rain again today?
The sun, apologetic,
peeks out to say hello
and "No, I do not understand
the tempermental clouds,
so demanding, it makes
my sun-spots spin..."
So in that sunny statement,
I lay my trust
that just for once,
it will be a sunny day.
Kathleen Harris on CNN,
With her ceramic face
And wooden grin,
Assured the country
That Iraq was fine
Especially the women.
Make-over time!
The economy's great,
In America now,
(her marionette mouth moved)
HOLY COW!
BBB
If I were seeking to turn out a commercial poetry I would agonize over every single letter. Only someone like Kerouac can be happy with sloppy work.
Kerouac was happy with sloppy work primarily because he really wasn't a good poet to begin with, and was generally too drunk to bother editing.
Decent novelist though...
