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- S.E.Ingraham
- "Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen
Sunday, December 7, 2014
IF IT'S ALL THE SAME TO YOU
If it's all the same to you, I think I'll pass on today's
Middle East skirmish
If you can call the slaughter of children by something
as pernicious as a suicide bombing, a skirmish
If it's all the same to you, I'll also take a pass on hearing
any more about the riots in the USA
Because another policeman has done something untoward
or outside the rules of law
Not because I don't believe it - I do - I'm just tired of the whole
business
I wouldn't be a cop anywhere south of the 49th
for all the money there is
If it's all the same to you, I will pass on the number of football
games available to me on my television
I know it's downright amazing, but I think I can contain myself
If it's all the same to you, I will resist reading reviews
of the latest books, movies, and musical releases -
especially those I might be the least bit interested in seeing
Not because of their so-called spoiler alerts, but because reviews
tend to spoil my first shot at viewing any of these things;
give me a chance to make up my own mind without your
well-meant but unavoidable influence, thanks
That's it - if it's all the same to you.
LOVE YOU
So often she ends her conversations with a chirpy "love you"
And without thinking, whomever she's talking to, answers
in kind, says something like, "back atcha" or "me too"
For no matter how often the words ring in the air, most
are caught by surprise by the two little words that hang there
Why is that, her mother wonders now, when she no longer
hears it...Was the insincerity there all along and she, rightly
suspicious, never having an answer, was always astounded
Then again, maybe it's only her, the mother, that found
this habit an oddity; maybe that's part of what's wrong...
Maybe not ,who knows, the mother questions everything
now - her memories, ideas, even the way she breathes.
WHEN THE OPPOSITE OF LOVE IS APATHY
No - the baby, who can barely form thoughts
Knows only that she isn't loved, alone in her crib
In the orphanage with dozens of other babes
Some are screaming - not many actually
Some are sleeping, most are listless, staring
There is an eeriness about a roomful of infants
staring into space as if stunned into silence
They don't expect to be picked up, to be changed
They don't even expect to be fed;
For many hunger has passed its peak, now
food is just something that happens occasionally
These are children not even six months old
And already they have been conditioned to apathy
Sunday, November 30, 2014
I'LL BE
There's so much to consider, so much, so much
I'll be your consequence when winter sets in
I'll be your brilliance when the tiger is caught
I'll be your remittance when your book is auctioned
I'll be your sustenance when the surgeon's knife slips
I'll be your nonchalance when Paris burns anew
I'll be your endurance when the poems begin to pale
There will be little to consider then, so little, so little...
Thursday, November 27, 2014
RELEASING THE DOVE
She found it in the tall grass beside the school,
the place they were using as a dormitory
for the summer
Southern Italy swelters kiln-hot July and August
and the baby bird had been baking to death
She estimated for a long time --
But there were many feral cats in the area so
it couldn't have been that long
Or it would have been scarfed for sure
She made a nest of found feathers, grass, and yarn
in an old ice-cream box
And settled the fledgling on her window-sill near a
fan, behind some chicken wire, found also
Then searched out turtle dove feeding habits on-line
It was going to be labour intensive but she really
had the time so decided to go for it
How could she have known that caring for a
baby bird would make her this attached
She carried it with her everywhere, tucked
inside a large pocket next to her heart
It needed to be kept warm and it was the
only thing she could think to do
Besides it needed almost constant food and
water, so she carried eyedroppers
Of both with her ,and kept them, and it, replenished
She was amazed at how quickly the dove
grew strong
He began purring, the way adult doves tend to,
right next to her
One day she decided to take him to a vet, to
see about his health
And maybe about releasing him, although she
really couldn't imagine life without her
feathered child
The vet was impressed with her bird, said it
was probably ready to go right now
Gave her instructions for letting it fly on
a tether until its wings were stronger
She tried to be happy, but felt her heart break,
just a little
Nevertheless, she started helping the bird exercise
In no time, he was straining against the tether,
pulling hard
She began running up a hill behind the dorm,
with the bird, made the tether a bit longer
could see how strong it was growing
When it came back to land, it perched on her
shoulder now, took food from her hand
Slept snugged near her head on her pillow
One morning two adult doves were cooing in
trees above them
While she ate breakfast and her bird sucked
down water and some mealy worms
It fascinated her still, that it sucked water but
the vet assured her it was normal for a dove
She watched it tilt its head, looking for the
adults and finally, spotting them
Her dove cooed and she thought it was
a sound he'd never made before
The adults swooped lower finally landing nearer
In moments, another small dove joined them
And her dove began bobbing and cooing wildly
The adults purred softly but kept their distance
The small dove with them shifted from foot to foot
Bobbing its head, in what looked like a shy move
Her dove fluttered its wings and stamped its feet
As if dancing along in front of her; she, however
Might as well have disappeared, for her dove
Knew only the shy, beautiful female before him.
It was time, she knew it; without pausing to think
She undid the tether, stroked the dove's tail feathers
Whispered to it some nonsense words about freedom
Then backed away to watch it go...
Without a backward glance, her dove that was not hers
joined the other small dove and they rubbed heads
Before flying up into the sky; she smiled, swallowed tears
Remembered the vet's words - release was the goal.
THE MOON, THE SUN, AND HER RAISON D'ETRE
The gibbous moon fled the sky flinging clouds farther
than would be thought possible on most nights
But this moon, this deadly cream-coloured orb, had
risen in the south - no moon had ever risen there
No wonder it hurried to depart the heavens before
too many realized its mistaken presence
North by northeast, that would be one way to get
there, she thought, staring at her compass
But only if she hurried and took the wind into account
and if it didn't change direction
She knew the wind was as fickle as sunshine and could
change on a whim
But she also knew her whole reason for living was to
get there, no matter what it took
Before anything else happened...
Monday, November 24, 2014
I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND
Should you one day decide to tell me
what this has been about
Should you suddenly wake up and think
--- oh, I've been crazed
And call me up and tell me that;
I still don't think I'll get it
No, by now, I realize, I will never understand
If even a month ago, someone had suggested
this as a possible outcome
I might have hesitated, might have paused to
consider the chance that you
could explain the turn our lives are taking
The idea that there is an explanation had not
quite paled to non-existent then
But it was fast becoming so
And now, with a few more weeks slid down
the metaphorical drain
And the wall between us built taller, more impermeable
I know I will never understand what has happened
It will not matter, should you ever think to tell me
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