After I am
gone and the ache begins
to cease and the slow erosion I felt,
being older than you, invades you too,
you’ll come to see that an image of the desert
is the memory of water, like remembering.
to cease and the slow erosion I felt,
being older than you, invades you too,
you’ll come to see that an image of the desert
is the memory of water, like remembering.
When we were
walking in beautiful Barcelona
and you said you thought the trees were gods
because they were rooted in earth
and flew in the air and magically made food
out of light and made the air we breathe.
and you said you thought the trees were gods
because they were rooted in earth
and flew in the air and magically made food
out of light and made the air we breathe.
— Jack Elliott Myers, “The Memory of Water”
http://blog.smu.edu/forum/2011/11/30/jack-myers%E2%80%99-final-book-nominated-for-pulitzer-and-pushcart-prizes/
As long as You’re Happy
I don’t know what the Bible says—
my mother who died after being
mercilessly kept alive
by machines at the hospital
looked at the photo of my fiancée
and said, “As long as you’re happy . . .”
as if it were the final measure of my reach.
I don’t know what the Bible says—
my mother who died after being
mercilessly kept alive
by machines at the hospital
looked at the photo of my fiancée
and said, “As long as you’re happy . . .”
as if it were the final measure of my reach.
The star through which
I shot
my young heart has little value now
except as an occasional reference point,
a piece of cosmic punctuation
some third-rate planet may depend on
to survive.
my young heart has little value now
except as an occasional reference point,
a piece of cosmic punctuation
some third-rate planet may depend on
to survive.
What I thought was an
ethical problem
of existence was just a broken heart.
The woman for whom I have ransomed
my wife and children would like to erase
the past. I would like to gather them all,
please, under one roof, one heart.
of existence was just a broken heart.
The woman for whom I have ransomed
my wife and children would like to erase
the past. I would like to gather them all,
please, under one roof, one heart.
About my mother . . .
each day the doctors and machines
told us her chances of living
with one more operation
on her overburdened heart
would probably be better.
I thought of reading the Bible then.
It wasn’t a question of being happy.
~ Jack Myers http://www.vqronline.org/long-youre-happyeach day the doctors and machines
told us her chances of living
with one more operation
on her overburdened heart
would probably be better.
I thought of reading the Bible then.
It wasn’t a question of being happy.
Are
You Happy?
Eve in Paradise to Adam: “How are we happy, still in fear of
harm?”
John Milton. Paradise Lost.
1.
Water
from the artesian well
overflows
and collects in a pool.
We
kneel, drink deep.
Oh,
happy moment!
2.
Be here now.
Certainly.
Smell the blossoming lilac.
Snuggle with your beloved.
In the garden, eat
the sun-warmed tomato.
Cherish the moment.
3.
No
zealots among the vulnerable
tulips. Forgive them their gaudy dress.
Lacking
the shame of moral thought,
they
flirt out their brief lives.
4.
Little
yellow finches flit
through
the poplars
and
sing, Nature’s spoiled
children
protected from
the
Tree of Knowledge.
They
yield themselves
to
Paradise.
5.
Child-animal,
think,
become
human.
Oh,
loss! Oh, hunger!
Bless
us.
6.
Adam was led by lofty senses
of
obedience to the eternal.
Eve
was the one swayed by delight
in
the ephemeral, the one to look
with
longing. Thus they rebelled
against
the only commandment
in
Eden. Surely a merciful law
in
view of what God knew
about
all that would come after.
7.
Juice was sweet on
her tongue, dripping
down
her chin, when she kissed him.
She
brought the dewy fruit
to
their mouths. They chewed and licked
until
their whole bodies were drenched
in
the juices, until the sweetness coursed
through
their blood, until it pierced the DNA.
8.
Even
at that, could we not have been saved
if
she had not said, See how good?
We
will not surely die?
if
he had not stopped then
to think of eternity,
if
they had not hurried
to
gather the leaves?
9. after Mary Oliver’s “Morning Poem:”
The rapist pulls
the world down
into a heap of olive leaves.
Black-painted lilies
block the trails
leading to the wells.
Pray.
10.
What to do the with that pile
of moments that became history?
What to do with the burning eyes
approaching the rose?
11.
Are you happy? In the after myths
of Eden, struggle through
the painted lilies, the cult-
ivation. At the wells, drink deep,
watch the finches, fill buckets
with
water for your gardens.
~ Alice Bolstridge, published Maine in Print, Spring 2005,
1st Prize, Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance Poetry
Contest.
