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May I Add Majesty in Voice

I was young, just 17-years-old

Long in my deliberations, thinking

Here nor there. My mind rampent

With my body, with the other, her

Dear soprano, we felt love in hiding,

Yet, my voice rose in adoration of beauty,

First tenor, I could sing to high “C.”

Lord forgive me for years of waste,

But until I was 55-years-old, Sing

John Rutter praise the Lord. May

Light of presence, now, I believe,

Oh, my Jesus me Lord Almighty,

You’ve come to me as I turn 68,

On September 11th, another day

Of infamy, but for me tears here,

In our Home, on my birthday,

My good wife working then for our

Government, the VA lock-down

Messages we might be going

To war, who were these suicide

Jet bombers, killing three thousand,

Some leaping to avoid flames? Be

Ever with them Lord– even now

Oh, Jesus!, my tears drop hot liquid

For the Cross, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist

Holy fire, as I approach my birthday,

As I remember those 3,000 souls,

People with children, with families.

Husbands, Wives, People All sacraficed,

On my birthday, I saw the rolling smoke

Clouds engulf first respond, , ground

To dust to ash, where are they stood?

Oh, Lord? Take care of their children.

The innocents, the bystanders not even

In twin towers, not given chances, may

We all yet believe something good.

Forgive me Lord for I knew you not,

Have denied you once, then declared.

I cannot leave You, I give over to those

Those sacrificed in spite, hate, and nothingness.

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Alice

She lay in her bed

Bunched in yellow skin

Yelling, “Ma, I got to go!”

My grandmother weak

Of mind vowed

Twenty-five years ago

To take her into every

Condition, apartment

Life like no poverty

Known in our dimming

Past as California receeded

Into nothingness, rough

Into more than we

Could bare, mire left alone

In our thirst for homeland,

Alice could not know walking

Set daily into non-motion

Legs bunched into brief

Wisdom without intellegence

She did not read, but my brother

And I drove her over edge of night.

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Son’s Love for Two Sisters

Dorothy, their dear tender mother,

Who listened to her sons in sickness,

Dorothy meaning “Gift of God,”

May we remember dear Ruth,

Beauty, wonder in recognition

her tenderness toward Dorothy Hoffman

His mother Citizen of His Crown, Ruthie’s

Beauty given from God, his mother had instinct,

Ruth undermining hate making greatness

as a Certified Nursing Home Assistant, lifted

More love because of difficult reading, writing

Worked so hard for her ultimate Success,

She made it, past this test. “Aunt Ruthie,” hard

As an eraser was your tool. You wrote this certification

alone.” She finished the test in a state of relief,

Most meaningful, her Board stress was gone.

They both had their knowledge to give all

His mother, great mother to all children,

Roddy, Becky, June’s adopted children,

Ruth Certificate as Nursing Tech, skilled

Under God’s creation’s, Dorothy giving birth

Charles Elgwyn, Robert Douglas, from Lenard

Named her beautiful gifts. She Remembered

First son, Born Elgwyn from his father, both

Turned men, her young men turned old,

Believing in themselves one poet, the other,

Robert more giving Sound in his Silence,

His mother was proud, Her Benediction to children

Everywhere was acceptance, education never formal,

Great mother was Creation, for Ruth to follow

Dorothy in death they found life eternally

From Charles, “Dear Ruth aid my mother

In highest calling, to anoint the sick

You relieved her pain you both

Had cancers–because of her last breath,

You were God’s hands, you will follow,

So you also are Gift of God, you are love”

Beyond cancer both mother and Ruth

Let go, Charles, you have greater regions.

You will pinpoint in writing, wonder

In words, Dorothy then Ruth following

Beyond vacuum, nebula, then no gravity

Weightless bodies they both are free,

To Charles’ mother, lifted her up in word

Lifted up his mother as the eldest son

Responsibility as she found both lives,

Everyone lit a candle in the Chapel

“Take care of your sister in infinite.

Love to care for every sister, Ruth realize

You are both Gifts Of God, Aunt Ruthie

Because you ministered to others,

You know this whole process of death

Let go dear Aunt Ruthie” To my mother

After she died his last parting words,

“No one will ever Leave you again.”

He gave over no tears. He let my mother go,

He was alone, the last to see her body leave.

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This is ever with me…

i

My attitude unfurls into nights

I’ve risen at 4:00 a.m. to find the mother

Moon, my mother, walking children

Across rough, black-top roads

To hide eternal oncoming cars

Behind her mother. Walking I realized

Death might come that night

Any night so stalked beneath

Her Star God, Yahweh, burning

Into eyes, like Sol, or Bush; soul retried

Between mindfulness, nothingness

Gates often called, another protection

Of vehicle bound for Alpha Centauri,

This was not her child’s man become

So caught hold into adulthood; she reached

Out this final lingering into caves, Sybil

Of forgotten moon mist, rockets into sky

Hundreds of feet beheld as one I launched into day

When this boy became man in my brother

Robert’s eyes; nonsense, mother don’t go,

Mother we are behind you, my brother

Coming home from some city in Missouri,

Land of forgotten snows, where daughter, where

I wept to repent division between labor absolute

Afterthought I was grown or lost in outer space,

There is no father since she’s dying in a land

She called her own. My mother gave my brother

That boy-man up as the brother became

Robert turned eighteen-years-old, she remaried

Soft spoken step-father once again; thus, walked

Into hyer moonlight, my mother so brave

Took me in at age 24 after my only recompence

Suicide attempt, for she never again did, wanted

Me to withstand this deep divide and bowed

Before another visit from my daughter

To her grandpa; my dad will die in agony

Beyond any realizations of his truth, of his

Death, of what he’s done to women, now

Aged at almost eighty-eight, he will die

Not long after, he will have nothing,

And so my mother did finally get her say

“The boys.” she won in spite of cancer,

All those years, she won as dad condemned,

She became Moon woman, walked her children home,

While dad lay rotting in his grave with other

Woman who found him deceitful, my

Step-mom who he mourned his plastic flowers.

Charles Taylor C2018DSCN0212.jpgIMG_1154.jpg

There is Another Mention

Belief or non-belief,

Green is gone to brown logs

Down on Turtle creek,

So what? I sit before light

Writing poems about my life,

Some brave soul, my dear wife

Dear ever, I don’t care if she

Is Jealous, overlooks, my sarcasm

Cynical mind, my soul is brave,

Yet together we must leave,

We won’t reside in asembly,

Heaven not an answer for our

Pablo and Francesca, or is

Italian couple of brotyher,

Sister so old, no one reads?

We are braver than the two

Who swept around Hell’s

First ring, and Dante began

His descent never knowing

Of marriage, or love, or

Any mention of real people

Those who worshiped trees,

Flowers, rainbows, this

Was another Christian year,

No Hell, no damnation, not

Real stories to fear vengeful God.

I Sit Quietly

Library talks like afternoon

Fall leaves rustle delight

Spatter talk, librarian teaching

Her positions of books

Music of copy machine,

Sings like zither, harp, accordian

Designed in bellows muffeled,

Sally into THE HELP JESUS

WISDOM Buddha, some 500

Years before, books name

Andrew Wyatt, Allen Ginsberg

William Shakespeare; librarian

Chatter near the door, direction

To painted reality, whispered dreams,

Pillow, or dagger, saw, or brush.

Hartford Cemetery Not

I have asked for two clergy officiating memorial after cremation,

Dust, gray ash, death pall of my woody skin, but Turtle Creek

Flows into my heart, lungs, kidneys, bones, these are part

Of our home. Organs constructed sometimes fail, pacemaker

Functioning well, however… Cigarettes gone for 18 years,

Arthritis in my spine pushed to ache some, cataract glasses

My new fitted eyes, my lungs again inflate fully, feel well,

All have conspired as I grow older at age 68, work body,

I have reached into Exercise, blood, pounding into organs

Cannot Lie– it’s showing negative years ahead, I’m

Ready when death creeps in, looked at blood assessment,

Always some tipped into red lines, blood cannot lie, anemia,

Stage three kidney disease, emphysema, I need two inhalers,

4000 units Vitamin D, biological shots every four weeks,

Iron pills, hum of battery in my chest, potassium no potatoes.

Yes no bananas, urine yellow, Kidneys the worst severe,

Last year, Influenza A four litters saline into vein,

Bones level at four to seven pain, sometimes below

My pain, there is mindfulness, resting in my attitude

Of Water five litters daily, bones in jaws, yet I laugh

In what I demanded, neck upper spine lower spine–

Hartford cemetery looks serene, quiet shall I rest? Thinking

I know so much, my own Sage. I awake from Zen sitting– I live,

Children open doors for me, old man lives. Blessed

With trust, some story of toys my smart Phone compared

To three-year-old’s plastic phone she’s the sage as she

Compares Toy to toy, our buttons, nods wits functioning

Lithe she sits in Lotus position as she smiles at me, next evening

Ten-year-old boy knocks at our door. Fascinated I recount stories

My Mile Swim Award, I am sailing boats Iowa lakes just beyond

His age on Aqua Cats, we talk of astronauts, Si Fi, presidents

All became eagle scouts, my merit badges, Star Rank earned

Popcorn door to door for camp, Truly this is My time in life,

Always knew I would come Into my own. I am there at age 68,

Sixty-eight-years old, like Child I am returned like Blake,

In old man’s clothing, I have baseball cap come home, poetry

When “mom” says no not this year then she says, “Oh, why not,

It’s popcorn after all.” pulls ten dollars out, late from cupboard

After he’s left she makes bag with big microwave popcorn,

I eat hot dogs, remember bubble gum, penny candy now

Ten cents, it’s all the same, caramel is best, Even getting

Angry at my wife, “I’m sorry dear one!” She chides me

As she fills my pill keeper, my medicines are no excuse,

She won’t Play with me, I tell her of wanting to go to galaxies

When I was 12, flung into my night sky, Voyager One and Two–

Oh. She softens, we talk, then play in messages

No one else knows, when I get mad, she recoils

As from hot flame, then we play Pokey Mon Go

She helps me catch dragon flies I don’t have, but now I do,

Despite body on fire, I ignore, no Crematorium for me

My smart phone my gift from her, already out dated,

Though maintain updates downloaded from Apple Juice,

Some Gimmick, or are we safe from Hackers, yes they

Cannot get us, today our childlike minds are safe,

We play another game one more time Poky Mon Goes

Woman and man, both have sailed to Byzantium.

Writing and the Figures of Life – “Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge…” “the spontaneous of powerful feelings…” Consciousness is Personal Poetry, Short Essays, Short Fiction, “Poetry is the overflow of powerful emotion recollected in tranquility.” “the language of Prose may yet be well adapted to Poetry” Preface to The Lyrical Ballads. William Wordsworth

“Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge…” “the spontaneous of powerful feelings…” Consciousness is Personal Poetry, Short Essays, Short Fiction, “Poetry is the overflow of powerful emotion recollected in tranquility.” “the language of Prose may yet be well adapted to Poetry” Preface to The Lyrical Ballads. William Wordsworth
— Read on writingandthefiguresoflife.blog/