otherwisedisappointinglife-blog

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Lullaby At Seven Months

I have this feeling

that my heart will break

from the knowing of you

so every day

I will hold myself

to the fire of love

and sing you the lullabies

of my dreams

and even as I hold you

I will divine and fashion

my heart for the letting go

imagining space without

your scent, your newness

I will send the ashes of all

the ghosts who threatened our feast

to the winds that run counter

and I have this feeling

that the deepest cracks in my heart

will be cemented with joy.

—Yolanda Wisher

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

When the Morning Wakes Us

Her eyes make

what was once flat

not flat

and what felt

like a shuttered window

feel like an open door.

—Francis Daulerio

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Henry Wilde Sunflower

We exist for a season

then turn our soil

over to new blooms.

Feel yourself—

finite and brilliantly purposeless,

lungs fat with oxygen,

unaware

and so bright.

There is still room for us here.

Do not let your eyes adjust

to the darkness.

—Francis Daulerio

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Day 5: The Pieces I Can Carry

A loose strand of hair

doesn’t have a smell.

It doesn’t have a taste

or a memory

or a set of eyes to gaze back at me

and speak.

I found a strand of her hair

in my suitcase

next to some postcards

and a universal adapter.

It really isn’t her,

but I wrap it around my finger

like twine

as if I’d otherwise forget.

—Francis Daulerio

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

The Mouse on the Barroom Floor

Some Guinness was spilt on the barroom floor,

When the pub was shut for the night.

Out of his hole, crept a wee brown mouse

and stood in the pale moon light

He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor

then back on his haunches he sat

and all night long you could hear him roar

“Bring on the god damn cat!”

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Dedication to Walcott Balestier

Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled—

Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled—

Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.

They are purged of pride because they died, they know the worth of their bays,

They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days,

It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father’s praise.

’Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael’s outposts are,

Or buffet a path through the Pit’s red wrath when God goes out to war,

Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.

They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth—they dare not grieve for her pain—

They know of toil and the end of toil, they know God’s law is plain,

So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that Sin is vain.

And ofttimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,

And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;

And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.

To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame—

Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped to Fame,

Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother’s spirit came.

He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth—

E’en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,

In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth.

So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high

And made him place at the banquet board—the Strong Men ranged thereby,

Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die.

Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness hurled,

Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled,

Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served His world.

—Rudyard Kipling

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Snowdrops

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know

what despair is; then

winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,

earth suppressing me. I didn't expect

to waken again, to feel

in damp earth my body

able to respond again, remembering

after so long how to open again

in the cold light

of earliest spring--

afraid, yes, but among you again

crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.

—Louise Gluck

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

I want to lie

in a field of yellow

flowers, and feel the sun

soak through my skin and warm me

from inside out

There is laughter in the air

though it is not my own, rather that

of a small boy, chasing dragonflies

And the girl in a red and white dress

Whose skin is already sun-soaked and freckled

She breathes in the flowers as I breathe

in her. A deep breath

to get me through winter.

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Requiem

When I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head,

Nor shady cypress tree:

Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet;

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

—Christina Georgina Rossetti

[otherwisedisappointinglife-blog]

Ground Rules

There will be no talk

of politics

or organised religion,

no talk of wars or weapons

or medicines and funding

or the budget

or the deficit

or the fleeting idea of The Dream.

There will be no discussion

of parties

or agendas

or the past

or the future

or FOREVER AND EVER [amen].

There will be no thought

of cancer

or aneurisms bursting,

no thought of functions ceasing

or the decreasing will to live.

There will be no I.

There will be no you.

There will be no us.

There will be no them—

There will only be

The leaves falling softly

into the creek bed

and the knowing

that we are only here

right

now.

—Francis Daulerio