Under normal conditions, events such as the George Ryan guilty verdict and the new District 186 school board president’s bumbling performance on the Jim Leach Show would inspire a blog post or two. Conditions, tragically, haven’t been favorable for blogging. In the last week, I’ve been to two separate wakes for people who died way too soon. Both suffered a great deal before finally succumbing to their illnesses. Both had so much more yet to offer. I want to say that it isn’t fair, because it isn’t. But you can’t reason away the pain that their passing has caused to so many.
"is it lasting?" and in asking
the sphere becomes a line
a dotted line, and to follow it
you must make a jump each time
a dotted page
a dotted hillside
a blast of dots
a blind reader
a flock of sheep
a blast of trumpet shots
here --- all we have here is sky
all the sky is is blue
all that blue is is one more colour now
a basket of apples by the back door
beneath the sweater pegs
the autumn leaves lift along the street
a pair of dancing legs
same as the vendor
who likes to sing as loudly as he can
and all he says is, it suits me fine
that's the way i am
here --- all we have here is sky
all the sky is is blue
all that blue is is one more colour now
i've seen this THING you won't believe
why it's big
bigger than the biggest tress
high as the mountains
wide as the widest skies
and that's both sides
well --- at least as big as me...
speak a little softer
work a little louder
shoot less with more care
sing a little sweeter
and love a little longer
and soon you will be there
here --- all we have here is sky
all the sky is is blue
all that blue is is one more colour now
these are some reasons
and same as the seasons
they hold and then they fly
the goatless ledge
'neath the honkless geese
in the speckless sky
the speckless sky
i hear you...
3 comments:
I'm sorry for your loss ... you're right, sometimes it seems so senseless.
My Dad died less than a year ago. He had a massive heart attack at 59 and died about six months later. It's so unfair when someone goes and you can't see why it had to be their time.
You have my prayers and sympathies.
Thanks Thirty. As with your dad, it just doesn't make sense sometimes.
I share the sadness over your loss. The reality of getting old came to me when I realized I had lost more than 10 people who mattered to me, including my parents. But I am consoled, in part by a poem Springfield poet Vachel Lindsay wrote:
What the Sexton Said
by Vachel Lindsay
Your dust will be upon the wind
Within some certain years,
Though you be sealed in lead today,
Amid the country's tears.
When this idyllic church yard
Becomes the heart of town,
The place to build garage or inn,
They'll tear your tombstone down.
Your name so dim, so long outworn,
Your bones so near the earth,
Your sturdy kindred dead and gone;
How should men know your worth?
So read upon the runic moon
Man's epitaph, deep writ.
It says the world is one great grave.
For names it cares no whit.
It tells the folks to live in peace,
And still, in peace, to die.
At least, so speaks the moon to me:
The tomb stone of the sky.
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