"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Saturday, August 12, 1989

Out With The Tide

A while ago you rescued me
from a deep, enraging, grabbing sea.
You threw down the anchor and
threw out your hand,
and grasped me tightly
as you pulled me to land.

A limp, stiffened body, lying on a trailer,
given a chance to live by a lonely sailor.
Finding no pulse, you blew life through my lungs,
waiting patiently to hear words from my tonuge.

A few choking moments, and I was able to see
the admirable sight of a hero saving me.

We headed to a place we could be safe together,
but we ran into some stormy weather.
You put me in a warm, dry bed,
and comforted me, 'til I held up my head.

Then, as the tide, after crashing on the shore,
you vanished through an invisible door.

August 21, 1989

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 10:06 PM 0 comments