"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, June 10, 1995

Midnight's Blessing











The night's air--
it seems aware
of what is wrong and right
out there.
Warm on skin;
cold at heart;
invisible breeze
blowing trees apart;
Moonlight glow dim but pronounced;
stars appearing unannounced;

What's next?
What's to follow?
Why a heart
so frail and hollow?

June 10, 1995

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 9:59 PM 0 comments

Mismatch












I remember not so long ago,
sharing dreams in the night.
Each with our notebooks
and mere candlelight.

Music illustrated the evening's tone.
We were together yet we were alone.
And, I remember crazy nights
we turned into flings,
carrying on as the songbird sings.

I wonder today where you are headed.
I hope you don't regret it.
I wonder if you'll strive to get somewhere,
or settle for contentment in your nowhere.

Two different foundations;
two different directions;
a common presence

June 10, 1995

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 9:56 PM 0 comments