"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, January 08, 1994

The Air Is Cold

The air is cold;
Not just the breeze blowing;
Not just the temperature lowering;
The air is cold.

There's a front overhead
and something vital not said,
yet there don't seem to be any words,
so why is it I'm so perturbed?

A frost is present,
to which I cannot consent.
I know the warmth once there;
for heat we used to share.

The reticence lingering
leaves me figuring,
and I seem to be at a loss;
for I know not the worth; only the cost.

I did everything to stop the cold.
I thought silence's worth was gold.
The sun owes me more.
After all I've done for....

The air is cold.

January 8, 1994

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 12:11 PM

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