"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."

Sunday, May 22, 1994

Lost In The Woods

The moon hides her pale glow tonight.
Hence, the sky heaves muffled sight.
Branches of a frazzled brown
reach stooped over for the ground.

Stars twinkling in the sky
offer no help to human eye.
No noise but the crickets' song;
a vigorous gust of wind blows strong.

Somewhere, a babbling brook
nestles in some hidden nook.
My view has never been so faded.
Never have I been so jaded.

There is no path leading through the trees.
I'm so scared, I'm on my knees,
but if I were back on safe ground,
with flowery meadows and sun beaming down,

I couldn't be happy now that I've been in the woods.
Nothing can be as beautiful as this forest could.

May 22, 1994

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 11:01 AM

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