"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."

Friday, March 04, 1994

Trapped In My Shadow

I remember when
mommy said,
"It's time!
Get out of bed!

When we get home,
you'll have a brother or sister."
When she brought home a girl,
all I could do was kiss her!

Then, I was never nice to her.
I was selfish and cruel;
very caniving,
and manipulative too.

Still, she copied every move I made,
and followed me around.
She even cried because she missed me
when I wasn't in town.

All I could see
was that she got on my nerves.
I couldn't wait
until we could share real words.

When I could talk with her,
and she would understand;
when we'd have common ground;
yeah, that'd be grand!

She grew up
with much resentment.
How will she ever
know contentment?

I cast a shadow,
she doesn't want to live in,
and she chooses to rebel,
rather than work to win.

She's probably had enough of me.
She's probably emotionally blistered,
but I will always look out for her--
she's my little sister.


March 4, 1994

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 12:54 PM

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