In Fond Remembrance poem by Michael Warren Eliseuson


I have been so very right,
So many times…
And I have been so very wrong,
So many times…
My life bends sharply both ways,
I wear it like a belt,
Often too tight,
Often too loose,
>From loop to loop,
I tug at the strains,
Pulling at the pains,
Pushing at the gains,
In dociles of rain,
In blooms of glories,
I should know the difference?

(Then let the Voice speak)
It tarries not upon the plain,
The desert is sure to its purpose,
The stars becalm the fevered brow,
The eyes descend to say:

Here be the good green grass,
Here be the smooth pebbles of my childhood,
Here also are the twigs that made me,
When I sat young upon my mystery horse;

Here am I now,
There I was then,
And the nows always win!
Tomorrow can be what tomorrow always is,
Only tomorrow knows and does not speak today.

Joy is always certitude,
Pain is more than real,
Tears are partners,
Torn from us,
Like hurried sky,
The black brown fuss,
Of sky blown rain,
And all the rest of all of us;

and all the rest,
for all of us…

Comes the morning,
Comes the day,
Mid-Afternoons of silly play,
Makes the moments move themselves,
Into jumbled shapes of jumbled clay,
Counting blessings,
Never hours,
Memories made in remembered ways,
Unhaunts the soul and fills the spirit to its brim,
Then runs over,
Over,
Over,
In floods…

(The Voice stops here)

So what of the painting?
So what of the frame?
The screws are all loose
And who is to blame?
See how it hangs,
On the walls of despair,
The light is all wrong,
The angles look square,
The artist was mad and so did red,
The artist was glad and so did mad,
The mad is the art and the art isn’t glad,
The bottom looks better when moved to the top,
The poet stops and stares…

Here be goodness,
Here be glad,
Here be walls,
And here be frames,
Here are words within my frame,
Here be pen for fingered hand,
I am one and we are two,
And there be three with two and one,
Thank the artist,
Thank the frame,
Thank the dismal walls on which it hangs;
Life is partner to us all,
What we curse is often blessed.
***


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