I dreamed I must

let go of you, the

man I loved

with so much turbulence

and still love now

sometimes

on lonely, bluesy nights

It was as if

your soul crawled

from its sooty cave

into the light

and speaking softly

unaccustomed

these long decades

to honest speech

blinded for a moment

by long-forgotten beauty

the forest greens

beyond the field

dark and warm

amidst the sunlit

prairie grass in which

we stood.

It’s too late you

say it’s far too late

vague shapes behind

me walking talking

slow and serious

a little too impersonal

say he is right

it is too late

there will be no

reprieve.

But no, I will not

listen, I have hope

to fix your ailing liver

sweep away the virus

rearrange the neurons

in your brain with

Keep Out signs for

your addictions

and band aids

many band aids

for the pains

of your existence.

There is no hope

no hope at all

the voices say

and you agree

and look away.

You can fight

this I tell you

I will argue

your case before a

judge, St. Peter himself,

and a jury

of twelve strong angels

good and true

and we will win

I say, for I will be

so eloquent

to make the angels cry.

No no, you shake your head

no no the voices echo

those unseen figures

pacing close behind me

a little out of focus

always behind me

no matter how I

turn to try to face them.

I think you see them

and the distant forest

I see that you are

like one half asleep

and half aware

not ready yet

to run across the grass

and plunge into the trees.

You are much younger

here, the you who

lives inside

your shell of pain.

I cannot ask

that you would

stay inside

the crusted cave of

your design.

The roof becomes

too heavy with the

weight of your collections

and the uninvited bats

and barnacles of

life and age.

I fear I recognize

some barnacles and cobwebs

there, remnants of those

days of you and I

accidently forgotten or cast off

of course, I never meant

to darken your windows.

I had the best intentions.

My heart says stay

please stay

don’t brush away

the cobwebs of

our life together

grimy and heavy

as they may seem to you.

I sometimes shine

those cobwebs lovingly

and patch them up

with crazy glue.

My soul says run

into the woods

with joy, be free.

But none of this

is really up to me.

via Wordplay Poetry Blog » Blog Archive » Letting Go of Jim Poem by Daisy Sidewinder.

Mermaids were often featured in the decoration of Medieval churches, particularly in the British Isles. Often shown holding a comb and mirror, mermaids not only embodied the sins of pride and vanity, but were also often used to represent the sin of lust. Images of mermaids holding a fish or starfish were used to represent a Christian soul that had been lost to the deadly sin of lust, and were placed in churches to warn churchgoers not to be seduced by such evils

I immediately thought of J. Alfred Prufrock and how sorry he was because he didn’t think the mermaids would sing to him, well, of course not, he was too careful. So I wrote this poem. I’m not sure its publishable because Prufrock and Zorba aren’t household words anymore. Prufrock always reminded me of one of my grandfathers.

 

For the Love of the Merpeople

 

The mermaids sang

to lusty Zorba

I am sure, but not to

Prufrock, so he said,

he of tiny

dibs and dabs

of life, drizzled on

his plate with tiny

spoons.

 

Did he regret

what he had missed?

I think he did.

I see him sadly

staring at the waves,

hoping for

a second chance,

but fearing,

ever fearing,

nearly everything.

 

I see so

many Prufrocks

on the news,

they’re so afraid

of getting hurt

and so afraid

of life without

insurance.

 

But those who

guzzle life

from gallon jugs,

I think the

mermaids love them.