Bequest- Emily Dickinson
You left me
A legacy of love.
A heavenly offer,
Capacious as the sea.
Eternity and time.
You and me.
Turned then to tools of bequest
soliciting endurance, not love's voice
and so the prime deliverance turned invoice
is thus provisions entity, survivor's hoist!
Fighting for identity, man's poise
becomes a sheer resentment posting less
agreement to life's beauty so unnerved
as to a growing unity of trust's source!
The World's convergence nonetheless exposed
to empire of indifference, mating, stoic,
the poor, then heartened by provision's gross
then so unravel the false leader's course!
Such then the curse of sanction's trumping rates
the monetary armor of displace
the small concern, seems lost, a child's face
left outwardly to symbols most unchaste!
Such bitterness continues, nor replace
no counselors convergent laws do haste
intelligence rebate is last to place
the moral hull revalue, mourning so . . . .
Encumbrance of the numbers, left to grace!
It's back...
unsought...
that cold, wet lump
within the mind,
that Frost had known so well.
It bids me close my eyes
look at my hands--
then open them, repelled;
they do not sculpt as his,
nor dare to hold the clay.
His day enlightened yet
by suns still burning down
upon the coverlet of sod
that will not seal the eloquence
of his poetic grace.
It is I
who ill affords the privilege
of suffering--the light
beneath my stone,
the brightness of a legend
in my youth, the triumph
of the one who found in loss
poetic deity, who flashed
the image of his mind to me
behind the rostrum
on that day with JFK.
It is the gnarled earth he leaves
upon our pedestal,
to grope and turn,
and turn away, remembering
the wall, the woods, the whiteness
of the birches—
the man who loved the clay,
installed it in our consciousness
as one who used remembering
to guide his hands, his pen, and mine;
then I may close my eyes
and see.
~
A BEQUEST TO MY LOVE
By: Elaine Randolph nee. Moreino
Where are you my love today
Who stays out of my reach?
I dream about the moonlit nights
We spent down by the beach.
Those happy years we shared together,
Wrapped in melody;
As time goes by and thoughts of you,
Make life a rhapsody.
And through the troubles in this world,
The grief, the pain and woe;
The rapture of my burning love,
Is a shield of Heaven’s glow.
The many miles that part us, Love
To me are but a dream;
And as the years go slowly by,
My love flows like a stream.
When you said, “Auf wiedersehen,
This is not goodbye”;
You sadly turned and walked away,
I don’t know where or why.
I miss you so my only love,
Why did you go away?
I’ve waited for so many years,
I’ll wait for you today.
Will I ever see your face
And hear your voice again?
I hope with all my heart and soul,
My prayer is not in vain.
And when “O, Love!” I call at last,
“I go now to my rest,”
Spare me just one moment more,
And hold me to your breast.
I hear your heart beat one with mine,
I dearly bless the dawn;
The birth of my eternal love,
My life, My Dearest One.
Copyright © Elaine Randolph 2009
My heart is placed upon the palm
Is outstretched, as well, to provide
May it be taken and then calmed
For it beats fast, where it resides
It beats so fast it sets the pace
It is controlled then by her touch
It changes beats, when seen her face
As she excites me just so much
I wait for her to hold it tight
As she then takes it to her breasts
For there my beating heart feels right
With her heart, my heart is at rest
For this is where I dream to be
I cannot wait for night to see
Frightened and killing with guilt,
Dying for a whisper of chance.
Shocked anticipation, feared paranoia,
Stuttered indecision, delusional memories
Overwhelm and silence,
Forbid pondering and acceptance.
Never knowing what to say,
Fooling conscience with arrogance –
Pride confronts humility,
Vanity defeats apology.
Unveiled tremors and heart-falls
Resurface encrypted and blind.
Always regretting, crestfallen and forgetting –
Prismic static jolting arteries and nerves.
Inundated with pity in a reflection,
Dismayed by opportunities for redemption –
A prescription for disappointment
Overdosed to the brim.
Too much the coward to confront,
Too much the narcissist to admit
Imminent defeat and declared humiliation.
Tears and bruises drenching pathetic loner,
The lime-lit recluse panicking for lights
And praying for sympathy in a poem.
Cuts and blood measuring short of dosage
Only reveal the victim’s embellished tale.