Best Macmillan Poems
By day the toys surround her in a group,
But when her little girl is sleeping sound,
The keyboard’s where our poet will be found,
To write some magik lov - her words astound;
She always brings the gift of joy to Soup.
Merry Christmas, Cyndi xx
*For PD’s contest
Cyndi wrote a poem, Lov is Magik, as a girl
One of her stories is called The Gift of Joy
She recently used this form, the envelope quintet, in a great poem
Macmillan Support
Don't think your alone
I will always be with you
I'll hold you
You don't have walk alone
I will always be by your side
Bringing you fresh roses and chocolates
Holding you all the way
Just remember I love you
And I will always be there
When we walk the campus
to what used to be the center,
we might miss the venerable place.
Taller piles of brick and towers
obscure the central space
of Western Pennsylvania brownstone.
Who hasn’t heard the poet moan:
“Present concerns shroud the past;
Granddad’s principles will not last.”
But as we turn the corner
at the edge of vast Old Main,
we may glimpse a simpler grace
in the Ur-construction
of Washington College
(before Jefferson was spackled on)
and on higher ground,
raised up from lower down
near the center of the town.
We’ll see the wings added
before the world flew west
past our hills to flatter nests.
Maybe we’ll hear that vines
grew up the extended wings,
that J-men felt like ivy kings!
Then one will say, “A trustee quipped
that vines weaken most things.”
Presto, the vines are stripped.
Another then will say, “A sage opined
that walls are firmer when envined.”
A committee will study the case
and advise us to coat the face
with a super-brick-embracing kind
of paint that holds old walls in place.
“Save the symbol!” We’ll apply the cure.
Is paint sufficient to insure
that we will keep our symbol pure?
I don’t know, but here’s the plan:
sustain Grandad’s dream, if we can;
and if we’ve mislaid the liberal arts,
let’s find out where they are, Dear Hearts!
JOHN MICHAEL MACMILLAN
What do they call you in heaven, John Michael MacMillan?
Are you still the "Baby-Baby", that player from the past?
Sometimes I try to catch you, somehow to hold you
Long enough to know that your ship has safely docked.
Can you read the poem alone now, John Michael MacMillan?
Did God allow you the small, simple pleasure
Of having a deck on which to bleed, a place in which to read,
A room that owns a door?
Sometimes I miss you, John Michael MacMillan.
Sometimes I miss the hope we had.
Sometimes I wish I had gone with you.
Is that why I try so hard to catch you, John Michael MacMillan?
Would I know you, as much as I knew you then;
Or will I merely remember the haunted story of your past?
Your brilliant, blasted brother shot down in your place;
Your sanctified vengeance and your holy justice;
The penalty imposed on a child.
That terrible, eternal loyalty impressed in blue ink
To ‘Mama’ Katherine: that damnable necklace of maternal tribute.
What of that, John Michael? Did God heal that pain?
Do ‘Mama’ Katherine’s walk His streets
Holding hands with twin baby boys?
Do you still wear her name, John Michael?
Or have you forgiven yourself for the rejection
Fostered out upon you and your brother.
Have you learned to believe that you were worthy of love?
That you deserved a better life than the one you stumbled upon;
Than the one that stumbled upon you;
The one that stomped you; the one that ate you up.
If I knew the right words to bring you back, John Michael, I’d use them.
But you left too soon; left me behind holding the ghosts of your life.
I wonder if you ever look down and just laugh
When you hear me calling for you,
My serious voice repeating “O Captain, My Captain...”
Sometimes I try to see life with your obscure humor,
But mostly I listen for the slow, silent tread,
Aware your spirit is passing over me.
And I know, I know
I cannot catch you ever again.
For you are gone, John Michael MacMillan,
Oh Baby-Baby, you are gone from me
And now dwell among the dead.
[To John Michael MacMillan. Rest in peace, Baby-Baby.]
I'm looking forward to have my shave,
It's not the thought of being brave,
I just feel the urge to do some good,
And hopefully help to lift my mood,
Macmillan helped through times of need,
My stories there for all to read,
They understand they help you cope,
With your life that's hit a slope ,
Macmillan nurses stay with you through the toughest times that's true,
But a charity comes with cost,
Without donations it will be lost.