And I'm still in Love -
(I) don't ask with whom
maybe there is someone
~ maybe not ~.
Clairvoyance being prepared, still
Moving, we are moving on, bathing --
--> in bliss, that blissful waltz
Flowers blooming, spelling out the
end of the I.
Dreams of union, marriage, the
heart rejoices - You and I, we fly high
Above the cluds, the waves,
Hearing the bells ringing
We dance like embers, floating in the sky.
Alive, every face beloved, the soul
is free.
I made no deal
I offered no parity
For my son's recovery
To earn this disparity
Is it a sadistic choice
Some cosmic joke?
To give back to me one
And take away the other bespoke?
To heal the impossible
And afflict the mother?
To give both joy and despair
In the same week?
I am broken.
I'm broken, unfixéd.
So please, just stop.
Let me love and be loved.
And let me laugh my days
In the joy of their happiness.
So badly do I want to give up
To give in. To quit.
And you didn't make me that way
You made me to fight.
To love, even when--
No, especially when
It hurts.
Broken and weary
Lift me up
Don my rusted armor
Hand me a sharp stick
And show me my foe.
I wait
for hazy clouds to soften noon—
The world dims
as shadows
drag out hues.
Burnt cement stops sizzling,
sparrows quiet their off-beat chatter,
my sore eyes shut in relief—
a final note,
the muted outro—
Until the clouds scatter.
The familiar heat shatters
breezes into embers
filtered through a stinging azure.
So I sit back and
wait.
In stasis, with the cluttered city,
for silence to fall
again—
Like heaters with thousands of watts
Hot passion burns hearts into knots
Instead of this norm
To find love that’s warm
Form relations with chocolàtes
A honeyed and candied sweet taste
Entwined under lingerie laced
As valentine treat
Is the finest eat
Lucky tongues have ever embraced
I have grown tired of the worship of
You- can you lose faith in a god that you created?
I used to pray and beg and grovel for just a sliver of
Your grace, but my knees are bloodied and bruised, and my words now fail me.
I have grown weary of the existence of
You- I don’t look for you in every room anymore, don’t feel your presence
But sometimes I jump when I see the familiar silhouette in
Your shape, and every time, I’m relieved when it’s not you.
I have grown bored of the image of
You- I used to frame portraits and photos of you on the walls
Like you were a priceless work of art, but now
Your pictures collect dust in the corner of an abandoned home.
I am no longer in love with the idea of
You- I am an artist without a muse, a dog without an owner,
A widow grieving a spouse who never died. I never lost you because
You were never mine in the first place.
To love an artist
is to go without saying
his body of work is Golden
Glenn Hughes, the Voice of Rock
has blessed us with 50 years
of musical masterpieces
When you are down and lonely
you can count on his vibe and his funk
to cheer you up
Glenn has saved my soul
on more than one occasion
with his bluesy songs
Whether it’s dark or light, night or day
I am here listening
listening to Glenn always
I invite you too
to engage in his music
and to love him too
trifle made with custard
garden gloves and mustard
dinner listen answer me
do you want a pie and cup of tea
bake the shed ‘til ten past three
then eat it with a stormy sea
dinner can you hear me
don't cry go home early
trifle made with custard
garden gloves and mustard
Sunrise breaks a silent night
Bursting forth in sweet reprise
No more fears or demons dark
Only hopes and dreams to please
With each shadow cast away
With each measure of the morn
Serving what we need the most
Chances for the best are born
Sometimes on a lonely eve
Thoughts will wander in the woods
Paths are hidden by the leaves
Eyes deceived by cloaks and hoods
Yet, we know we must hold on
Everything begins anew
Faith emerges with the sun
Better times are sure and true
Purim, holiday of hints and masks
Tears turn to joy and back
Jewish souls on the racks
Trapped between life and death
We held our collective breath
‘Til, spared from the evil decree --
Under the tyrant, King Xerxes
We returned to a life of subjugation and misery
_________________________________
Purim is celebrated tonight and tomorrow,
except in Jerusalem, where it is celebrated
on Sunday evening and Monday. It com-
morates the sparing of the lives of the
entire Jewish world 2,500 years ago, at
the last possible moment.
He's straw for a brain
unkempt terrain
depends on witch thoughts
cross his membrane
Ze French, they are haughty
Kremlinites, vulgar, crude
Le artiste charcoal sketches
in the unvarnished nude
Brits keep a stiff upper lip
Pointy-shoed Italians think they are hip
Ukrainians fight like the dickens
their stockpiles reduced to slim pickens
I hear her calling to me softly
Her gentle voice is like a spring breeze
Wafting on the scent of fresh lilac,
A lifetime of memories in a reprise
Her gentle voice is like a spring breeze
Whispering my name from heaven’s portal
A lifetime of memories in a reprise
Assuring me that life goes on, immortal
Wafting on the scent of fresh lilac
I inhale her essence; I know she is there
For her presence lingers effervescent,
I reach to run my fingers through her hair
A lifetime of memories in the reprise,
Every waking moment I draw her near
Reliving all those special times we shared
Savoring all the best with Deborah, my dear.
Written November 21, 2022
Now Autumn
————————-
I can see beyond
the open ivory curtains,
the trees being
blessed, dressed
in the laced edges
of this day’s dawn:
a beauty-gift,
a heaven-graced lift,
a scene with a slight
magic mist
as if stars were
still flaring in sight
as in the mid-night,
with their tails adorning veils
over the trees from their
silently descending trails,
to cover all the groves
of Earth in a wonder
of star-wishes and kisses
of dew on the leaves,
beginning their yearly turn
from green to red and gold
— a nature’s reprise season
in time —
a way to praise:
a raising of colors to meet
autumn’s violet skies.
———————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 9/28/21
Glory to God
Against the depthless blue
Backdrop of the sky
A tracery of bare brown branches
Feathers out above,
Dipped golden by last rays
Of the declining sun.
But wait!
The show’s not over yet,
For as the sun
Makes its final bow,
A grand finale takes the stage.
Splashes and streaks
Of rose and pink,
Purple, and orange
Dance across the horizon,
Higher and wider,
Until the lagoon below’s
No longer blue,
But the palette of heaven
Reflected here on Earth.
When those golden days arrive
Upon our doorstep,
And time creeps slowly
Toward that last horizon,
Our grand finale
Will be the reprise
Of all our life upon this Earth.
So gather your paints.
Splash your canvas with color!
Live! Set the scene for
A glorious exit from this stage.
To grand applause.
Mid-morning waking
Merrymaking
Mixed drink shaking
The holidays baking...
Cheerful leave-takings
'Stay-in-touches' making
Happy bones aching
Joyous yearly undertaking
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