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Jo Riglar Poem
The Ballad of Love Distorted
The horse’s ears flicker in silent rebuke
His rider is tense, taut, confused.
Raw frost shining in soft silver rhythm
And the cutting cold wind is unforgiving,
A dark house ahead, his fate there, unseen.
The rider dismounts with a silent scream.
‘Quiet now boy!’ and the horse retreats.
A hard push and a heavy door creaks.
His weapon drawn, his mind clear
His raw senses breathing fear
A loose floorboard, a startled cat
A glare, a thud,
Draw back? Draw back?
The stillness returns as his heartbeat slows
He reaches the bedroom and oh but he knows
His daughter’s light breath as his fury grows
‘Ssh Molly’ he hears ‘Sleep now ,pretty rose.’
He sees in the moonlight through a latticed pane
Her white throat, soft face, her delicate frame
Sleeping soundly and peaceful in love’s afterglow
He grips his pistol and aims true and low
As firmly he points at Lord Arthur’s head
he hears his Molly as she softly says
‘I love him, Daddy, and that, death won’t change.
I’m sorry you’re hurt. I know you feel pain.’
But her father despairs for her future, her life
He remembers with horror Lord Arthur’s good wife
A partner discarded, in madness and strife
Lord Arthur had killed her, for Molly, his child.
He readies the weapon, this much he controls,
As Molly she screams and Arthur he rose
The horse in the meadow he neighs and implores
But the foul deed is done as his daughter, she roars.
‘Oh Father, my father, what have you done?’
He turns and he stumbles, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t run.
Copyright © Jo Riglar | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Jo Riglar Poem
Home from School
A little stream by the village bridge.
Clear cold water over jagged stones
searched for pieces of china in the mud
as we meandered slowly home.
Once-treasured patterns and bits of bones and
a black eel,rolling wave,burrowing far.
We sucked sweet nectar from fuchsia flowers
on our way home from school
Sometimes on lazy summer days,
When the workmen were on the road,
We pressed our toes in black tar bubbles,
And an asphalt oily smell, followed us home
A robin's nest was a sacred find
purple foxglove,waving our fairy hands
a homemade doll,yellow plaited straw
treasures home from school
Off for milk to Twomey's farm,
huge cow-beasts, dirty, with leather-silk skin
in September our berry purple mouths
a juicy feast all the way home
Copyright © Jo Riglar | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Jo Riglar Poem
The long grass,hiding secrets,needles our bare thighs.
In the distance, magisterial, stunning, see a skylark rise.
The coax coax frog-sounds echo in the mist-cloud night
Dare to touch one, grotesque, delicious chilling fright
Our freedom. Freedom.
Joy gone now in the pain-world.
Our friend-love, once enfranchised, unfurled.
A new life embraced us
A black light ensnared us.
Diagnosis, prognosis, progress non-linear.
I called. They said, not now, maybe later.
Later. They gave you the telephone.
It was a chilled day and you were home.
We talked, remembered the long grass, laughed.
And that was just four days before you passed.
Copyright © Jo Riglar | Year Posted 2023
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