Gone Back
By E.
Awakened
On a muggy mid-September night
Awakened
by the on-rush of white light
Light bright in a world of black!
There it called-out in agony:
The moon, lifeless now, spoke
As it reached-out through the oak
That extended a hand mournfully-
It called me from black-rose dreams,
Called for time, called for prayers-
The moon held-hands, white beams
Mirrored in mortal eyes: it cried on pained ears
Awakened
On a muggy mid-September night
Awakened
by the on-rush of white light
Light bright in a world of black!
Then Moon and Daughter touched:
But the Moon is not comforted by it!
Then Moon and Sea embrace:
And life flows-out for roses that sit
Upon the cold tombs
For which grandchildren go back-
Gone back, but not for Holiday;
Gone back to be awakened
By a mid-September's moonrise,
Upon Illinois' black-body sky:
Gone back to be fulfilled
By a mid-September's sunrise.
The Final Act
By E.
From the first slap upon my buttocks,
I started toward death.
A series of stages:
Infancy.
Childhood.
Adolescence.
And then, when the maturation process
has been completed,
I am returned to the soil and, in essence, to
the dust
whence I came.
Throughout these stages we are conscious
of the Final Act.
And the Final Act is conscious of us.
Then the strings are played and the puppets move
back and forth
across these earthen planks.
Bravo,
Bravo.
But no encore.
The Old Oleander
By E.
O Flower, though art wilting!
The invisible aphid
That lurks on slipp'ry earth,
Smelling smoking wind- Earth's rolling pin,
In the fragrant lies of springtime,
Has found out thy sleeping-place
Upon man-trod green grass,
With pearl and crimson finish:
And with stained limbs of bed's departing life
Doth allow your petals to knowingly diminish.
