MY POETRY THROUGHOUT THE YEARS

Mortal Web  (1974?) [ first blank verse poem I ever wrote]
Our mortal life is strung together
Like a web.

Each of us-lending
another strength.

Patch up the brokenstrands of life
With love from others.

The cloth of life will be stronger
When mended with the strength
Of lifelong friends.


Discouraged with life... so young
   (probably 39 or 40 years old)

Is it any wonder that we fight?
That we do not "go softly
into that good night?"

Is it crazy to long
for happier days?
To turn back the clock
Til'  noon?
To turn back the calendar
til' June?

What can I do?
the days roll by
And I'm afraid to cry
It ages my eyes.

My hair is dry
And I love the sun,
But it ages my skin
And I can longer
run like the wind.

My knees don't have it.
My bowels are rebelling
My skin tone is telling
And the wrinkles are showing
...and  crows feet are growing.

Oh the Hell with it!
I'll enjoy the day
I'll blatantly say,
"You're gorgeous!"
To handsome boys

It no longer matters.

I'm getting older
I'll have to admit,
but I will not quit,
And when you think of it,
"What are the alternatives?"

SPIRITUAL SELF  (1977)

When mortals seek

to fill the gap

twixt dawn and dark,

To oft' we pour it

to the brim.

And leave naught

time to meditate.

What's left has no

tenacity

except thin elasticity

...the portion left for Him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Poem for a New Friend:

TIME

Time, that only gauge,

the only test to find

the friendship that one seeks.

Time, its passage, and if

there still remains

the firmness of the

friendship bind;

Then we will have shared

that rarity on this earthly

plane ~ a soul's kinship

~Divine. 

~~Mary Jo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Trying to Trust Again:

I tried to feed the wildbird

with quiet outstretched hand

and still he woulnd't trust me

nor near me would he land

I wondered how he learned it

instinctively a sage

Misplaced love and trust can mean

a close confining cage.

With deepest understanding 

why he chooses to be free

I leave the seed on ground below

while he watches from a tree.

With my spirit soaring

in abandonment and ease,

I am alone, not lonely,

and I travel with the breeze

You reach your hand to beckon

to trust you I may learn

Just leave your gift

   beneath the tree

Perhaps I will return

M-Jo

[My friend was getting cold feet, and I wanted her to put her love to a test with this poem. Instead, she had me read it at her wedding.]

MY CHOICE

I choose to stay with you,

not because of

hopeless, lasting erotic love.

I choose to stay with you,

not because of

duty, security, expectations

  promises.

~not even out of guilt or fear.

I choose to stay with you 

not because you've chosen me

not because you cannot live

without me

not because you love me...

...But if I was forced to stay with you 

for any of these reasons,

then like mercury held to tightly,

I would slip right through your fingers.

For, though we are growing together

my spirit must be free

owned only by God,

and you cannot imprison

my spirit.

You have captured my Love,

but you have let my spirit free,

For you have given me a choice...

...And I freely choose to stay with you

~~M-Jo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Hospice Patient}

Was I holding hand

with Death?...

This person at its door?

No, I was holding hands

with Life...

In death they're held 

no more. 

 ~~Mary Jo

(In memorial to Merrit Calkins

August, 1983)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poem for a reluctant widower:

Listen Mister!

I take time like a gift

-a gift that is lost

With every passing moment.

Don't you see that sand

Drifting to the bottom?

Every grain is Love

Once gone, so is Love.

Did Death teach you

Nothing?!

That's all for now, folks ~~Cranberry Jo