“Men in Orange Jumpsuits”

 

She wanted the attention and the wealth.
Bold disrespect she shows Memorial Day
for Christians dressed in orange to their death;
be-headings all the rage is Griffin’s way.

I weep for Man whose lost all sense of shame
I shudder for her stupid, bloody hands
I feel the filth just mentioning her name
A comedy of sorts lost to her fans.

Catastrophe to those who clap and grin.
There will be sorrow for the rest of us.
A lost humanity attuned to sin,
we’ll view our part , if any, with disgust.

The heart has withered once the head is lost
and so Man’s spirit where there is no trust.

“The Angel in the Cobweb”

original fabric figure designed by Jacqueline casey
original fabric figure designed and handmade by Jacqueline Casey. Photo by Casey.

 

 

“The Angel in the Cobweb”

My mother; such a patient soul in ways;
an uncomplaining vigil does she keep.
From nursing home, she spends her later days
yet longing to escape and be with me.

My life and work is in another state.
Our separation makes it more than tough:
she counts our visits when we may embrace
and cheerful is her face though she’s a bluff.

Her final visit to my home, sublime
for her, she sleeps upon my ‘princess bed’
and said she hoped to visit other times
‘the room with lacy pillows and the spread’.

My mom received her wings; left earthly gloom
and from the guilty heart my grief  would flow
until appeared in corner of that room
a message in a space with transient glow!

The beauty of an angel thus appears.
She flies within the spider’s web it seems.
Assures me love comes from another sphere
where hope and true forgiveness always beams.

 

 

Last Valentine

original fabric figure designed by Jacqueline casey
Original fabric figure designed and photographed by Jacqueline Casey.

 

Last Valentine

I send a single, silken note with lace.

My whispered chant of love an offering here.

My pen now bends upon the parchment face;

my pause with solemn thought as in a prayer.

I halt and scratch the surface of a dream;

seems all my sense now frail with disbelief.

There is no logic to the shattered theme.

Some impulse guides the hopeless heart bereaved.

Still, quiet churns that inner voice for you

just as the rain will drop to bend the leaf;

just as the white-out turns my heart slate blue,

I am a part of universal grief.

The world will not forget you, Valentine,

so long as I remember you, sublime.