from the Levant,
of religious conviction
with political leanings
'despised and rejected'
be allowed through the gates of today's America?
Stone wall ed - this is just a test
Sorry to be a pest, this is just a test
My last post was blocked
Was this because of the lyre in my name?
Was it that my feminist forgot her top?
Was it that my holiday lines were too black?
That I exposed Icarus?
I'm sorry if my lamentations seemed mad instead of sad
If I seem too wild when really I'm quite mild
That instead of wit I seemed too much of a twit
I only mean to mend, not to offend
To be immersive not subversive
So to God of the net,
Please don't block me when I send
Just to me unfriend
And spacebook might let me back in in the end...
Dear Andrew
Valley of Temples 12 May 2015
Dear Andrew,
There was a time when I thought
St Joseph's church was the original temple
When you flew to the sun we were the first to hear about it
When you fell, we fell with you
"Our hopes have gone and we miss them"
We miss you too.
Vale Andrew, 20 February 1959 - 12 May 2015
Time to catch up
I didn’t know that you went to concerts! Last year, I was at the Opera with Phillip. As the singer delivered an early aria I looked to the left of the stage and there you were in a balcony. You seemed a bit awkward when I caught your eye, but you kept gazing back as if to say, ‘It’s been far too long – time to catch up - let's meet in the foyer’.
And sitting next to you was Mum. With her usual discipline she concentrated on the opera without distraction, did not look towards me. Even after you whispered in her ear she kept her eye on the performance, ever so slightly nodding her head in time with the music. What a dark horse.
Of course I couldn’t find either of you at the interval. When we returned to our seats and you again gazed in my direction I tried to indicate, ever so discreetly, that we could catch up afterwards. Maybe have a gelato at that ice cream bar near the wharf.
Then I told myself it couldn’t be you, just another mother and son each wearing your glasses, he with your typical plaid shirt, she with Mum’s curly grey hair and elegant stoop. They were your doppelgangers, wearing out the extra seconds given them by fate. But it had to be the two of you, who else but Mum would wear that cardigan to the Opera?
ORFEO: You have left me, you have left me. Nevermore to return, and I am yet here?
