Last Rites for My Father
Lift your goblets high for the heroes of our time!
I raise my glass for you
this moment we'll live again
long after our remains are burned
perpetual battles we shall fight
and fill our meadcups in Valhalla
you gave me life
you provided me the sword
you gave me the most precious gift
May the Gods welcome you to their side,
Odin's Wolf Guardian,
may glorious battle without relent
and continual celebration be your fate
in the heavens on high.
| -- | George Leake |
| April, 2002 |
Friday the Thirteenth
They say it's ozone or industrial haze.
I say it's ghosts and angels
stirring things up, checking us out.
"Clarity," the angels say, "seek clarity,
and equanimity."
Easy for them, 3000 feet above us
and as solid as yesterday's dreams,
but I listen, certain I have heard the truth.
Hazy ghosts settle in Pecan trees,
and I hear another word
first whispered, sound building
toward splendorous crescendo.
I listen, certain I'm privy to the Mysteries.
The word envelops me: "Accessorize."
Who can trust ghosts?
| -- | Nancy Taylor Day |
| September 13, 2002 |