History/Past

Make it last

Feel the future,
feel the past,
feel the moment,
make it last.
Struggle and get back up,
fail,
succeed,
walk in triumph.
Make memories that last,
make em fast.
Look back and laugh.
Want them again.
Remember the old,
But look forward to new.
Then when your cold,
use them for warmth
and you'll never be alone.

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Growing the Past

 

The distinction of my life

Is burdened by the temptations

From which I suffer.

One progression at a time,

Taking slowly to my success

And beheading the configuration of past.

For, my years are creeping faster

Historically trailing enormous crumbs.

And these from which I prosper,

And these from which I bloom,

Do not compliment this beauty I defy.  

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At David's Rooftop

My palace in Jerusalem is tall,
and high, and wide.  From its rooftop my view---
kingly and unimpeded---takes in all
the city, even past the farthest wall.
Not far from here (perhaps a little too
close, like temptations of adultery),
Bathsheba bathes.  Her casual nudity
(not forward and not shy) adorns her very
well, and revives in me extraordinary
desires.  But, at this hour, I will not call
upon her.  She deserves her privacy.
Look opposite, and far past:  there, a sight
quite startling, even more so in daylight,
that little ridge---see it?---just like a skull.
 
Starward
 
[jlc]

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2 Samuel 11:2, Mark 15:22

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At Abishag's Amazement

[after 1 Kings 1:1-4]

 

Who knows how monarchs organize their lives?---
or how their thoughts and preferences might change.
I, too, considered, the idea strange
that he would have refused his royal wives
to sleep beside a teenaged, poor girl---me;
without the least thought of adultery.
I simply lay beside him quietly
beneath embroidered covers, there to keep
him warm and comfortable, so he can sleep.
The chill gives him bad dreams of being dead:
these I do not admit into his bed.
He says my rough-spun gown and soiled bare feet
prove that I lack pretension and conceit,
and that my name should sound in poetry.

 

Starward

 [jlc]

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Et Galilaeus Es, 2

[after Titus 2:10 and Acts 9:31]

 

Turn, Poet.  Turn these next days' lines of poetry
to tell the earliest of Christianity---
the churches of the first in faith, in Galilee,
called and established by our Lord's own ministry.
Tell us of our foremost ancestors, spiritualy;
the separated from this lost world's destiny;
who heard the Word speak (life, life lived eternally
on which sin, death, and graves can get no victory;
life lifted from the earth into the Heavenly);
whose testimony set forth our own History.

 

Starward

 

 [jlc]

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Don't Make Me

I don't want to be the one who says we're done...

I don't want to be the person who tells you you're out of chances...

I don't think I can be the girl who can tell you I don't care for you anymore...

I just can't do that...



I don't want to be the one who says I've had enough for the last time...

I don't want to be the person who tells you you've done this to me for the last time...

I don't think I can be the girl who tells you I don't want to see, hear, talk, hang out, or feel you ever again...



So if you wish to keep this behavior going as you have in the past,

and if you want to keep me out without any explanation to what is going through your mind,

don't be thrown off when I do not answer you,

don't be upset when I ignore you,

don't be telling me you miss me when I know obviously you do not...



Please don't let me forget about you,

Please don't let me let you go totally,

Please don't have me out of your life cause I want you in mine...finally...again...

PLEASE...



Don't Make Me...

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Avaloniad, 1: Garden Gift

Olives, their wood and oil have never been
of interest to me.  Wharf warehouses, tin,
spices and loans have been more profitable.
But, still, this garden is quite beautiful;
in this locale, that is unusual
among Jerusalem's vast, urban sprawl.
The trees look very healthy---ancient, tall,
and gnarled.  And fruitful?---yes?  What do they call
this place---the local name---Gethsemane?
The price is fair enough.  The property
has somehow, these few moments, smitten me;
such that I do not want to let it go.
I have had whims like this before, you know.
And they paid off well.  I think this will be a
gift for my wife.  Yes?  Arimathea?---

she hailed from there . . . before.  Now she is home---

with her newborn, my fine stepson, in Rome.

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Avaloniad, 2: Report To Alexandria, From Caiphas

[after Acts 7:54-60; 8:1 and 9:1-2]

 

After we hurried Stephen to his death,
most of the followers of Jesus scattered,
preferring flight to having their brains splattered
beneath our stones.  Across the length and breadth
of our land, we pursued them.  Those we seized
suffered and died where, when, and how we pleased.
But persecuting Joseph would have been
politically unwise.  He held a tin
concession granted by the Emperor
Octavian to his stepfather; then
Tiberius bestowed the same on him.
This put him past the reach of any whim
of ours:  why waste the manpower and the men?
Not long after he learned Stephen was dead,
he and his young child Ariel packed and fled
across the empire to that misted isle
where his mines are.  That was ten years ago.
With heresy come arrogance and guile.
Joseph and Ariel have a rich lifestyle---
as long as tin is lucrative and sure.

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Hidden Springs, Delicate Wheels: The Bodyguard's Reminiscence

"The Consuls, too, must have their privacies---
"neither of scholars' note, nor documented:
"moments to spend exactly as they please
"(in joyous bliss or mournful reveries),
"not to be interrupted or prevented."
---Anonymous Epigram, "Instructions to Historians of The
Republic" translated by Nugator

(pen name of St Leger Landon Carter, 1785-1851)

in Southern Literary Prospects, January 7, 1835

 

". . . ingenium nobis ipsa puella fecit . . ."
---Propertius, The Elegies

 

One last time at the old home:  on the day
before he left, we helped him slip away
from all the turmoil of political
affairs.  He needed to refresh his soul
to start the second term right, as he said,
far from the clamor, there too plentiful.
Two bodyguards only for this:  we kept
watch as he eased out for an ordinary
ride in a buggy to some cemetery
down some lane.  He walked through the gate; dusk gave
last light as he paused beside one grave.
Then kneeling down, embracing it, he wept.
(I never saw such mourning for the dead
as he mourned then; oh, unforgettable!)
I saw the truth (that, now, no scholar can
diminish) of that sad, soon martyred, man
and (though long dead) his sole Beloved, Ann.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The reader is referred to the appended notes to my poem, "At Mrs. Lincoln's Discomfort."

The epigram translated by Nugator, himself a most talented poet, does not appear in any classical anthology; and may possibly be a literary hoax of Nugator's own making.

The quotation from Propertius means:  "My genius is only a girl."  Following Edgar Lee Masters' earlier interpretation, I suggest that Ann Rutledge was presiding Muse of Lincoln's personal ethics and presidential achievements.

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