Undine of St. Agnes School
Don’t look down, Undine, at the waves in the meandering stream.
Look up at the yellow sailboats stranded on the shore-waiting
for the waters to rise.
Look up from the empty tin can in the foreground of grass.
I am reading Edith Wharton’s The Custom of the Country
for you, Mrs. Connell. With love.
Hurray for Mopsy and Tessa!
my personal email may have been hacked?
I’m working on straightening
that out, now.
Also, I am working on three poems
related to my reading of
“The Sound And The Fury”;
I also have written a long poem on the tragedy at Waco.
Eventually, i will get them on this blog that you, all of you,
have made me love to write on.
Thank you, Eileen
The thunder is shaking,
splintering, eviscerating our
branded new shingles.
We all have kin in Boston.
We’re all too thunderstruck
When we hear a sparrow
chirp from a
cherry tree as
its green/red leaves unfold,
what signal do
What do we know, now?
Eileen Lewis-Lurin, Copyright Yesterday-4-15-13
John Finely walks to Carl’s Park
on a chilly Easter noon.
Cherry blossom buds
reflect in the Mercedes hood
parked at the corner of the park.
The bird doesn’t look up
as it digs into the buried lock,
not even as we walk by.
We walk the stairs, “Let’s go home.”
Ten tulips stick their green-tipped noses out.
copyright Easter morning and again a revision on
Eileen Lewis-Lurin 4/11/13
Why do I want sweet love from everyone
like the narrator of
A Sense of an Ending? I see remorse,
flash anger from another
God’s face is turned away from from
Even Moses’s radiance.
The dictatorship of god is complete.
No wavering allowed, aloud, for place or time.
Like bare-faced Tony Webster, the narrator,
like George Herbert, the supplicant, the poet to God,
i want to be “peaceable.” I want god’s slim love.
But i am on my own to
“turn remorse into simple guilt.”
I created this blog to showcase our: