Eulogy to Carolyn C. Emmett
July 17, 1940 – March 19, 2016
Rustling leaves underfoot bring back memories.
Pumpkin orange, bright, flaming red,
golden yellow,
an orchestra of life, signaling something new.
Oh, how they leave their mark
on one’s heart, soul,
like sunset and sunrise.
Soft, warm, sod at my feet, a comfort to know,
as I walk on hallowed grounds, near to infinity,
in sight of a city skyline, on a hill
surrounded by colorful trees, flowers,
singing birds.
Rolling hills meander
like a river through a valley against a blue sky.
Monuments announce you are part of a play.
Now curtains have silently lowered.
They will rise again.
You are in nature’s bliss,
blessed by mother earth, sun, light.
You are now roots of a tree, a bud, a flower, colored leaves, singing birds.
You did not die!
I will see you in Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer.
You will always be a part of a poem.
I know you are there.
I feel a breeze kiss my cheek.
You have made this world a better place.
You are poetry in progress.
Poetry never dies.
We shall meet again.
Safe
One evening up in my tree house.
A full moon played tricks: hide-and-seek between the leaves,
light slightly softened night,
cradling me to slumber.
Iridescent-blue, white-silver shining,
boxing, bobbing, weaving its way
through the branches.
I am sitting, high up in a
wrinkled, skipping light.
Secure up a tree!
neighborhood kids could not hurt me.
They always picked on me and teased me.
Call me Bony!
I was thin and small.
Often alone, not a member of the 50th Avenue boys, of Corona, Queens.
Tough guys, they tried to steal my books,
and my money.
Never had any money!
So, they beat me up.
I felt like a washed out, heavy,
wet laundry towel, hanging on a line!
Through the gauntlet, I would go,
day after day.
Every day, after school, I had to dash
to the local library,
in Corona, Queens,
New York City,
located at 103rd Street and Corona Plaza.
I was safe there.
Here I learned President Lincoln wrote poetry.
I Stepped into A Hieronymus Bosch Painting, Woke Up Sweating
In a theater of demonic mystics out of hell,
people screaming to grab onto something.
Hands hug trees,
handcuffed to walls, squirming to break free.
Hands-on Fire.
Numbed hands, hooks penetrating ripped hearts.
What riddles will set us free from sin?
Soaked gloves salute holy drippings
of precious blood.
Skeleton hands in closets of damnation
yearn to be free.
Hands littered the Garden of Earthly Delights,
filled with bright, variegated flowers,
and blood-soaked earth.
As the sun sets outstretched hands calling.
Oh! Brotherhood of Our Lady,
will the earth implode?
Behind the doors, painted greenish gray,
bulbous plants ready to bloom.
Open the triptych wings so we can fly out of hell.
The Enlightenment
Ideas lost in the abyss of time
Step out from
Behind the acres of Medieval monasteries
Emerge from the chapeled cloisters
Enter the garden where birds forever fly free
Lament the loss of light
Smash the soiled stained-glass windows
Liberate the impetus
Pen your wrath
The quill feather molds dreams
Ideas sear the mind
The soul can never go back
Petitions the powers of Parliament
Disrobe the coping
Thinking men and women caused the eclipse
Some saw the universe in flux
Others slept through the event
All will feel the push and pull
The tide is affected by the moon.
Awaking
Suspended within dimly lit light
An egg hatched on the horizon
Down deep in darkness
larger green stems sprouted
Vibrating into the cosmos
No one heard as shades of
black gray purple pigments
Brushed up against the brains
Light reflected on terracotta
A rayed object whose center was
red blood dripping
A howling skeletal black dog
startled the thinker
Family Photo
Three children
All dressed up in their checkered short pants
We never really knew each other
I am the one with the teddy bear
I am the little brother
The only one
Still alive
