First a serious one, then a silly one.
The Woman in the Coffin
“Doesn’t she look good?
She looks good, doesn’t she?”
I can’t answer, because I don’t agree.
The woman in the coffin is not the one I knew.
He knew her so much better than me—
Married to her for fifty-two years.
Maybe this is how she looked as she slept,
Face unlined, no worries,
And she slept much the last few months.
But when I look at this woman in the coffin,
I don’t recognize her.
Something is missing.
Her essence is gone, her spirit, her personality.
This body is just an empty shell;
She’s moved on.
She’s with Jesus now.
No more fatigue;
No more illness;
A Poet’s Lament
I’d like my poems to rhyme
But I don’t have the time
To play with words like mockingbirds
Until I make them chime.
My poems leave me wishing
That I’d, instead, gone fishing.
My meter limps like high-heeled chimps.
I make up words, like “blishing.”
I wish I had a fairy
Or a rhyming dictionary.
My writing sounds like barking hounds
Instead of something merry.
I truly do aspire
To be what I admire:
A poet who achieves the coup
Without the rhymes all haywire.
poems © ARHuelsenbeck