Mary Fell for the Second Time

Mary fell for the second time
right after she stood
before the window and swore
her jaw as hard as the glass
you could tell she meant business
never taking no for an answer
to herself or anyone
and damn this world anyway...

But there she lay in the mud and snow
all in a heap and feelin' sorry
a bundle in her bony hands
a curse for those around her
and a curse for the day she ran wild
to help her would be a waste
but someone usually comes along
and gives her another try.

But today she is full of sick
the wind roars from the north
by now she is long past comical
long past the wise crack of the day
no longer does she wear the clothes or
know the place or man to keep her warm
and that's no life when no one loves you
not in this winter, not in this cold.

And what is there to love?
She's been around so many times
it just makes you mad
makes you want to spit
throw rocks and get it out of her
and she claiming she's a person
claiming she's a child of God
and where has it lead her to?

Where did she go wrong?
Was she a traitor to some man and
spoke too soon in the wrong parlor
to the wrong flunky
or do you think she knows
the secret hiding place of
some relative and won't talk
or is she just a two-bit whore?

Well she's stopped in her tracks
and there's a judge after her
and it's more than prison left
but the hereafter with her likes
and if she falls a third time
I don't know if she'll ever get up
and even if she prays out loud for help
I'd just let her lay, and good riddance.

Damn this world for modern graces
she'll soon be back at the bars
and bangin' at the tables
a few bottles tossed back
as she'll blend in again and
what is known of her
will disappear with the smoke of talk
and maybe a soul or two that ever cared...

Through a Valley

There were many hands raised into the light
Palms outward in the shine of day, fingers up
Holding high the carcass
They followed the course of the river to the sea
For this is where they would bury him.
Everyone partook, over and over,
Glad to rejoice in the passing of such a person
Who made the living of God a map for others
To follow after in this life.

Overhead the sky was blue and clear for miles
As one could see many hills surrounding a valley
People watched from varying distances Each wanted to touch the corpus
Not one was left alone.
The procession passed through a myriad of lies
And contrasting opinions
Ideas once begun came to a final close
As snow in a storm subsides

Still the sky remained blue and clear
As almost in anger the defenses stood
Without flinching, without pity,
As children passed through them as in a mist
As through a place between waters
Buffeted by question, mounting darkness
There began to be doubt they
Might become lost, and one might
Never touch again, or forget, be forgotten.

And then in spite of declarations
Separating all from the body of origin
All that is motherly
Shaped little ones in the fold
In warm clothing and hushed voices
In the echo of wood in great halls
And kept alive the real meaning
Of their festivities and sacraments to let
There be nothing to condemn them by

And nothing was
Not ever, for those even who were misshapen
And grotesque
Those without pity, hardened,
Those whose faces were clean and shining
Their numbers countless,
Beyond estimate, yet somehow
Not one was left without
Not one

^

Biography

I am a 6th grade special ed. teacher, married, 49, with 3 kids, 8,6, and 3. I am just beginning to submit poems after writing them consistently for about 4 years, and thinking about writing them for quite a few more.