Old lovers often want to know
where did the good of old love go
in which space beneath the heart
did the death of old love start
could it have been solved or cured
with incantation or resolving word;
but we who live in the age of treason
are fools to look to love for reason
there is no button we can press
that offers the broken dead redress
so how can something mad as love
as mad as soldiers on the move
conform to potions, ritual, prayer
when so much blood hangs in the air?
- FRED JOHNSTON
It has become imperative to laugh:
Now that the decades are nearing seven
And sleep snatches up in armchair or couch,
Bed is a black and scratchy, fretful bin.
When fat tears spill at trifling sentiment
And knee joints yelp down steps to genuflect.
Rainy mornings, no man’s lands of torment,
Cold, a sadistic courier of sick.
Essential then to seize on sunny days,
Seek out sharp comedians, crazy clowns,
The big-eyed amaze on a baby’s face,
An indignant panjandrum upside down
And laugh, an unfettered howling guffaw,
Feel the sun so close, kiss the shining star.
- DANIEL REARDON