Thoughts on the Steps of Butler Library - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

And you couldn't have known me,
couldn't have loved me
like I thought you did
even though your kiss
was a gift each time
upon my brow

and now,
I think upon those times,
      how much of that rush
was me
reading between the lines
of our affection?

Under this vast sky
of deepest blue
amidst the flocked
cry of starlings
from atop these majestic
columns
I am moved

moved by what
this deep blue sky
this flock of birds
these wispy white clouds
can do to me

and yet,
is it not I
who makes them 'moving'
lest everyone should stop,
gape and sigh
at this night's wonderful gifts

as I debate
whether there was love
and not just lust,
between the sheets
of you and I.

By Mary E. Lohan

Mother - A Poem (from "Four Folded Corners")

She strings me words,
     gifts like pearls,
which I keep tucked away
     for special occasions.

By Mary E. Lohan

Nothing is Constant - Poem (From "Two of Cups")

Nothing is constant -
today's strength
is tomorrow's weakness
and the point,
forever shifting.

I have seen storms
that could drown
even you

yet, in my weakest moment
I draw strength
as a sail would
and fly,

if it were not you I'd be gone,
but I cannot just leave,
I will linger as clouds do
before they are swept
or blown away.

By Mary E. Lohan

LIC (Long Island City), New York - A Poem (2015)

It is as it was

We move along the suspended
track, winding through
smokestacks, edifices
without proper faces
toward the banking tower
the lone citadel of this
trash-strewn region

I have returned to
the borough of my youth
not out of want
but necessity
as this Barack era
has further stripped
the city of meaningful
work with benefits

It is as it was --
plentitude and barrenness
exchange greetings

I climb the stairs
to the office.

By Mary E. Lohan

Instructions on How to Clear Your Troubled Mind - A Poem (From "Speaking to the Darkness")

Calculate the misdeeds, list them, itemize them,
affix bold headings like Blame and push through

don't bother being fair
fairness is meant for those you respect

don't bother being polite
rudeness comes naturally and is a measure of might

yes, calculate the misdeeds
list them meticulously, then cite the wrong and the blame

then wonder why this list
(although the names differ) is always the same.

By Mary E. Lohan

Nurse - A Poem

How very little can be done under the spirit of fear - Florence Nightingale

I lie on the table
striking a pose
for the ultrasound tech,
half on my back
right arm bent
over my head,

the doctor arrives,
a round older man,

a needle of lidocane
then pressure,
an extended buzz,

a breast biopsy is not fun,

still, it's the nurse,
who gets my
attention,

she has grabbed
my hand mid-procedure
is hunkered in close,
talking about "La La Land"
and other light fare

her attention on me
doesn't waiver,

"Squeeze my hand
if you have to,"
"I'm okay," I say
brave

I'm surprised
how shakey I am
afterwards

"likely the
epinephrine"

she steadies me
stays with me,
wraps my wounds
carefully

we are like sisters
talking about boys,
altho' the topic is
about wounds
and infection

she sends me off
with an icepack, ace
bandages wrapped
tight about my breasts,
and advice,

and when I arrive
home, I am calm,

as if she is still there,
hunkered in,
holding my hand,

somehow,
her spirit has stayed,

and I am less
and less afraid.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: A very special thank you to Nurse Carmella at Ocean Medical Center 

Love (It can be...) -- A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

It can be

     a shackle,
a surname you can't spell
     or pronounce,
a placeholder in a large bed,
     a reason to corner her and vent,

but what if it were
     a momentary,
meaningful embrace,
     a softly whispered word,
a butterfly kiss,
   
wings.


By Mary E. Lohan

A special thanks to Shack in the Swamp Photography for use of their beautiful images on my blog. 

Bissjon (Lovanger, Sweden) - A Poem

By happenstance,
I am here
beneath this forever sky
that stretches
beyond memory

candy pink haze
vanilla and blue hues
of light until dusk

a yellow cottage
sits at the gate
of this quaint hamlet

purchased from
the quiet dairy farmer
who tends to the lengths
of land and hay

happenstance
has plucked me,

from the bustle
of New York
and dropped me here
at the Northern most
reaches of the Earth

closer to the Mongols
than ever before

We drive to the market
foraging for food
amongst the foreign
letters and staples  --

sandwich cakes topped
with seafood are a sight
to behold

English is a visitor
that comes and goes

We pay for bags
and jump into the
rented Volvo that
runs for miles upon miles
on diesel

travel over
smooth, perfect
highway roads
guarded by
camera traffic
"eyes"

pines line the way
abound like skyscrapers
in a huge city

they fall away
to expose an expanse
of farmland

the sky
looming large, vast
and limitless

in winter
these roads are
refuges from the
swaths of snow drifts
that engulf feet and legs
with a crunch

in spring
these wildflower
lined paths take you
through emerald
and gold seas
straight to the
gate of
Oz.

By Mary E. Lohan

Thank You to IAW&A and IAYL

It was fabulous being part of the Irish-American Creative Expo Day 2 at the Marriott Marquis Hotel in Times Square yesterday. Lots of music, poetry, prose, singing and yes, in addition to reading some of my poems, I even put on my dancing shoes!

A wonderful time with some very lovely people. I look forward to the next one!

Onwards and upwards,
Mary   

We Are Here -- A Poem

We are
here,

in these
seconds
we exist,

and in a
moment,

it can
be
taken;

the car
on its
side,

just seconds
ago

halving
a pole

tangled
in wires,

is proof.

By Mary E. Lohan

Caught - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners"

There's no fish that equals this catch -

he swims submerged for hours
each minute suspended
     about to break service
hooked
     baited
          broken.

By Mary E. Lohan

Movement - A Poem

When does a movement begin
is it when the cello string bends,
when an arm extends
or when a nerve spurs the need

does it require the collective
or just simply the one?
can it impact the galaxy
without involving the sun?

Experience tells us 
that movement can came as a wave
that bursts on the scene like in a movie
and then suddenly fades. 


By Mary E. Lohan

Moments - A Poem (From "Two of Cups: A NY Poet in Galway")

Each moment
suspended

eternity is
thought

in your eyes
I find being

Life is
never secure

walking the
precipice

we come alone
we go alone

and maybe
one day

we feel
less so

until that too
goes ....

By Mary E. Lohan

School Day Dismay (From "Four Folded Corners")

To my son, David

I file my frayed edges
     my frazzled day,

gather you in my arms,
     my sweet baby boy,

when tears hang
     from your lashes.


By Mary E Lohan

Fire Escape - A Poem (From "Speaking to the Darkness")

From this metal perch

pigeons circle overhead,
the Brooklyn sun
blazing, baking
tenement walls,
melting rooftops
to goo,

this, my balcony,
where I read novels
after school, my feet
dangling through bars,
three stories from earth,
-- part of the sky

the rumble of
the L train stirs
periodically, the snore
of a giant
asleep beneath me

no bird song -- simply
the whirs and sirens,
the shouts of dinner
out windows

accompanied by
the gentle sway
of working class clothes
strung from lines --

celebrating liberation
from life's routine.

By Mary E. Lohan

Photograph by John Albok

Ageism - A Poem (From "Two of Cups: A NY Poet in Galway")

On some days

     I am an age,

And yet it matters not

     to trees, clouds, cats

It's simply a way

     to discriminate,

longevity from brevity

Age guarantees naught.

By Mary E. Lohan

You at Two - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

To my son, Dillon

Oh, your inventory of smiles --

your crinkley-eyed smile,

your curling ribbon smile,

your 'uh-oh' smile,

Your head sandwiched in the 'fridge

watching the light

go on 

and 

off.

By Mary E. Lohan 

Bach Played on Guitar - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

Slender ivory bones bow

pluck and braid
celestial sounds

on taut strings.

By Mary E. Lohan 

Crush - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

All is hushed
transient

Time becomes
the beat of your lips
speaking

There are no words
just your smile

I understand now --
Pain is pleasure,
Pleasure is plain

Keep speaking
and I'll try,
not to fall into your eyes.

By Mary E. Lohan

Love - A Poem (From "Two of Cups: A NY Poet in Galway")

Love is not
a diamond
a display
a wedding

Love is not
two becoming one
a perfect fit
all of the time

Love is
a pure expression
so utterly simplistic --

Love is kind.

By Mary E. Lohan

(Book artwork of "Two of Cups: A New York Poet in Galway" by Thomas Sheridan)