Mercy Sniffles

It's hard to see you cough and sneeze,
All curled up in a ball;
To toss and turn at every wheeze
Is just no good at all.

You miss your healthy self before
The coming of those germs,
But you know even germs must live
Their predetermined terms.

The cloud upon your face declares
The falling of a tear,
But hold your head up high for there's
A silver lining here;

It's true, the Messenger has said
The Lord is with the ill,
So come prepare the finest spread
To host Him and His will.

Begin with appetizer chants
Of His Majestic Name,
And line your plush repentance with
The cushions of your shame,

To pour into the goblet of
Your heart the Word of Light,
The more the pleasure of your guest
The more that you recite.

And then your Guest will sup upon
Your supplication fine,
Choose every word with care as you
Beseech your Guest Divine.

For everything you ask him for
Is granted you, or stored
For you to be united with
The day you meet your Lord.

Remember, child, that you are in
A state, supreme and pure;
So pray for much, but do begin
By asking for a cure.

Published in The Society of Classical Poets 2013 Annual Journal

Four of my five submissions were published in the 2013 Annual Journal of the Society of Classical Poets. The works included are:

Children of the Year
Jameel and Jameelah
On Cancer, Guns and Hit 'n Runs
The Ever Rising Tide

This is a real honor for me considering only forty poets were selected from over 600 participants, and the journal has about seventy-five poems in it. Very heartening for me and my work.

Thanks to Evan Mantyk for his consideration, and for his zeal in keeping the tradition of classical English poetry alive and thriving.

-KM

One-Dream Child

My son, he thinks he sees a dream
Each night, always the same,
It does not change, not ever; so
Is his sincere claim.

It starts out with a slowly growing
Darkness, vast and dense,
That swallows up his sight as well
As every other sense;

There is no place where he is at,
And no time he is in,
There is no company without
And not a soul within.

Then as it comes, does it recede,
This darkness, vast and dense,
And wakes him up to wonder
Where it goes, or came it whence.

He tells us of this dream he has
At breakfast every day,
Relating every detail in
A most fantastic way.

Someday he'll know his nightly dream
Is not a matter deep;
We just don't have the heart to tell
Him all it is is sleep