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About Us
A poem for Rose Harth & Morris Harth
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A caring touch tougher than a shield spiked and steel
All entrances to the abyss your mother showed you so well blocked
Your sorrow is where sorrow was supposed to stop
Me and Karen June were never supposed to know
What made our mother take up residence in her twilight tank
While your secret suicide secret sexuality lived together, moved together
Now you've died together, gone in a year and little more
Then relief such suffering is over and done with here
I'll go empty out your house like you've emptied out your bodies
I am here and you are there - talk to me, I can hear you
I can love you always for the way you loved me
Protect me still now that you are still
What life and death are all about
Love, light, and, dare I hope, laughter?
Always and all ways
I'll always remember how you showed me what loving kindness looks like
When the grandeur of the theme from Million Dollar Movie made me feel sad
When Roy Orbison's "Crying" was the theme of the first night my mother left my father
You engineered that, Rosie, and I'll never forget that, either
You or my mother, which was my real mother? You raised me up
And I finished the job.
When the Beatles and Carnaby Street swung London and the world
You engineered my trip there, Morris, and I'll never forget that, either
Spain or Stratford-Upon-Avon, which was more moody? You polished me up
And I finished the job.
When Rose Harth and Morris Harth reunite being together I will hear them
I hear them now! Joyous. Young. Free, cancer-free, hospital bed free, colostomy bag free
It wasn't all good but it was never bad until the end and even the end was mercifully brief
In the scheme of things, you gave me my life just as surely as did my mother and father
He's there and he always liked you, Morris. Rosie? Time to settle that score for eternity is real for you now
What a year 2007 was, so many pulled a blanket of earth over their body that a more pessimistic man might fear
That terrible times are coming, so terrible that even the many brave and talented souls who departed this year
Chose not to be here, chose to change the channel they experience through, a channel I can channel.
I'm going to have a lot of practice, dear Jessie Spicer Zerner. You, too, were a mother to me, my favorite soul
My psychic muse and now host to my lost relatives.
Take them around, show them the ropes as a favor to me
Amy and I have a marvelous team on the other side:
Jessie and Ray Zerner, Lilias Burtenshaw, Clayton Spicer, Aunt Becky Hastings and Marge
Leonard Farber, Morris Harth, and today Rose Harth
Died this year our astrologer Leor Warner, lost young genius Ignatius Piedilato, gone poet Civ Siedering, away designer Barbara Hokensen, and more but I don't want to think about death any more until
I love you all, you reading this blog and everyone in it and in the whole world. What a lovely unsolvable mess we're in together
Why does anyone alive hate or fight with anyone else when we're all bound together by a common plight and a common fate
And a common cause to enjoy our life in the face of loss and suffering and death - I could just shake people sometimes
And I would shake them if it were not for the fact that I, too, forget to remember what reality really is
Who is crazier, the person depressed by the fact that no matter what you do and no matter how you do it you die or
The person who knows that and yet is not depressed? The positive spiritual person or their opposite number?
I'm going to sleep now, one of the two "little deaths," the other is the orgasm, the explosion that signals the beginning of our journey through the Valley of The Shadow of Death.
Maybe when we die it feels better than the best and most intense orgasm? Wouldn't that be a nice antidote to the drama of our last breath?
Am I writing about death again? I've written too many blogs about death.
I am going to write only about life from now on. I'm never going to write about death again. Never. Well, hardly ever. |
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