Happy Thanksgiving Greeting 2009

McCarra/Poetry Broadcast 4

On Veterans Day

Let us remember that "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." George Orwell (1903-1950)

"So Like the Phoenix" to be published in The Mount Vernon Times

"So Like the Phoenix" -- which appears on this blog, is to be published in the next issue of The Mount Vernon Times newspaper.

This issue is due to be distributed throughout the City of Mount Vernon and should be available shortly.

Third Broadcast over USTREAM.TV

MaryAnn's third broadcast was made this morning over USTREAM.TV

This one was shorter than the last so (hopefully) will be uploaded to YouTube without any difficulties.

Check it out:

http://www.ustream.tv/MaryAnnMcCarra

Cheers,

MaryAnn

Another reading broadcast live via USTREAM.TV!!!

Another reading-- (this time of some older work from the nineties....)-- was broadcast live this morning over USTREAM.TV

Apparently this is in the process of being uploaded to YouTube. We'll see how that goes.....

I Celebrate

I celebrate the rising of
the sun, I salute you,
yes, as we pass each other on
the street,

the divine in your eyes, in the
slouch of your hat, your hands,
stabbed into your pockets
so

I sing of the generations before
and after us, crops raised and
crops failed, the fresh-mixed cement
and the mortar crumbling to dust

of buildings with windows bricked over
to keep out the light, as we two
ride the rails, watching the passing
scenery, my country tis

as they serve us neatly plated breakfast
our hands break their hold

soybeans now, and more soybeans, then
corn, and more corn, far west of
that coast where we
first stepped down to touch earth

now we head for the mountains

I sing of children sleeping in safety
as the sun drops from sight, of
hope ever dawning in the heart, of
forever-freedom from want and fear

I sing and celebrate you, who
held my hand as the tape played
over and again, those oft-voiced
melodies, the old sweet songs, evermore

Halloween

and here is a goblin, and
here an elf, and here an
Indian with sacks outstretched

for sweets as the leaves turn
to gold, red, brown, carpeting
the sidewalks with autumnal tints,

the sureness of the seasons a
reassurance, yes, as much as
the turning of the moon and

sun into another year, that
time when one world may
reach into another with a touch,

the sliced loaf, the
cup of tea left sitting, stone cold,
overnight, a candle burning

in the lantern, glow-grinning visage
welcoming all

In Eighteen

when he came home from the trenches,
back in eighteen, after she had
rolled miles of bandages, the

carnations were mixed, unluckily,
red and white, in a large glass upon the windowsill

petals blotted the pages they
were pressed between, the
black and white type repeated endlessly

quinine tablets and rum and
white sheets for the windows

the eyes above the white-masks,
beds neatly rowed, taking
a fresh air cure

while others kneeled upon the stony steps of
Holy Cross, desperate words
winging heavenwards

Musing

she greets me with a bowl full
of pebbles, polished white, fit
for any garden but mine, where
the weeds straggle up, poor

shades of their packet-pictures, victims
of this poisoned soil, uncatalogued,
unsurveyed, without any papers to
prove ownership

as the ship sails away, puffing
steam, a dream in grey tones,
off for the Argentine, or some
similar clime, where the sun

sears over the ground, relentless,
and there she is again, dressed in
green and proffering a plate of
fruit cut to fit my mouth

so it goes, in every season, hot and
cold, the taps running to fill the
bath, scalded or frozen by turns, oh
most intemperate of visitors!