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Poems of Life

A local poet shares his writings based on real life.

Autumn Leaves II

October 29th, 2011 at 11:01 pm by Ed Corrigan
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A fluttering storm of yellow
Butterflies from the sky
Bursting forth the tree line
Across the black, wet road
The air
With apostles of the wind.
Autumn leaves defying a heavy rain
Falling divinely to vinyl road
Smearing all order and borders
Of middling yellow lines.
Adorning the blues
Of my worried mind
Strapped in listening to
A sad song
So loud
It almost bursts ear
And tongue,
A Bumble bee sadness sets in.
All could be wrong
But for the yellow leaves
Joyful tears
In my soul.

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

In honor of Jack Kerouac – America’s great Beat writer/poet

October 8th, 2011 at 2:48 pm by Ed Corrigan
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don’t know jack

what if i were jack kerouac
would that be
or wut?
i would know the perfect
word to write
every time
i needed a line
is this too much rhyme?
if i were jack kerouac
i’d be cuul all day
beat in every way
seattle blue
if i wanted to
Criss crossing
across america
stories looking for me
if i were he.
was it all in his head
those amazing things
he wrote and said
or was it shoved in
like meat to a grinder
making a massive meat burger
from not so thin air?
the traffic light just
turned red
it really messed up
my head.
jack kerouac is dead and
if i were he
be me?
cuul de sac is the nu b wac. beautiful beat…lives on…
jack uac is jazzdelicious, lost in space baby…

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Nine Eleven Eleven

September 11th, 2011 at 8:35 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Tears formed in my dry eyes
Hearing the names
One by one by one
Nine Eleven Eleven
All good souls
Spring to heaven
Bodies pulverized
Fountains of youth
Spirits in the air
A child lost his father
I miss you dad
They stand on the remains
Of those not walking
This earth again
But not found
This most sacred ground
A mother lost her son
My heart is broken
A wife lost her husband
I love you still
Water water everywhere
Tears mist rain
They will not be
Back again
This most sacred ground
They walk on the remains
Kneel on the remains
Children run and laugh
On the remains
As children do
As children will
Until the end of time

Copyright © ed Corrigan 9/11/11

Something silly for a change…

September 10th, 2011 at 5:51 pm by Ed Corrigan
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I hate that darn wrinkle
In the bed
I can’t get that wrinkle
Out of my head
Pull it, tuck it, and smooth it
To no avail
With that wrinkle, I do fail
I don’t have a clue
What to do
Tried twitching my nose
Like Samantha the witch
But son of a buck
No such luck
That wrinkle stays there beyond repair
It’s so unfair
Once I tried starting over again
And became filled with such dread
The real problem being
That darn little wrinkle
Is stuck on my head
For all the world to see

“Wrinkle, oh wrinkle
Please let me be
Smooth out of my bed
Cast out of my head
And set me free.”

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Exodus to Purgatory

The women leave behind their Somalia,
gaajo babies strapped to their backs
There is no food
there is nothing alive
there is nothing left back there
The women walk
as mirage spirits
thru the thin desert air
Burying babies along the way -
the way of hell on earth
A Saeta marching dirge
a thousand mothers
a thousand broken hearts
From hell to purgatory -
ascending Dadaab Refugee Kamp
shriveled Angels
still strapped to their backs

“Welcome to purgatory
my Somalian friends
You who have survived
until the bitter end
Please take of water
take of bread
feed the body
the soul is dead”
Ghosts in the air everywhere
Finally and fully forsaken
by a gaajo God

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Thoughts on A.I.D.S

July 22nd, 2011 at 9:03 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Young Man in the Store

i saw a young man
in the store
his face was scored
by lesions
red, scratchy, sore.
lesions by his own admission
of passion so unforgiving
scarred forevermore
walking proudly thru a store
not hiding from the
stigma of human enigma.

Where is compassion?

as we sit in judgment
scarred forevermore
by our own mortal sin,
blaming this poor soul
for causing his disease
as if he plead with god
for a deadly condition.

Where is forgiveness?

in an act of contrition
we do not absolve
this young man of volition
of therefore seeking
to die a thousand deaths
in desperate hope of transcendence.

Where is love?

our own inner fracture
does not prevent
a cataracted vision
of a young man suffering
an-oh-so-human-condition -
of seeking
love, life, not death -
same as the rest.
wandering the magical mystery tour
hoping for something more…

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Columbia River Summertime

July 1st, 2011 at 10:38 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Columbia River Summertime

A mass of water
Formed of a thousand
Moves as one molecule
Thru the canyon
Forming walls of instruction
Only to be interrupted by
Man made
Manta rays
Whorling airy foamy wake
Leaving us behind
With the debris
Of our beings
Flowing to the sea
The ocean of all
Cascading thru the ages
As one with all souls
All hearts
World without end

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved


May 22nd, 2011 at 8:45 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Haunted by your presence,
haunted by a past.
A random collision
of two comets, and
only the dust remains.
Ashes to ashes
dust to dust…
A flash, an explosion
our particles intertwine
a nanosecond in time
one arising
one left behind.
A sparkling sadness in space,
drifting back to the
One still formed,
One fragmented,
Forty years free floating
a universe and
you finally come home,
filling the coulee
in my soul
with tears held back
behind eyes wide shut.
Forty years of what -
neglect, regret
loss for words?
Your resurgence may be
a claim for me,
but not before my time
if you please.

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved


May 15th, 2011 at 11:36 am by Ed Corrigan
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Sometimes I feel so lost
Lost and alone.
When I am so lost
Will you call me home?
Call me in the morning
Or afternoon or night
Call me home soon.
When I reach out to you
Will you reach for me?
Pull me into your heart
Your warm loving heart
That feels like home.

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Spirit of the Sky

April 11th, 2011 at 8:51 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Sky Spirit

I am eagle,
Spirit of the sky.
ascend a stream of angels.
a solar trumpet
a clarion call,
Whispers of divine presence
of homeland domain,
spoken softly
Eagle eye
high in the sky
sigh think blink.
ovoid comet dripping orb,
greased lighting.
A silent
living being.
Wings parachuting
clawing, braking
hovering, grounding.
Nearly missing me
leaning, floundering
against cedar tree.
The Golden one
featherly slides thru arm
under shoulder
leaning head to heart,
wing to warm stomach
so full of yesterdays.
A sudden spring
a slung shot
a raucous flapping
soaring back to sky
with no goodbye.
Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

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About Ed Corrigan

I am Ed Corrigan and live in Maple Valley with my wife, Nona. We have two terrific sons - Joe and Tim - and three beautiful daughters - Kate, Sally and Sarah - and one cat named Omega. I've been writing poetry, on and off, since 16 years of age. Early poetic influences were Shakespeare and e. e. cummins. A more recent influence is Walt Whitman whose "Leaves of Grass" is the most amazing thing that I've ever read. Music has been very important in my writing and in life. I am not a musician but early on the singer/song writers Paul Simon, Smokey Robinson and Bob Dylan had a big impact on my poems. More recently, I've been affected by Miles Davis, Green Day, Alanis Morissette, Linkin Park and others. I love to write and its something that I need to do. A poet once said that a poem is not complete until its read or heard by another. Thank you for visiting my blog.

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