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Poems of Life

A local poet shares his writings based on real life.

Thoughts on Nuclear War

March 31st, 2011 at 8:56 pm by Ed Corrigan
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The war was born
of a firestorm.
The band went marching on
and the trumpets blasted to the heavens
as the earth scorched below.
The war was born
by men of no imagination
living illusions, delusions
who cared not for music
or the children of others.
Men who loved and were loved by their mothers
or so they say…
Jack and Jill
marched up the hill
on a path
of their own construction and
The band played on and
the trumpets sounded the story
of souls lost in their ways.
The war was born
of a firestorm.
Consuming all in its wake
burning flags and all else without discretion.


Indeed, the storm became
the demon of our dreams.
It took on a life of its own
stealing the air that we breathe
melting our eyes beyond disguise
consuming all that it sees
and all that sees it.
Sucking up people off sidewalks and streets
burning all fruit, leaves, branches
pulling up the very roots of trees.
Melting all that melts and
all God’s creatures innocent or not.
A reddish, yellowish, hellish tornado
not taking us somewhere over the rainbow
but only way down below
beyond protection and redemption.

Saeta Continued…

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water.
But were soon ascending to a fire cloud
sadly to return never after
rudely sent to their ever after
by the men who knew not
what was true
who cared not, for me and you.
By men who supposedly succoured
their mothers who were ultimately consumed
by their bombs and napalm.
The war was born
of a firestorm.
A storm which consumed all in its path
incinerated the haves and the have nots,
the know and the know nots
the first and the last
and the band played on.
We step to the beat of death drums
and the trumpets
extol our glory
to the bitter end.
We march to the boom boom beat of the drummer
only to be finally silenced
by the shattering of already deaf ears.

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2010
All Rights Reserved

Early Winter Blues

March 20th, 2011 at 5:24 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Early Winter Blues

Winter has come too soon.
The bed is left unmade
so much left behind
so much left undone.
The fall leaves blew away
in winds fierce and strong.
I had a full handful
and let them fade away
to a far distance
of my mind.
I once held the leaves
in my trembling hands
watched them taken up
into white chilling air,
toward the autumn
setting sun.
unleashing a thousand
screaming ghosts,
radiant summer after thoughts
of this early winter day.
I could
held on tighter.
I just
did not
any better.

Copyright ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Thoughts on Child Hunger

March 9th, 2011 at 8:10 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Twigs and Bones

Fragile, angular bones
bleeding through
skin so thin,
a frame so still
yet shattered within.

Limbs barren of leaves
scattered by the fall winds.
Silhouetted twigs left behind
twisted, not broken,
remaining moist within.

A long, cold winter arrives…

A body once saintly pure
succoured by mother
until well run dry.
This holy sheath once
full of promise
hangs haggard, unloved.
Sunken eyes bare her
soul to the sky.

Don’t blink yet.

The tree springs back-
budding in April
flowering in May
chewy green leaves come June.
As the child withers,
to powdered skin.
Wisps in the smog,
blowing sideways
across the street,
in a sacred whirlwind.

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2010
All rights reserved

Little Creek in Auburn Valley on Side of Road

February 22nd, 2011 at 8:40 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Little Creek in Auburn Valley on Side of Road

through matted
leaves of grass and
small barren trees.
Creek turning, glowing
in radiant sun,
blinds the eye
for a fractured
Teeming with life -
minnows, tadpoles
and gurgling bubbles
containing a
laughing wind -
echoes of
Hello Helloo..
bounces off
valley floor,
arising to
incense blue sky.
The grass dormant
sucks copper creek
to become green again.

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

not a kid anymore?

February 17th, 2011 at 6:51 pm by Ed Corrigan
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not a kid anymore?

as i lay slumbering,
my arm slides down
the side,
my hand drops
below the bed, then
thoughts of childhood
streaming thru my head.
are there monsters
in the darkness
the bed so soft,
the sheets snow white,
the blanket sky blue?
are alligators stalking
to chomp a hand,
to fill their toothy grin
with my fingers so thin?
maybe brown furry
modest mice are
waiting to nibble a thumb,
and not a bit politely at all.
i am not afraid,
i am not afraid
as i lift my hand
off the floor.

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

To Honor Black History Month

February 8th, 2011 at 7:48 pm by Ed Corrigan
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An Unfinished Work

Abraham, oh Abraham
Paradox of a man
Wherefore art thou,
Oh Abraham?
Who will lead us from our wanton ways?
Who, this day, will summon
The better angels of our nature?
Who, this day, shall set us free?

After more than one half million vessels
Having spilt their full content,
Having consecrated battle fields of green,
Having nobly advanced a new
birth of freedom,
Having secured the bonded-man’s dream…

And, yet, the gulf remains.

A chasm of racism divides
Brother against brother,
Sister against sister,
A house divided cannot stand.
More than one half million vessels slain,
As the woe due to those
By whom the offence came.
Multitudes paid the ultimate price
In purchase of the national stain…

And, yet, the gulf remains.

Through the mystic chords of memory
Abraham speaks to us the living,
Let us strive to finish the work we are in;
To bind the nations wounds
With malice towards none
With charity for all
In order to form a more perfect union.
Let us seek God’s sacred grace.
Our blood hath runneth together
Blending brothers and sisters,
In the mystic river of sorrow and hope.
Almighty God, we beseech thee,
Let us be as one.

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2010
All Rights Reserved
Italic quotes –
Abraham Lincoln 1860’s

son of tucson

January 22nd, 2011 at 4:15 pm by Ed Corrigan
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son of tucson

look at me.
i have a gun.
do you think
you can run
faster than my bullet,
which will fly
to the left side
of your brain?

look at me.
my head is shaved,
are you afraid
because i am
lex luther,
super villian,
and you are
not superman?
all will be stopped
by the speeding bullet
flying thru the gun
from the
fingers of my hand.

look at me.
i greet your
loved ones
with a smirk.
i am here
and you are not.
i have won,
you are done
not looking at me

look at me.
i am immortal
on the front pages
throughout the ages.
and who are you?
a victim whose
pain and name
will soon be forgotten,
a footnote to my fame.

look at me
i have a gun.
all my evil
spread in a wake
of solid lead.
will it not
be said
when i am dead,
“his infamy lives

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2011
All rights reserved

Recently Faithfully Departed

January 3rd, 2011 at 6:37 pm by Ed Corrigan
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Recently Faithfully Departed

Death does as death is.
The best laid plans
will not be undertaken
for the undertaker
must not be delayed.
He must have his good time
embalming this heart
affixing this little smile
so all the while
the loved ones may say -
Oh now, doesn’t he
look so fine
in his black pressed suit
and shiny black shoes?
The white shirt is good, tho
blue may have been better
and the green tie
is a bit too green
bright as a spoon.
Oh me, oh my…
he never did look better.

All the perfect plans
were in place when
the clock expired.
Now here I sit in this
Costco discounted coffin
wondering what it is
that I’m supposed to be doing.
Oh, no need to cook
special tonight, my dear
I won’t be home for dinner,
won’t be home at all.
For here I lay in this box
so wooden and so woolen
my veins are drained
and ready for the fluids
that will keep the deadly grin
attached to my face.
While watching those who visit
whistle and
stare into space
through my almost shut
and squinty eyes
these others look very hazy
and not hardly worthwhile.
The problem is that
my body is stiff,
my blood is spent
but my mind is still open
for business.
It won’t shut down and
seems more sarcastic
than ever.
But surely you see
the humor in it all.

I think that I need to be
but there is nowhere to be.
For I have passed on
in between spaces and places.
All will come to me
if I can sit still for
just a minute…
My good man, give me
another quart of that fluid
that should just about do it.
Then I promise to be
on my best behavior.
It’s about time
don’t you agree?

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2010
All rights reserved

writer’s block

December 22nd, 2010 at 4:54 pm by Ed Corrigan
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writer’s block

the words are eluding me
evading me
mistaking me
for the criminal interloper
who strings words along
in a jumble line
of lies and broken promises.
the words flee beyond
my grasp.
so, i’m waiting waiting…
for the words arrival
at last,
to satiate this vapid stream.
to pour once more
into the tributary of
my matter –
thru the mind
into the soul
down the arm
thru the eyes
focused on this paper.
i will do my best
not to scatter
their true meaning,
their message in a bottle.
dear words,
i will not abuse you
as even the cuss word
will be held most sacred.

Copyright © ed Corrigan 2010
All rights reserved


December 14th, 2010 at 8:22 pm by Ed Corrigan
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When she cries on my shoulder
I just want to hold her
and let her tears roll down,
gently roll down my back
then become part of my being.
So cry on me –
Cry on me baby
and let your tears
water my dry existence.

Copyright © Ed Corrigan 2010
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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