The Angel of the Unexpected

[PrinceMyshkin]

We knew that she’d be coming
We also knew that we couldn’t tell when
or hurry her. As my mother used to say
when I’d been promised something
and kept asking, “When? When?”
The sooner you stop asking for it,
she’d say, The sooner you’re going to get it!

You have felt the tip of her wings
brush your shoulder blade
as she whisked by. You have seen
the slight disturbance of the air
as she cleaved it on her way
to someone, somewhere
else. You live for her.

You go about your duties faithfully,
good father, mother, son,
daughter, citizen, contribute money
to the poor, balance your accounts
as best you can, eat well
and exercise, but all that
is somehow beside the point.

None of that is what you live for.
You live for her.
You live for her.
You live for her, alone.
Jerry Newman © June 24, 2007

[Bii]

Wow Myshkin! - This is beautiful, simply beautiful. I especially loved the final stanza, so simple but packed with emotion. Thanks for sharing this one.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Wow Myshkin! - This is beautiful, simply beautiful. I especially loved the final stanza, so simple but packed with emotion. Thanks for sharing this one.


Many, many thanks for that! May the sun shine on all your petunias!

[Adolescent09]

PrinceMrshkin, you're work is worthy of much praise as it brings great joy to us humble and priveleged readers. Your exclusive word usage and retrospective symbolism in 'she' and 'her' leave one wishing to be better acquainted with the character which merits such livid description. You put her presence in a corporeal tone, but make her seem almost ethereal like a cheeky, taunting reflection of our morals. (Your poem reminded me of the manna in John Milton's Paradise Lost).

What a great piece! I hope you can generate more work of the same caliber.

[PrinceMyshkin]

PrinceMrshkin, you're work is worthy of much praise as it brings great joy to us humble and priveleged readers. Your exclusive word usage and retrospective symbolism in 'she' and 'her' leave one wishing to be better acquainted with the character which merits such livid description. You put her presence in a corporeal tone, but make her seem almost ethereal like a cheeky, taunting reflection of our morals. (Your poem reminded me of the manna in John Milton's Paradise Lost).

What a great piece! I hope you can generate more work of the same caliber.

Wow! You humble and delight me. I would like to think of you as my brother.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Harvey Korman, Feb. 15, 1927 - May 29, 2008, RIP
The comedian, on his death-bed,
thinks of his most boffo laughs.

He had the audience in the palm of his hands.

“I killed them,” he thinks.
“I effing murdered them!”
But the audience had the last laugh,

The audience always has the last laugh.




Jerry Newman © 30May08

[CdnReader]

Oh, the memories....the memories.... He was the world's WORST straight man....especially when paired with Tim Conway. Do you remember?

Lovely tribute, Jer.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Oh, the memories....the memories.... He was the world's WORST straight man....especially when paired with Tim Conway. Do you remember?


We met at nine.We met at eight.
I was on time.No, you were late.
Ah yes! I remember it well.

We dined with friends.We dined alone.
A tenor sang.A baritone.
Ah yes! I remember it well.

That dazzling April moon!There was none that night,
And the month was June.

That's right! That's right!
It warms my heart to know that
you remember still the way you do.
Ah yes! I remember it well.

How often I've thought of that Friday, Monday
night,

Ah yes! I remember it well.

[Sweets America]

We knew that she’d be coming
We also knew that we couldn’t tell when
or hurry her. As my mother used to say
when I’d been promised something
and kept asking, “When? When?”
The sooner you stop asking for it,
she’d say, The sooner you’re going to get it!

You have felt the tip of her wings
brush your shoulder blade
as she whisked by. You have seen
the slight disturbance of the air
as she cleaved it on her way
to someone, somewhere
else. You live for her.

You go about your duties faithfully,
good father, mother, son,
daughter, citizen, contribute money
to the poor, balance your accounts
as best you can, eat well
and exercise, but all that
is somehow beside the point.

None of that is what you live for.
You live for her.
You live for her.
You live for her, alone.
Jerry Newman © June 24, 2007


You are grand, Jerry-Shou. This poem is wonderful and makes me wonder about what or who this she/her could be. Really, you can interpret that a lot of different ways...