“When I am dead,”
The wizard said,
“I’ll look upon the narrow way
And this Dante,
And know that he was right
And he’ll delight
In my remorse,
Of course.”
“When I am dead,”
The student said,
“I shall have grown so tolerant,
I’ll find I can’t
Laugh at your sorry plight
Or take delight
In your chagrin,
Merlin.”
By Marianne Moore
You make me think of many men
Once met, to be forgot again
Or merely resurrected
In a parenthesis of wit
That found them hastening through it
Too brisk to be inspected.
by Marianne Moore
Three years ago I wrote here that I would dedicate myself more to this website, to this blog. Three years ago was also the last time I wrote a blog post here, or anywhere now that I come to think of it. I could blame disability or schooling or general life, and I’d have some pretty reasonable points. But I also could have focused myself and prioritised. I didn’t.
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May I ever remember
hope is for the needy.
May I ever remember
love is for the forlorn.
May I ever remember
desire is for those left without.
And may I ever remember
of those, I am all.
I had fallen farther
than I knew I could.
I had turned from He
whom I had thought I’d known.
Yet when I reached out,
a hand did take my own:
the Light of Christ
my ever faithful home.
© Blake Leitch October 2, 2017
I still remember that feeling,
I still don’t know its name,
I still wish worlds were closer
than half a world away.
My heart is less than here,
but more than I ever knew;
I am more for such a life,
but myself, I’m torn in two.
© Blake Leitch July 30, 2017
Until the mountains wash away,
until the sun has lost her rays,
until tomorrow turns today,
may I remember you.
Until the waves become the rain,
until the hurt is long lost pain,
until December’s gone again,
may I remember you.
Until there’s hope material,
until there’s purpose for this soul,
’til seeming nothing is truly all,
may I remember you.
Until the heartbeat beats in time
with a ballad’s soothing rhyme,
until I feel love’s hand in mine,
may I remember you.
© Blake Leitch May 30, 2017
The nature of this is a complex thing.
Life hurts; physically mostly,
but sometimes more.
Limbs fall by the wayside,
a jaw slackens,
and organs work only haphazardly.
But all this is countered
in some form or another:
there is laughter in life,
a new and evolving world
picks up where I fall apart,
and the pen is increasingly digital.
Yet I fear certain things;
a certain, specific incompatibility
with the world.
An embrace is always an ability away,
and a slow dance, a close dance
was never designed for me.
Still, today the pain
is only physical.
Today, I may live
and love
and embrace and dance
through others’ arms.
© Blake Leitch April 21, 2017
blakeleitchpoetry.com 