| ::Poems By Judy:: ::The Wish:: Would that my pen were tipped with a magic wand That I could but tell of my love for you That I could but write with the surge I feel When I gaze upon your sweet face - Would that my throat were blessed by the nightingale That I could but sing of my heart's great love In some lonely tree flooded with silver Sing till I burst my breast with such passion Sing, then fall dead to lay at your feet. ::The First Cigarette:: I was a woman Glamorous, sparkling, With eyes that shone, guarding secrets untold, Lips that were petulant, pouting and bold With a body moulded to gentlemen's delight And pedicured toe-nails shining and bright. I patronized night clubs, Danced until three. And hundreds of men Were mad about me. Then, in a panic My dream began to cool, I mashed out the cigarette And was late for school. |
| ::An Illusion:: How strange when an illusion dies It's as though you've lost a child Whom you've cherished and protected Against the wilds of the storms and hurts In this frightening world. Your child is dead. An hysterical frenzy possesses you Your precious, virtuous dream has been taken, Torn from your defensive, guarding breast. Next a morose loneliness descends You're a pitiful stumbling creature Lost in the woods of despair. Suddenly you see a light. You straighten, and walk with steady footsteps into the sun Time has done her work. Your dream is gone - yes - And you light a candle in your heart In a rememberance of something never to be recovered, But deep in your soul, in its embryonic state, another illusion is maturing Waiting to grow strong and radiant Only to be crushed and join the other. |
| ::Imagination:: What is imagination, that it should make me so wasteful? We cast away priceless time in dreams, Born of imagination, fed upon illusion, and put to death by reality. How many lives this illusive creature has. We create him through ecstatic joy, morbid loneliness, through mere pensive thought. We nourish him, we glorify him, we build him, we add to him to make him strong. We place him on a pedestal with a heavenly light upon his innocent head. Then we crush him with a change of thought, But he will be born again. ::My Love is Lost:: My love is lost. I held it as a handful of sand, clenching my fist to hold it there. Yet, bit by bit, it slipped through my straining fingers. Now, nothing but memories of every smile, every kiss, and, above all, every word. For 'twas not into my ear you whispered but into my heart. 'Twas not my lips you kissed, but my soul. And when I opened my tired hand and found my love was gone I trembled and died. I struggle to hide my deadness. To conceal the emptiness in my eyes, that sparkle with tears always so close but never come. My mind quivers and screams, fight, fight to live But why? My handful of existence has vanished. My love is lost. My love is lost. |