Eye of the Beholder

Eye of the Beholder

by: Lori Waggoner

A tomboy in jeans and striped polo, I strive

Like a man to conquer men;

Then turn to discover, under your gaze,

I have become a princess.

Le Cafe

Le Café

by: Lori Waggoner

Palm to palm.

Eye to eye.

Sharing black coffee

And fresh peach pie.

1988

1988

by: Lori Waggoner

As the sun's light fades,

I slide slowly into terror.

One man's love of darkness

Removed forever my tolerance of it.

Nearby a Good Samaritan

Pierces the darkness 

With songs of hope,

Stilling troubled heart and trembling limb.

Pity

Pity

by: Lori Waggoner 

Pity-filled glances cling chidingly;

"Poor Fool" they say.

"Doesn't she know?" 

"Move on," they say.

"Because he could." 

"No love," they say.

As if reciprocity were determinant.

Faces on a Sunday Morning

Faces on a Sunday Morning IV.

by: Lori Waggoner

Behind shyly-averted glances

From her pale, cherubic face,

Lurks a stifled exuberance

Which soon demands release.

Redemption

Redemption

by: Lori Waggoner
Honor that has been squandered

Cannot be redeemed at any price.

Stripped of that esteemed robe,

The Honorless stand exposed.

Raise the scaffold to the heavens!

Bare the shame of The Disloyal 

Who bereft themselves of dignity

For a false and fleeting joy!

The fire of noon reveals all,

Its retributive heat

Avenging the Thoughtlessly Discarded,

Drawing forth The Guilty's dross.

Onlookers gaze, gasping aloud

In contempt of such betrayal;

Quietly praising the deserving blow

Of Justice's Heavy Hand.

A new light, obscuring noon's, descends

Enveloping The Naked, and declaring,

"Though your sins be as scarlet,

They shall be as white as snow."

The crowd cowers fearfully as The Guilty
Re-emerge, Shameless. Gloriously robed.
Wielding freshly-cast measuring rods

Of iron-clad Mercy.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia

by: Lori Waggoner
A favored toy;

The latest gun;

Chosen.  Cherished.

Used. Shelved.

Perhaps remembered,

Fondly missed.

Perhaps forgotten

Without a thought.

Faces

Faces on a Sunday Morning III.

by: Lori Waggoner

Swollen moats frame the fountainhead,

Restraining rivulets

Which no mere bottle could contain.

Taking A Breath

Taking a Breath

by: Lori Waggoner

The delicate maiden sprang to life

With violent voice
and terror-filled eyes.

Panic-stricken, he swung to subdue.

Stunned by her strength and resilience,

He moved again
to secure his triumph;

Her unconscious form would cooperate.

He left quietly as he had come,

Taking nothing
but her innocence.

And her breath.

The Freckle

by: Lori Waggoner

Glass reflects that dark blemish 

Which thou didst love and make thine own.

Conjuring hourly secrets shared 

And seeds unduly sown.

Faces on a Sunday Morning

Faces on a Sunday Morning II.

by: Lori Waggoner

Near-hearty laughter escapes involuntary,

Contradicting sorrow-laden eyes.

Faces on a Sunday Morning

Faces on a Sunday Morning I.

by: Lori Waggoner

Tightly-pursed lips in vain conceal

What supercilious brow and

Heav'n-raised promontory

Willingly flaunt.

Eve's Daughter

Eve's Daughter
by: Lori Waggoner
I.
Scarlet hues caught and held my gaze -
Heavy with nectar,
Ripened to perfection
Enticingly within reach.
Previously-ignored hunger heightened,
Demanding satiety.
Soft and warm in my palm,
Its sweet aroma ascended
Forcing my palate alive with anticipation.

"Beware nature's deception,” conscience warned.
“That which entices the eye,
Poisons the blood."
Sense dominates reason and bid me taste.
Ah, perpetual bliss!
Treachery cannot be so sweetly disguised!
Each bite intoxicated more than the first,
As a pervasive contentment settled me
Heavily in a hypnotic reverie.

II.
O wretched, writhing, endless agony!
Can beauty breed death?
Or satisfaction birth destruction?
The soul's windows thrown open
Yet strangely blind,
Shrouded in darkness.
Heaving and pain hollow my insides,
While memories of the honeyed nectar
Linger...haunt...drive.

Devoid of strength, I crawl to the vine
Which stands naked
Mocking me in its barrenness.
Craving persists...intensifies.
In desperation, I seek and devour again
My first misery.
Like a soulless dog returns to its vomit,
Captive to The Forbidden.

O aching, joyless existence!
O lethal deception!
Who shall deliver from this
Body of Death?
I awaken to a dreadful reality:
Terrible in its shining ferocity,
The sword-armed Angel forbids my return.
I chafe under the threat of his burning gaze,
But weakness paralyzes and prevents escape.

III.
Diverted eyes irresistibly drawn back,
This time to an altered vision:
A Man in white,
Flaming eyes and outstretched arms, invites,
"Come to Me and I will give you rest."
"I demand satisfaction, not rest!" I rebel.
"He who eats of Me will never hunger."

An echo from the past stirs within:
"This is My Body, given for you,
Take and eat."
Could this colorless, odorless morsel -
This "Bread of Life" - be aptly named?
I take.  I eat.
The balm of Gilead washes my soul, 
Soothing, filling the void.
As death is swallowed up,
I rise and walk in newness of life.

Trova's Wood

Trova's Wood

By:  Lori Waggoner

Silent, unmovable in perpetual repose

'Neath his shady post the bard reclines.

Jonquils, smiling heavenward, contentedly wave,

Welcoming with quiet joy all who enter.

Finches warble forth their sanguine Song of Spring

While feral-footed squirrels caper in time.

Fallen soldiers lie sheltered in stately mien -

Days of provision and protection past.

As twilight and golden nectar descend,

Copper and azure serenely converge;

Oblivious to, yet borne aloft midst

The beauties of Trova's Wood.

A Song of Lament

A Song of Lament

by:  Lori Waggoner

I am the queen of an empty cave.

This vast & endless cavern must needs be filled

Lest the burdens from Above 

From every side! 

Collapse the roof and walls,

Filling its black recesses with useless rubble

Too weighty and stubborn to remove.

This house is diminished,

Yet it is not utterly abandoned.

Ravening wolves have taken up residence.

Stalking.  Prowling.  Searching

For any glimmer of life

By which they may sate their appetites.

Nothing escapes their watchful eyes.

This palace was gilded in days gone by -

Full of self-harvested treasures.

Many nourished themselves at its table,

Warmed themselves by its hearth,

Unburdened their souls in its mirth.

But those days have fled...

And it is my doing.

I welcomed counselors who, in the end,

Dealt treacherously with me.

Ravaged.  Pillaged.  Plundered.  Forsaken.

Beauty, feasting and mirth have vanished,

Displaced by darkness, hunger and silence.

The sun's rising and setting carry with them

Equal portions of dread.

As for me?  I am weak.

My vigor spent.  My spirit crushed.

I now know that it is beyond my capacity

To revive that which has been destroyed.

Another must come!  Indeed, Another must be sent!

One possessing the strength, skill and wealth

To renew this house beyond its former glory.

For this I wait.  And I wait.  And I wait.

I am the queen of an empty cave.