Leigh McCormick - Poetry

Songs From the Upper Shelf

From the heart of darkness you call to me.
– Breathe - by Disturbed

Maaxah’s Acorns

I long to wield
The double bladed axe.
Swing it in a wide arc
Lust to hear the
Crack
of Maiden metal meeting bone.
Loping off
In one stroke
Your offending ignorance.

Flag Waiver
Written after 9/11

I’ve never been a flag waiver
For my country Right or Wrong.
But as the dust settles and hope fades
And the sorrow settles deeply.
As we summon courage to face
An uncertain tomorrow
There is a flag outside my door
A symbol of new meaning
Or an old one that I missed
Grief for those who die
in a time of war.
I’m not a New Yorker
I’m not a fire fighter
I’m not a police officer
I’m not a pilot
I’m not a world economist
I didn't know one person
who died in the tragedy
But what allows me to share their pain
I am an American
Allowed to fly America's flag.
For her people
For my people
Americans

Monday's Child

Beware-

This one must not touch, or care,
or speak her heart.
This one must not know, or think,
or speak her mind.
This one must not cry, or anger,
or speak her soul.

For
should she cry, she wold persuade,
should she know, she would control,
should she touch, she would possess.

This one must be safely held
beyond the realm of tresspass,
so that all may be safe from her averice.
For whatever you are most in fear of losing -
Surely,it will be she, to whom you will lose it.

Investigate? The proof is amply given
by the wicked mark she bears...

Beauty.

Tony Down the Street

I remember
How we laughed…
You were always
More clever than me.

I never could match
You wonderful sense of absurdity.
And I believe I fell
For every ploy
You ever set.

For someone who
wasn’t number one…
You could always
get the best of me.

And you know,
I think you did.

Growing Pains

I was weak only once.

It was not with my first taste of reality,
or with my first great goal unachieved.
Neither was it when that one,
dear life was suddenly gone,
or the grand illusion dissipated on the wind.

In the face of mockery, bias, futility and repression,
as my foundation was ripped away,
and god was the crutch of fools...
I grew strong.

And, if I could not speak,
I could laugh or cry,
or put my fist through a wall.

No - it was when I knew
bone deep, beyond comprehension,
and with the finality of a tomb,
that I was ever and totally alone.

Remedy

Sometimes when it hurts—

You curse the unjust fates
And feel less ineffective.
You fight the plaintive tears
And feel less alone.
You turn from faith and trust
And feel less vulnerable.

Sometimes when it hurts—

You run to someone close
and feel less empty.
You hide in pensive verse
and feel less alone.

But, sometimes, when it hurts—

No curse so foul
Or fight so strong
Or turn so great
lends ease.
Neither distance run
Nor hideaway finds peace.

Sometimes when it hurts—

You have to
Just stand still
And
Let it hurt.

Sonnet III

Like winter’s kiss without the hope of spring,
The thought of what must come betrays my heart,
And cloaks the happiness my soul would sing,
With visions of the time when we must part.

Too soon the coming day my tears will stain,
When I must live without thy soft caress.
Yet I would shed this gloom and not profane
The sweetness of the love I now profess.

So come, my dearest love, while winter nips
The long year’s end. I shall not vainly weep.
For now thy kisses warm upon my lips
Will stay the cold and kindle sorrow’s sleep.

And I shall to these treasured moments cling,
Till once again we share the hope of spring.

Houdini’s Revenge
Published – Sand & Sage 1984

I knew it well,
My box of a hundred locks.

One lock
Was put there by Mom.
Another by Dad.
My sister said I shouldn’t
and put another one there.
My brother said I couldn’t,
and added two more.
Then a teacher, a neighbor,
a friend or two
added their locks to my box.
When Pretty added hers,
Athletic added his.
Intelligence wouldn’t
make up its mind
Putting on and taking off locks
every other day.
Convention had a field day
and lined her locks in nice, neat rows.
Religion put on just a few,
but they were bigger than the others.
Conscience gave some of the best,
For by this time,
I had become a locksmith too.

And I was safe in my safety deposit box
Where no one could hurt me.
Or hear me.
Or help me.

So I began to push.
Gently, at first.
Then harder.
But my locks were centuries old
and knew their business.
Slowly I conjured
from the pit of my soul
one vile, unspeakable, indefensible crime—
and hurled it at my protectors.
My locks shattered
like fragile hand spun glass.

I was free! And the first thing I did…
was hurt myself.
And it felt great.

Now, I’m cleaning up
the mess I made,
while affecting my escape.

And guess what I’ve done
with my wise an ancient locks?

I’ve put them in my safety deposit box.

Sonnet I

If thou wouldst send the token which adorns
thy sentiment, then with tradition break.
Send me thy rose stripped not of all its thorns
That I may know the pains my love would take
To capture my delight. And thus, content
My hand to gently lift, in solitude,
Each thorn, that none my know the compliment.
Thereby thy heart's thought I'd hold in quietude.
And should, amongst the thorns, on tiny stain
Of thy sweet life appear upon the tip,
Thy token more rare would be, and so reign
The sublime adornment to they heart's scrip

Against they treasured gift none would prevail.
For all of heaven's wealth, to thee, is pale.

Think one little bottle of Chivas
Will soften me?
Think the right words in the right place
Will impress me?
Think you can dazzle me
With your pretentious charm?

Damn right.

Today he smiles and the clouds
part to allow the sunshine.
Now a smirk suggests that love
will rule the night.
And then, the pout reminds me
that I must answer. Again a dimple
winks in my direction and I’m in trouble.
Tomorrow, he grins and I can bet
the plot thickens.

When Others Holding Hands

When others holding hands
Through the eons
Of my solitary watching
Affirmed that love existed

Somewhere
For Someone

If not a member of the club
I was content
the club held out
Against the cynic sociologists
who knew love was a myth.

. . .And now in Love
the need is not so dear.
I feel your touch across the void
Still reaching me.
Your unseen hand cups
Gently around mine

Yet I insist
on holding hands
Affirming YES!
That love exists
Affirming that the club
is not a myth
For the solitary
Others
Watching us.

Poet
Published – Calliope 1987

I, like a crystal prism,
Capture your light
And return to you
The spectrum
Of your dreams,
Colored by my own.

Treasure
Published – Calliope 1988

Time with you
A most precious gift
That once given
May not be altered,
But hangs suspended
Like a gemstone
Against the infinite

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