Requiem for Democracy

Of all the awful ways we thought
America might die,
she went with just a whimper,
a shudder and a sigh.

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Philosophical Question

If power corrupts,
and absolute power
corrupts absolutely,
Then if a totally evil
Man comes to power
And is corrupted
Absolutely, will he
Become a saint?

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Forfeiture

Seeking love,
She lost her innocence;
Seeking security,
She lost her freedom;
Seeking passion,
She lost her honor;
Seeking solace,
She lost her sanity;
Seeking an end,
She lost her life.
Requiscat in pace

poem by John Bliven Morin
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A Victorian Attic, page 2 of 2

Sometimes I wonder at the speed
The years have flown, so fast;
I miss my sister, taken young,
And our childhood in the past.

The dormer attic’s gone, alas;
The great old house is too,
With all its hidden treasures,
Where I played with Sister Sue.

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Hina (Hawai'ian moon goddess)

The forest doves are quiet now;
Far down the hill, a dog barks in the darkness,
And the long dark forms of mountain-pigs
Pass through the tall Ti plants in the stillness.

She sings to me a siren's song
Far older than these wooded hills.
I step outside the isolation of my tent;
Enveloped in her translucent arms,
My senses are unbound.

The sun is harsh and hot, O Hina,
But you are peace.

poem by John Bliven Morin
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To the Faerie Lady

I once believed in fairies,
Pixies, elves, and such,
But as I grew, I thought I knew
That they were just too much.
I lived my humdrum life each day,
To work and then back home;
The years flew by, and with them I
Forgot of elves and gnomes;
Until I met a tender soul
Who believed in fairy lore,
And showed me things like fairy rings
Till I believed once more.

Copyright (C) 2004, John Bliven Morin

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Summer Carol

It’s a long, long way to Christmas,
But I hear those Christmas bells;
There’s no bird roasting in the oven,
Yet I smell those cooking smells.
There’s no bright gifts
beneath a Christmas tree,
Yet those coloured lights
On green are what I see;
The company of friends,
The love of family;
Carollers singing
From a horse-and-cart;
It’s a long, long way to Christmas,
But it’s always in my heart.

Copyright (C) 2005, John Bliven Morin

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Gefilte Fish

My version of a Jewish folk song;
the 2nd stanza should start slow,
then get faster & faster to the end.

Gefilte fish, I love you;
I love you, gefilte fish;
I swear by the stars above you,
You're such a tasty dish,
Hey!

You once were free
Out in the sea,
Until somebody caught you,
But now, wise guy,
'You'll see that I
Will eat you 'cause I bought you,
Hey!

Gefilte fish, I love you
I love you, gefilte fish

[...] Read more

poem by John Bliven Morin
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You Don't Have to Be a Christian to Love Christmas

You don't have to be a Christian to love Christmas,
It's a festival for all the girls and boys;
Even Buddha, meditatin' can hardly bear the waitin'
For jolly Santa and his bag of toys.

You don't have to be a Christian to love Christmas,
It's such fun to decorate the Christmas tree;
The Shinto in Japan and the kids of the Koran,
Their eyes light up when all the gifts they see.

You don't have to be a Christian to love Christmas,
It's a holiday for all the world to share;
The Druid and the Jain and the atheist down the lane
Are wrapping gifts for family everywhere.

You don't have to be a Christian to love Christmas,
There's a friendliness in everyone you meet;
The Hindu and the Wiccan can bake a sumptious chicken
And invite the Jewish family down the street!

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Ipse Requie

I'd like to die in September,
For die I eventually must,
When Connecticut's leaves, I remember,
Are beginning to turn into rust;
And Coronado's barrier island
Has battled her hurricanes all,
And our home was safe on the high land;
Yes, I'd like to go in the fall.
When the pecans are coming in season
By Chattahoochee's shore,
And these Islands, for God's love and reason,
Where the wind and the surf can both roar.
It's the month of my birth and my mother's,
It's the time I would joyfully go;
I can leave this old world to you others,
Free of pain, free of care, free of woe.
So, Dear God, if you're list'ning in Heaven,
One last blessing I ask of You now;
I thank You for all You have given,
And for all that I've left to endow.

[...] Read more

poem by John Bliven Morin
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