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PoetryThe Yellow Rose For Keith Olbermann, on the night of his last "SportsCenter," June 29, 1997. Little velvet sunshine on his keith green lapel. A shining light after death, illuminating the darkest of mourning hearts-- distraught from a cancer death. Preparation cannot prevent that inevitable sting. Relieved-- by a little velvet sunshine, a yellow rose, on his keith green lapel. Haystacks Inspired by Monet's Haystacks at Giverny Springtime's breath pushes cottage cheese clouds against the pale blue sky. It ruffles the earth-brown live-giver, while making the trees' shadows dance to a blustery pagan tune. Despite this great breath, giving life to a pastoral meadow, the haystacks just sit- round, robust, and rose, unmoved by life. Ice I cannot skate. My ankles go flaccid when my foot touch ice. My brother can skate and pass, shoot, and score fifty. He is the hero, star athlete. I am only the sister. Pretty, of course. The husbands and fathers appear to like me, they touch me when the wife's not looking, and once dined downtown with me. Just fun for them, little else while I had delusions of commitment. They asked me questions with their hearts and ears closed, and then, they skated away leaving me freezing cold. My emotions have turned to ice which I want to glaze everyone over with so they feel the chill of being merely, the pretty sister. In Secaucus, New Jersey Xeryus is his scent, as he shines in the light, talking about the sexual tension on Pennsylvania Avenue. Anguished look on his face- but he's only got a little longer. Yet his secrets are told. The nasty memos and teenage heartbreak posted on the Net. Wild women gossip about his manly dilemmas. He hears an airplane's engines Whirring Flying into the dark. Leaving behind that licentiousness on America's east coast. While powerless to stop those female cyber-ramblings. Copyright 1997, 1998, 1999 Brianne Beazley. All Rights Reserved. |