'2010/08/26 Moisten Poem by Margaret Alice

Once again I turned to that dour, but so funny,
self-assured Scotchman, the morally pure and
lovable William Topaz McGonagall, to breathe
in the rarified air of his own little universe where
“angels glare with love-beaming eyes” and he
gazed upon the beautiful moon until “A tear of
joy does moisten his eye” and Hanlie and I
burst out laughing ourselves

I am glaring at my rowdy colleagues with love-
beaming eyes, especially those who fill the day
with interminable gales of laughter until it feels
as if the tornado from Hurricane Peak is blowing
through the open-plan office and I get caught in
the tourbillons in my mind, whirling and whirling
in a maelstrom of thoughts; you said, a sparkle
in your eye, I could not write a poem

When I am happy, maybe you should cancel the
visit to my dad so I can be sad and then I should
be able to write a striking piece carried on wings
of sorrow, I assured you I can bear with the pain
of not writing rhymes on little themes as long as
we are going to visit my dad, and thank you, now
I am glaring at you with love-beaming eyes also…