Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

Sometimes we get the impression that a poem is something written on paper. This is not altogether the truth. The printing on paper is really a poem second hand. The real poem is an event of the mind. Our two short poems this week is an exciting illustration of the point in question. Ray Cavanaugh from Boston does medical claims billings and writes poetry for such publications as Christianity & Literature, The Iconoclast, and Journal of the American Medical Association. He got into poetry after reading Oscar Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray, when he discovered how charming words could be. He plans to follow his poetic muse wherever she takes him. It's a world full of places!

Van Gogh

The hand of my rage
has torn away
the last painted layer
or sanity,
and sent my portrait,
with its colorless eyes,
into a chaos
of scrawled lines.

The Vocation

Crusted with wax
from candlelight,
this insufferable hand
is compelled to write
till the gods that be say,
Let there be night,
and my candle s blown out
blown out of sight.

© Ray Cavanaugh