By Greg Johnson
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To the east the Witch-King of Angmar is poised like a hungry wolf, nervous to eat the final final Dunedain country. in contrast danger stand a couple of whose noble background is obscured through the direction garments of the frontier. A secretive, wandering everyone is those Rangers; woodwise as Elves. Tutored by way of the Wizard Gandalf, and utilizing birds and beasts as their brokers, they protect and shield the jap borders opposed to the forces of Darkness.
"As he approached, I heard the flapping of wings, like an overgrown eagle. The sound dissolved whilst he landed on the fringe of the open window. a hurry of wind flew previous me and extinguished the flames within the fire. Stars glimmered in the back of him yet his physique used to be encircled in black. " *** whilst Psyche gets a prophecy long past horribly incorrect, she learns that even the main attractive lady in Greece may have a hideous destiny.
Extra info for Aid and comfort: poems
Glide across the greening lawn without seeing my shadow, or glance in the mirror and manage a strained meager smile. Or take out the garbage, somehow resisting the urge to paw through the stinking debris in a search for clues. It's a mistake, I think, to try for too much all at once. It's true that in bed I'll burrow down like an overfed mole and wait, aged thirty-seven, for Mom to come get me for school. And some nights I dream I've killed the wife and kids. Some mornings I cut myself shaving and worms crawl out.
I hurried out, brushed at my own forehead as though the pain or passion had singed me, too, and even now as I hear the learned commentary about a pathetic master-torturer of cats that touch returns, faintlya moth's wing, an ashen kiss, some stray embrace of the air, from nowhere. Again I paw at my forehead, rub wildly at nothing. And I listen closely now to this media drone as though it might reveal the deepest secrets of our hurtful passion, but now Dr. Somebody ends on a cautious, reassuring note: Remember it's an isolated case, after all, such rage, such focused helplessness and pain remember it's possible, after all, to make too much of this.
His friends nodded, washed his dishes, took him to the park on those brilliant April mornings for walks among the dads and the kids and the officious, prancing dachshunds, and the scent of Whitman's bright grass growing its long, eternally seductive hair. We sensed him thinking, adjudging, the droll phrases being tested in his quick accountant's brain as he plotted that unforgettable good-bye. " Half-heartedly we begged him to reveal Page 8 what he refused to stop calling his "exit line," since we knew what pleasure he took in shaking his close-shaved dark near head, his face coy as a small child's full of important secrets.
Aid and comfort: poems by Greg Johnson