Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

The Queen in Exile She waits on her throne For an audience with cardinals. She will not speak human Words, Nor will they bow to her. Instead, she will watch From behind a window, And wait. With flicking tongue she Will anoint her subjects’ hands. With a swish of her tail, she Treads the floors of her palace. She is Gloriana, in a way. No less a queen than Victoria, or Elizabeth I and II. She is the purring version of Catherine Parr, And just as faithful as Queen Mary. She is both lioness—her Own royal standard— And pet. She is the Queen, Clad in the finest fur. She issues proclamations As meows, which The peasants cannot understand. It is her own Queen’s English; Like Latin to a layperson. She sleeps in sunshine. She wakes at dusk. Her kingdom is of the night. While she battles invading Wind-up mice, she is protector, And sovereign. When She partakes of catnip It is her teatime. She is

It's been ages since I've written poetry. I've always preferred to write prose, though I feel that as a writer one should be able to write almost anything. I take great inspiration from poetry, and see it as an influence on my writing style. In these days of analytical writing (of which I am a part of) I feel that we analytical writers can learn a lot from poetry.  As John Lennon once sang, "Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream."  That's a lesson we can all learn.  Allow your mind to drift, and read some verse.  Over the next few entries I'll post some verses I've composed. He's one that I did recently as practice.  A Prayer for A Rose A prayer for a rose, A rose of white. A prayer to guide us Through the night. A rose of virtue, A rose so fair. A rose beyond compare. A prayer for a rose, A rose of red. A prayer to guide us To thy bed. A rose of peace. A rose of love. A rose that runs T

Meditations on a Timeless Muse My friend Megan had made me a promise a few years back. She's said, “If Loreena McKennitt comes back to Pittsburgh, we'll go see her.” That promise was fulfilled on November fifth, Guy Fawkes Day! We didn't blow anything up, but we did have a wonderful time. Incidentally, our American election was on that Tuesday...less said about that, the better. I've been a fan of Ms. McKennitt since I was a teenager. My first exposure to her music was from the documentary No Journey's End —in which she was depicted on tour, while writing her then current album The Mask and Mirror (1994, pictured above). That same album was to become my first Loreena McKennitt album. I played it so many times, almost in marathons back in the 90's. I memorized the entire thing. I'd play it back-to-back with The Visit and The Book of Secrets . I even read along with the lyric books. This concert, as part of the Troubadour

A Post 11/9 World (Yes, you read that right) A few months ago I gave up my seat on the bus, so that a young Muslim couple could sit next to each other. The man thanked me profusely. He smiled, and was incredibly grateful. I didn't think much of it at first, seeing as how this was just courtesy on my part. I'd given up my seat to elderly people, women, men, and couples before. It just seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't until this morning that the gravity of that gesture came to me. His wife wore a hijab, and he also wore traditional clothing. Both of them were African-American as well. I might be reading too deeply into this, but it's possible that few people had been that courteous to them. I see that same man almost every day downtown—where he sells handmade soaps and essential oils from a street vendor's cart. I don't know how well he does, but I hope it's enough for both he and his wife to survive. Believe me, I