By John J. Ronan

There was a certain rich man who was clothed
in purple and fine linen . . . Luke 16:19

A sleeveless beauty flaunts her weather map,
Its precip, pressure, promised southern temps
And urgent winds, a quick barometer drop,
In pleated leather slacks, Versace pumps.
Bemoans the ad–attracting hurricane
And warns of puddle depth, a blackout, pleads
For bottled water, whistles, food, explains
That roads across the state are choked, the e–
Vac traffic up and down, and up and down
The coast exposed to lightning strikes and tides,
A threat of fire, floods, engorged ground —
Cry havoc! Oh, surging Category Five!
Now heading inland the storm abates and shrinks.
The weather woman blows her whistle, winks.

By John J. Ronan

Lexical Stress
He desires the pretty object.
She objects.
He treasures his DSP complex.
She says you’re barely complex.
With incense, incense: faith and rage,
They teeter on a parable’s edge.
As in: Exploit. Exploit.
Subject. Subject.
Consort. Consort.
Be wise and cautious when you invent
The lexical self. Later, you’ll be content.

By John J. Ronan

A vivid obit enlivens the day.
Like the plural wife, a devout Mormon,
“Who pioneered the art of grain storage.”
Or the ruggedly handsome movie star
“Whose first seven marriages ended in divorce.”
You see? They walk among us as before.
Most papers add a place and date,
Unbroken pre–deceased, survivor lines,
A career capsule’s tactful nod to cause —
The obligate “courageous battle with cancer,”
At times a wry, deflective, “unexpectedly at home.”
The first journalists painted totems and caves,
A public service to extended, unlettered clans,
Evolving later to papyrus rolls or clay,
The limestone walls of temples, tombs,
Beatifying bios etched in hieroglyph or rune —
Surely, the youngster Tut “had a smile for everyone.”
Today, megabytes of text and pixel describe
The sad passing of citizens renowned
For elected office, stardom, massive wealth,
The local guy and gal witnessed in turn
By “avid bowling,” or “blue–ribbon pies,”
A brave insistence keeping the obit alive.

By Kevin Gallagher

Roger Williams’ Key to the Language of America
for Brian Friel

I

The Natives are of two sorts, rude and clown.
Neither sort is apt to salute you.
They are sober and grave, yet cheerful too
as are we who wish to civilize them.
They are so exceedingly delighted
with salutations in their native tongue.
So it is best to start with ‘What cheer Ne top?’
They will re–salute you. Netop means ‘friend.’
They will become very free and courteous,
so say ‘Peeyaush Netop!’ or ‘come hither.’
The lord Jesus exhorts us to do good
for evil or sinners too good for good.
If Nature’s sons, both wild and tame, humor,
how ill it becomes to want humanity.

II

I once came into a wigwam
and requested some water to drink.
The father’s eight–year old son refused me.
I told the father I would correct him
if the child were mine and he disobeyed.
Upon this the father took a big stick
but the boy took one up that was bigger.
I persuaded the poor father to swing,
the boy finally fell down on his club
and ran as fast as he could for the ocean.
The father confessed to me the benefit
of having stood up to correct his son.
At that moment he saw the evil
of their much too indulgent affections.

III

Coanaumuen wunnaumwan ewo.
These are words that flatter,
meaning ‘you speak the truth’ or ‘speaks the truth.’
You may also say ‘Cuppannawuutous.’
In other words ‘I do not believe you.’
One time I was talking about God —
of His creation, about how our souls
would be in danger unless we save them.
A Native thought and assented to me
when I said his body would rise again.
He cried out ‘I will never believe this
Pannowa’ — someone who hath made a lie.
They have no cause to question the faithful.
They are barbarians. We have just cause.
‘Keesusk’, the heavens, ‘Nippawus’, the sun.
Because they are always lying around
even their children give names to the stars.
‘Paukunawaw’ is to them the Great Bear.
They hear and see the preaching of the heavens.
These natives are the wildest sons of men
yet they do not seek our God
the Maker and thus are justly condemned.
When the sun rises and the stars all set
we really don’t need any light. God shines
glorious through these creatures of the night.
They will understand when tamed.

IV

The natives have a two–fold nakedness.
A beast’s skin that covers them head to toe,
their secret parts are covered with apron
of the pattern of their and our first parents.
Their children go stark naked, no apron.
Females cover with a little apron
of a hand breath from their very birth.
The second nakedness of the Natives
is when men and women leave their breast skin
wholly naked except for their apron.
Custom used their minds and bodies to this
in a freedom from wantoness.
I’ve never seen wantoness among them,
as I have heard of, with grief, in Europe.

V

They come around to confess that God made all
and thus won’t deny that God made us
but insist that their gods made where they dwell.
Kautantowuit is the great South–West God
to whose house all their spirits will go
and from where all their corn, beans, and squash come.
Squauanit, the woman’s god, Virgin Mary.
They see and name gods in everything.
In their services the Powwaw, or priest
sickens them into bodily service
sweating out into strange antic gestures
until all the gods and divine powers come out.
I never dared to be an eyewitness
least I’d be a partaker of Satan.

VI

Natives are ignorant of our coin.
They have a white coin that they call Wampum
that they make from Periwinkle stock.
They have a black coin they call Suckauhock
which they make from the shell of a fish.
Three of them trades for a penny English.
They string this money round their necks & wrists,
but treasure will never truly enrich them.
When dealing with them you need wisdom,
patience, and faithfulness in your trading.
You will hear them say ‘cuttassokakome’
or ‘you deceive me.’ They are suspicious
because they know we are wiser than them
and think we will bereave them in the end.