Life Dance
Poems on Parkinson’s by Marj Kosky

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Life Dance – Poems on Parkinson’s by Marj Kosky
Product details
Paperback: 80 pages
Publisher: Poetica Christi Press
ISBN: 0958545847
Trim size: 215 x 125 mm
“This challenging collection is, in an unusual sense, the life work of Marj Kosky. Into her poems this spirited, deeply spiritual woman put the whole of her later life as she lived it: difficult, often painful – beset with the sense of grotesque change from youth to age and sickness, battling to control body and mind – and at the same time enriched wit culture and talent, with strong piety, feisty courage and saving humour.
Readers will encounter not just the stuff of meditation so richly present in her songs of praise such as Eucharist, but a sense of abounding life far behind most people’s everyday experience.
Many a pilgrim struggling with Marj’s disabilities would have stopped practicing her art; she has chosen to accept the road before her and to eye it by the burning sun that afflicted her travels. It becomes the scene of a no small triumph, and Marj Kosky herself.
A singing rainbow praising as she goes.” From the Foreword by Judith Rodriguez.
Life’s not funny,
Cane toads in the dunny;
Two carpet snakes in our bedroom,
The cocky’s chewed the last straw broom.
It’s a blessing I closed the doors,
before they brought the dinosaurs!
It’s a strain;
Ten days of rain.
Our clothes mildewed
Pillows moth-chewed
There’s tadpoles in the water carafe.
Chimps a-jockey on the neck of a giraffe.
Who will He blame for closing the doors
before He missed the dinosaurs?
Ever again,
More days of rain!
There’s mice in the pantry:
Birds nest in the gantry —
Directing here for HERBIVORES
and that way for CARNIVORES.
What are they fed, they’ve grown so lean?
There’s caterpillars in the greens.
Noah’s glad I closed the doors
Before they sent the dinosaurs.
That’s a gain;
Thirty days of rain!
It’s not neat;
That cat’s on heat.
No humans sleep.
Our sons’ wives weep
through her nightly noisy passions.
We’re getting rather low on rations.
That gives me pause.
What do you feed dinoasaurs?
Meat or grain
through days of rain?
Of this floating ark
Zoological park
I’m not queen regnant
but midwife to what beast is pregnant.
This ark is bursting at the seams.
I’m heard to mutter in my dreams
“PHEW! When can we open the doors?”
There was no room for dinosaurs
through forty days of rain.
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