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Tuesday, September 22, 2015

A Poetic Obituary for Don Adams



A POETIC OBITUARY FOR DON ADAMS
April 13, 1923 - September 27, 2005

A comic actor that we all loved and hoped would never leave,
He gave the world catchphrases like “…would you believe?”
A bumbling secret agent with abnormally clumsy motif
He’d spill on the boss’s desk and say, “Sorry about that, Chief.”

His wry voice a trademark, hard work his lifelong credo,
He was Maxwell Smart, Inspector Gadget and Tennessee Tuxedo.
At eighty-two he passed away, from a dire lung infection,
No more comic lines would be delivered with that unique inflection.

He gave us the Cone of Silence, rubber lips and the famous shoe phone,
A drivable desk, a robot best man, and hypnotizing cologne.
At Guadalcanal he served in the Marines, not the U.S. Army,
He was born a Hungarian Jew as Donald James Yarmy.

He painted, studied history, was a lot smarter than Agent 86.
He did not want to do a spy spoof, serious acting gave him kicks.
He wanted to be a matinee idol, revered for his dashing good looks,
Until he was offered the chance to perform on TV for Mel Brooks

Along with Barbara Feldon, who played his wife Agent 99,
He battled for truth and justice against vile KAOS swine.
He won three Emmy awards for TV’s best comic actor,
But never grew beyond the role: typecasting was a factor.

He will always be remembered as agent Maxwell Smart.
Although a recent movie of the show found another to play the part.
Don Adams is gone but not forgotten, a true comic master
Of turning even the simplest task into pratfalls and disaster.




©2005 Christopher Reilley

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Monday, September 21, 2015

Finally Clean



Light blisters without pain
Bathing the world in incandescent fire.
The turmoil within becalms
For the first time in eons
Deep within my core
I can feel the cancer recede
Shrink away from the Holy
Like the blasphemy it is.
I am awoken by the presence

If I am indeed awake
Then please, let me never sleep again
For this dream is the one I would grasp
As a drowning man grasps
At the thinnest of reeds
Hoping against hope
Believing against cynicism
Railing against Death’s glacial embrace
With the blaze of Faith
That only the damned can know.

Mind gives but a moment to wonder
Why me, why have I been chosen?
Yet the answer is less important
Than the presence, the thrum of life
The warmth that challenges the sun
Because it comes from within.

The vision from my soul smiles,
I wonder if this was why smiles were invented -
That something so lovely as to be perfect
Could conceivably improve
I am ashamed at how unworthy I am
Yet greedy that this should continue forever
I live, a child of His wonder
Existing because He wills it so
Bathed in forgiveness,
Finally clean.



©2009 Christopher Reilley

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Sunday, September 6, 2015

Why Poetry

 
 
WHY POETRY

I render myself through poetry,
some are better and some worse,
my thoughts race ‘round my inner self
in fragments of metered verse.

But through these scraps, you can hear my heart
throbbing in metronomic pace,
you can catch a whisper of my soul
and view glimpses of my real face.

I sit and type and my spirit soars,
I write longhand in blue or black ink,
to structure my chaotic desires
or to unburden the way I think.

And in glib verse I give to you
my heartache, my love and soul.
In one instant, I am a scattered mess
the next – serene and whole.

The only way to find my voice
the best way to share with you,
Is when on paper I complete myself
so you can share it too.

My words conspire to reveal,
unearth, and then convey
the truth I see when I look inside,
my honesty on display.

©2013 Christopher Reilley

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