A published poet, John Colligan excels in formal rhymed verse. He is a past master of the sonnet form. Three of his poems are printed below. John is available to compose poetry for your wedding, commitment ceremony, christening, or any other occasion. A Liberal Education Three Poems on the First Year of Teaching September Were I to wish, why, I would wish for nothing
more than my music alive: each note an hour's
measure of singing, and each rest something
long remembered; each phrase a bunch of flowers
held in small hands; each form a child's seeing
in a mirror; cadenzas, children scaling
hundreds of trees; each chord their freeing
shout while outside; each cadence their soft trailing
off to sleep. I'd ask one thing more: to be found
worthy to lead these little ones, the chance
to hear what they hear; no, let them lead me
into a vast, twittering forest of sound,
fielding fear, testing each bird-covered branch,
climbing, hesitantly, a full, tall tree.
February If we must go, and cannot go as friends,
can we do it so parting doesn't feel
like failure: frayed, like a rope with the ends
unbound? Right now, even though there is real
and honest anger between us, can we see
that when we meet our glances do not miss
each other, and when we do speak that we
say it softly? Can we at least do this?
and if it's true that we must meet again
and again, in this or another life, 'till we
are truly through with one another, then
let's good-bye well, that our next hello won't be
awkward and halting, hateful, hurtful, blind-
If we must part, can we at least be kind? June If it could feel, would a piano string,
plucked from its safe box and its closed coiling,
not be resentful at the tightening
and tuning? Would heating past its boiling
point be easier? Wouldn't a snapping
into silence seem simpler than waiting
out the ever and increasing tapping,
the lengthening that goes on without abating --
till the lady comes, the one with the lovely fingers,
and takes from the bench Chopin with her deft
hands, and sends music through the house, bringing
it to rest; would the strings, as the theme lingers
there, not sigh with such slack as is still left,
glad to have been part of so much singing?
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