Archive for April, 1987


Posted: April 30, 1987 in Poetry
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Cool wind whistles through the eves
Caressing, searching, rustling leaves
Over the horizon the storm does rise
A tempest which is reflected in your eyes.
A seething mass of whirling cloud
Approaching and reinforcing doubt
Resounding claps of thunder peal
With what forces do we deal?
Frightening fury, boiling mist
Natural power clenched in a fist.
The rain lashes like the Furies’ whips
From me identity and joy it strips.
Clutching at supports through blinding rain
A blasted shell is all that remains.
Yet your love is like a beacon through the storm
I see you beckon; my respect is shorn.
Caught in the deluge, unprotected like all
It is only the sound of your name I call.
Despairing yet hoping that I can hold steady
My energy depleted, my hands are bloody.
Beaten and battered, your light I look
Calmed though the supports of this earth shook,
Subconsciously surviving, the sky astray
Storms raging the heavens, turning them grey.
After it passes, the wreckage is assessed
Only to love can my survival attest.
To you I clung while the rocks were sundered
The earth split open and the heavens plundered.
This is only a calm before the hurricane
If you hold on to me, is there courage to remain?
Let me die, let me perish below
Into the never ending abyss I shall go.
When there is a crisis and you feel forlorn
Love can rescue you from the storm.

Untitled Poem #3

Posted: April 30, 1987 in Poetry

The blade slices cleanly through sallow flesh
The tongs grasp a ragged edge and tear
A syringe squirts an agonizing liquid
Into a wound which will fester and drip.


Posted: April 20, 1987 in Poetry
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Rambo get your bazooka,
Schwarzenegger get your gun.
Someone’s out to get you;
I think your time has come.
He steps over large buildings,
Eats K-Mart for dinner.
All you guys are losers
‘Cause Godzilla is a winner!
Nuclear power plants
Are his favorite dish
He smirks at Charles Bronson
And thinks, rather “YOU wish”.
He breathes out nuclear waste
To him, it’s just like Scope.
Even with King Kong
Godzilla knows how to cope.
So who cares if it’s true
That his brain’s the size of a pea
Or that his IQ really is
The square root of three
I still get out of the way
When Godzilla walks on by
Because I’ll probably get stomped
And thus most likely die.


Posted: April 17, 1987 in Poetry
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A bolt of light
Splits the heavens
A brilliant sight
It spares no grievings.
To earth it streaks
A fiery flash
Frighten the meek
O thunderous crash.
Yet after the storm, all that was found
Was a simply scorched impacted ground.

Untitled Poem #2

Posted: April 17, 1987 in Poetry
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Death is a lonely business
Bearing an hourglass
As the tide shall sweep the shore.
Shall I be no more?
Like a drop of precious wine
Life can pass you by.
Smell the flowers by the wayside
Happiness stays sublime.
Reaper with his just sickle
Doest thou be fickle
Within your reckoning
About your victim?

The Conch Shell

Posted: April 9, 1987 in Poetry
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Walking on the beach
I spot a shell.
It is beautiful
So I pick it up.
I ask politely
Do you have a secret to tell?
To the conch
In my hands I cup.
I hold it carefully
To my ear
Listening for echoes
And the pounding of surf
But that’s not all
That I wish to hear
A remnant of
A mermaid’s mirth
Splashes above
The ocean’s roar.
Startled I look
Hoping to see
A pretty naiad
Or a galley’s oar
Yet there’s only wind
And sand and sea.
My moment past
Set the conch gently
Don’t bruise the colors
Or break a spine
Leave it for someone
Else to come presently
And let them wonder
About their find.

Untitled Poem #1

Posted: April 9, 1987 in Poetry
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There are cobwebs
In my brain
I shall never
Be the same
Put a bag
On my head
And shoot me, please
Full of lead.
This here poem
Is a recital
That is why
It is untitled.

Nat grasps his eraser.
Peter tests its weight.
Like the two medaeval knights
They try to emulate.

Dust a little more chalk on,
Prepare the denim jerkin.
The serious pastime of theirs
Is dueling instead of working.

All prepared, their time has come
Together, back to back.
Facing each a formidable foe
Not courage do they lack!

Take ten steps, turn and fight
The referee says to them grimly.
Will each obey these simple rules?
Shannon looks on primly.

The squirt gun fires, and they’re off
In each other, their match is met.
For anticipating one another’s move
They each spin at their first step.

Arms are ablur, insults fly
Chalk dust fills the air.
Who will the final victor be?
Does anyone really care?

For hours they fought within the cloud
Whirling fast and furious.
All the bettors standing ‘round
Were getting rather curious.

And then there was a simultaneous oof!
Two bodies hit the floor.
When all the chalk dust settled down
Nat and Peter were no more.

All that was left of the two gladiators
Surprised even Mrs, McLure:
Two large piles of chalk dust
And two cleaned out erasers.

I was there, upon that day
Of such a shocking sight,
And to this day I’ve lost my bet
“Cause we don’t know who won the fight.


Posted: April 7, 1987 in Poetry
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The first misty light of dawn
Caresses the edge of the world
And turns grey clouds to pearl
It wakens a peaceful fawn.

Rosy pink shafts of sun
Curve around a sleeping earth
Dancing in their endless mirth
Frolicking and having fun.

Dodging between blades of grass
Hues and colors, shades and tints
Sage, tulip, sequoia, and mint
Pine, oak, sassafras.

The deer stands on shaky legs
Lacking her mother’s natural grace
Yet having the same innocent face
Life can be filled with sweetened dregs.

The sun peeks out in its smiling way
As living creatures begin to wake
Even though another siesta they’ll take
Later on in the day.