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Poems - Page 3
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Poems - Page 3
A Mountainous Decision

Walking down a lonely path
Through a boulder strewn field.
A thick, gray cloud
Encompassing all that is in view.

A dull journey.
Void of sweet smelling pines.
Void of vibrant flowers.
Empty of the knock of a woodpecker
Or the call of a hawk
Or the whistle of the marmot.

As I round a bend
The path is joined by another
And so am I.
She is there.

With her, She brings the flowers
And the pines for my senses.
The sounds of Life accompany her as well.
The woodpecker, the hawk, and the marmot
Announcing their arrival.
I watch the hawk soar into the sky,
The sounds of Life filling my body,
And I soar with the hawk.

A sudden split in the path
Returns me from those lofty heights
And a fog engulfs me as I ponder the two.
Which should I take?

I listen down each path
For the whistle of the marmot
Or the knock of the woodpecker
Or for the call of the hawk,
High above the fog.
I listen intently for a beacon
But all I hear is silence.

A fear engulfs me through the fog,
That I must be right or I'll loose her
And all the Life she brings with her.
I must make the correct choice.
I look to her for help,
To show me the right path.
I stare desperately for a sign.
A simple step in one direction,
A brief glance down through the fog.
And if she does not give a sign,
Then what shall I do?
Do I gamble with my instincts?
(Instincts that may be clouded with the storm of emotion)
Or do I dare be so bold as to ask?


That Fatal Day

Where were you on that fatal day,
When I was blue and the skies were gray?
I waited for your smile to come
For I was sure you were the one.

Where were you on that fatal day?
Didn't you know my love was here to stay?
I felt for you, what I'ld never felt before.
I don't know why but I wanted more.

Where were you on that fatal day?
When I didn't want to go away
At your side I wanted to stay
It wasn't I who went astray.

Where were you on that fatal day?
Leaving me standing in such a way.
I turned and felt the ocean spray,
I never thought you would go away.

Dying in Style

As the sun sinks southward,
With the birds in pursuit,
Those that had huddled together for months
In their ordinary green garments
Realize that the time has come to prepare.
The green is shed for more festive colors
For these final moments.
Brilliant gowns made of vibrant colors.
Reds, oranges, and yellows of all hues
Shine brightly as they pay their final dues.
Then each finds itself weakening.
They fall, slowly,
Fluttering to their resting place.
There they lie until the Mother comes to bury her dead.
Soon they are swept by the wind of the Mother's emotions
To what will be their final resting place.
As they lie, now dressed in a dull brown
The Mother comes to bury those that had


A Chance Meeting After Life

Why is it we are alone?
Why is it there is no one of our own?
Do we deserve this fate of
Lying alone in an unearthly state.

Why aren't there flowers up there?
Covering the ground so bare.
A vistor is so rare
Is it because no one cares?

Where were you when my lonely heart
Cried for someone to be a part?
When I was looking for a friend
But instead I found my end.

We would have had a future,
Someone to be with, with time to spend.
Together till the last hour
When one of us had met our end.

Then someone would be there
Standing on the ground so bare.
Someone putting flowers there,
Standing... Crying... Showing how much they care.


The Killer

There are diseases we know
Which we create on our own.
One through drugs, like white snow.
Alcoholism is another
That we have known.
But the worst disease, we all
Ignore. No one knows who
Has it, no one understands
The hidden signs.
No one hears the muffled cries.
People kill to stop the pain and
Other people wonder why.
The scientist doesn't understand
And another thousand will die by its hand.
It has a cure, this disease
But it is difficult to see.
What is this killer of so many?




The ball came loose
And I dove.
The searing noise of the
Floor and skin disagreeing
Was drowned out by the referee's shrill whistle.

"Hold 42 red. One and One."

Bent over,
Surveying the burnt skin of my left knee,
I tried to relax.
Not wanting to wait at the line,
I waited until they were ready, then stepped to the line.

"Play the miss, gentleman."

Wiping the sweat of my palms
On the back of my shorts,
I took the ball, checked my feet, and emptied my lungs.
I bounced the ball three times,
As I'ld done many times before,
And shot.

"One gentleman."
I felt good. I felt relaxed
I repeated the routine.
Palms, ball, feet, dribble.
My arm extended up
And out as it flipped the ball towards the hoop.
Then I turned and headed downcourt.


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Copyright 1999-2000, James Eveleth. All rights reserved.