Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Poetry

Most people know I don't like to write poetry.  I love to read it, but not writing it.  I was going through my files from high school and found my poetry anthologies and thought I'd share my teacher's favorites.

 

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Home Coming

 

     Come here and bring thy child

Bade the man in the shadows

     Why is it that your husbands lets

You bring this child out in the

     Chill of night?

 

     My husband is at sea and has been

For three years.  Were he here

     My child would not be out

In this sickening fog.

 

     Do you still love him or

Have you given your heart to another?

 

     Why is it you ask this of me?

What business is it of yours

     If I love my husband still?

 

     Why is it Woman that thou speaketh

To me with such vehement?

     When you know not to whom you speak.

 

     Then step forth into the light

Of the lantern and show your face

 

     The man stepped forth to reveal

A wind worn face of a sailor.

     The woman reached for the man

With tears in her eyes.

 

     I am glad you did not

Think me a lowly beggar

     And pass me by.

 

     Never!  Had I passed you by

My son may never have known his father

 

*     *     *

 

The Baker

 

The Baker

Is a strong woman

Her arms are broad

Thick from years of 

Working

With the dough

Mixing 

Kneeding

Spinning round and round

Rolling out

Rising

Turning golden brown

 

*     *     *

 

Space

 

Stars

Polk a dot dress

China doll

Grains of rice

Wedding bells

Falling sands

Changing times

Future is the past

Speed of light

Distant planets

Speckled skies

 

*     *     *


Freedom-Hill

 

Along a lonely highway

Lies a forgotten town

Half buried by vines of ivy

Half fallen to the ground

The rotting buildings lay in tribute

To those who lived and died.

 

An old man walks along the faded streets 

Weaving among the wasting rubble

He stops atop the hill

Where his beloved lies

Surrounded by their friends and family

In the ramshackle cemetery

 

On a bench he sits

Remembering how it came to be

Cholera, or maybe typhoid, 

What it was, they never knew,

The doctor was the first to go.

 

In the final light of the setting sun

Freedom Hill's last man lies down

Beside his wife and family

As the deadly disease lulls him to

His final sleep.

 

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