Magazine Posts

It doesn't matter,
What I say or do.
My contribution,
To this world,
Will go unnoticed,
Except for one or two,
Who might remember.

Will I stand the sorrow?
Will I stand the pain,
When you are gone
Or will I laugh,
To hide the tears?

Can light be firm?
Can yellowed, ray,
Cut through darkness,
Like a blade to clay?
Or does the black of night,
Like the deepest well,
Soak up light,
A sponge of hell,
Drawing down, from up above,
To infinity.

Just one moment,
Please my love,
Is all I ask of you.
I intend no harm
Or to cause you pain,
For I remain,
Your total captive.
Bound within,
My soul, forever,
Locked in motion.
My love for you,
Will never wane
As long as time,
Will still remain.

Little man,
With thinning hair,
Standing in your humility.
Your eyes
And your angry stare,
Encumbered by it's futility.
Does your mind, No longer care
And rush towards your senility?

You arouse my Soul
By your presence.

Some people, wither and die,
A little, every day.
Not because of hunger,
Or lack of care.
You can love a person,
Too much and force them,
Away from you.
Love, in great doses,
Can suffocate the soul.

The frozen rain, angles in,
Stinging, unprotected skin,
Driven by relentless wind,
Soaking all.
Running, slipping and falling down.
Where once was ground,
Is only mud and standing water.
The noise from parents, coaches
And their friends,
Never ends.
Win or lose, the parents are upset,
The children are just cold and wet.

Open up your mind
And let the thoughts,
Run out, onto paper.
Quit trying to place obstacles,
In their path.
Words will spill from your brain,
Like so much water,
Dumped from a bucket.

I saw a man,
All withered and bent,
With limbs atwist
And fingers clenched,
Into claws of flesh.
I wondered if,
When he was young,
His bones grew straight
And strong,
Or if he walked erect,
With non curved spine?
Were the steps he took,
Both long and quick
And were his fingers supple?
I then further, wondered,
If on some future date,
I would also share his fate
And destiny, by becoming he.

Softly, so very softly,
The sound of music,
Fills the air.
Coming from a distant hilltop,
Echoing, through the Maple trees.
I sit, and hear the laughter,
In the sound of many voices,
Bouncing from the clouds above,
Signaling Springs, eternal love.

Out of the west last night it came,
Filled with warmth and a little rain,
And on it's crest, as it swept by,
The noises rode on the wind up high.
The doors were pounded by a spirit hand
Asking admittance, with stern demand.
But in the morning, what did we see?
The snow had vanished from field and tree.

This was written by my Grandmother, Eva Fischer, a Pioneer woman,
born in Palouse City, Washington Territory. She was truly an inspiration
for me in developing an interest in verse.