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A folder in which to store some old poems written before 2003 |
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** Image ID #410147 Unavailable ** Inside this book are the poems or rather relics exhibiting earlier or discarded work. Most of these pieces had their own items at one time, but now, I decided to fold them into a book for housekeeping purposes. |
| Reacting against a historical sexist remark: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” That mighty one, the woman scorned, a bird falling from above, couldn’t tell the seed from the snare, set no limits on her love. Only the solitude stays; her every gift she gambled away. On her forehead, the creases... a frown wells, parallel to the murmur invisible. Her beauty dwells, just the same, entangled in the dark, of the veiled skies; raindrops and the flame in her eyes... Who is the rose, who is the thorn? Who is the one with the saber born? Her love reckless, free, survives. His reason seeks profit; he can’t look the truth in the eyes. To her, it is not a sin to reach and feel within. What is wrath? Agony in action...and despair torn to bits, blood shed in every tear A heart concealing secrets. Then, again... her revenge... the old medicine renewed, raising the dead, comes from Heaven. The wind clears her eyes; she has forgiven. |
| “Teal Four One, Keesler Tower. Cleared for takeoff runway two one. Climb! And maintain two thousand, runway heading.” Engines full power, not so tough... Leap forward. Rolling.... rolling... Picking up speed... Yeah ...we're off! We soar over the gulf toward “Jason”, The sixth big one in this season. Twenty eight degrees north, Seventy seven degrees west, Gathering data is our quest. This is gonna be one heck of a flight Don’t dream of returning to the base tonight. We fly heavy with sixty thousand pounds of fuel, Each drop precious for the impending duel. I, Paul Lucas, the pilot with five-men crew, From Jacksonville, the town where I grew. Where Hurricane Dora hit in sixty-four... Granpa died smashed by a door... It was for a kid too much emotion... But that’s when I got the notion... Now we descend ten thousand feet. Things’re getting tough, hold on to your seat. Billions of numbers to enter, We quickly zap them to the Center. By the radar “the eye” is detected To “the eyewall” we are directed. Rain’s pouring, soaks the craft, Turbulence rocks us from the aft, Lightning sweeps the dark in a flash, My co-pilot’s face turns to ash. We are thrown one thousand feet, as I cry: “Swell job guys, we made it to the eye.” All of a sudden the sun shines bright The wall of clouds surround its light Miles of blue above of us lie What an illusion, the calm in the eye! Jack drops the launch tube into the center. Types the data, clicks enter. The dropsonde touches the water In Miami they’re aflutter. Mom lives there by the ocean My heart is bent with emotion. I hope they started evacuations This storm moves in fluctuations. Again, the wall, the eye, we crisscross I fly into wind to avoid loss. For six hours we’re inside the storm The wife and kids I hope they inform For the flight home more time’s needed I’m sure our work is well heeded. Hours pass, we glide into the landing, Our flight has one happy ending. I pray we can lessen the ravage Of any hurricane’s damage. For love of people, I roam the skies. Humans are treasures in Heaven’s eyes. |
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