The Wave

The ripple on the horizon,
the imperceptible start.

The wave comes closer,
the wave reaches higher.
Now it’s upon him,
upon the tiny surfer.

High the wave reaches,
it towers over,
it gains a crown,
a boiling white crown,
and this great monster,
cold, cruel, curving,
picks up the surfer
and is smitten a blow,
a great white gash across its chest.

In attack the wave rears higher, higher,
higher still.
The surfer rides destruction safe to shoulder.

I'm slowly posting stuff from old site. Here is not only from old site but 1st poem I ever wrote. As such it will remain unchanged, but feel free to make suggestions as they may be of use in other works. Poem written circa 1971.

...........MY LOVE.......

My love is like a clear spring day
whose golden sunbeams go their way
and suddenly explode in dew
to sparkle once again like new

Like spying a small calf just born
a frolickin' this sunny morn
crying out with joyful bleat
while running 'round on tireless feet

stars cut like a fire torch
windswept they dance
the darkness fanning
like a mystery curtian
throwing the calm
about their exotic charms

there are leaves of pages
growing on the trees of hope
loping like the flank of wolves
their thirsty ache

all loops and whorls
on acid proof billow
stretching in the wind
as scenery dark and hidden
speeds

you ask me questions
for all the unknowns
and the hollow emptiness
the game has shown

Fine Line

A smile, a gentle kiss
your touch sending shivers
that I have missed
sounds of spring in the air
which you create with your
soft spoken words
how easily I fall in love

these are the weapons
you use
to take me for a fool
but baby, this time you have
lost
the anger has risen
no longer am I blind and deaf
to your succumbing snars
dance your dance
for some one else,
the curtain has gone down
on your pathetic show

i found my fingers
trying to grip mountains,
a pen and some poems
and i admitted to myself

you hated the fact i wrote,
words i knew and all their meanings

i rub my hand across my cheek,
it's fresh and soap-scrubbed
there isn't a trace of you there anymore

first time i have thought of you
and didn't cry

In this slithering monotony
That you selfishly placed me
I learned of your trickery

When tears fall from above
The sun hides in Apollo’s chariot
Allowing the clouds to reign

Another bad hand
In destiny’s poker game
Still I gamble my heart freely
To not know the truth of pain
Is equivalent to not living at all

Fairy tales are told to halt reality
Not to somehow replace it
To the eyes that witnessed misery
My heart goes out to thee

To offer petals poised in palms
a rose blossom depicts my heart

and here,

quite softly placed, this gift

is where my words shall start.

It isn't in the cost that's spent
nor of the highest caliber

but rose it is
for what is meant-

my gift of me to you.

'Tis yours to keep and compliment

the air you breathe,
the life you make;

to treasure or to circumvent
when needing it to be.

Of me this gift contends a smile,
a vibrant boast of energy

Through grandpa's pasture plans were made
to build steel giants through the glade
and string upon them power lines
where to this day the wind still whines

For each tower were dug four holes
twenty feet deep for each leg's poles
and in each a twenty foot ground rod
ending forty feet below the sod

Next came the erection crews
with their wrenches, bolts and tools
a hundred foot tower every other day
they'd bolt them then be on their way