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Wanted: Skilled Miner
July, 2003  DoubleECircle

 
Sometimes what I need is a miner…
A woman with a pick ax
And a Lamp on her head.
Not someone to spade the earth about me and cart it away,
Nor anyone simply sifting through my ore,
Finding those last few and precious minerals
Residing within the depths of labyrinths and tunnels
Formerly blasted out of me by gold diggers.

 
I need a specialist - with dirt caked hands, blackened fingernails, and tortured lungs

Someone brave enough to venture forth without a map, oblivious to cave ins. Someone that isn’t in it for the diamonds. Someone who simply loves digging, loves depth,

Someone in love with earth and dirt
hardness and coolness,
Sore muscles,
And the mutual carving of passageways…


 __________________________________
 

 
Scene II
by Haggis (SHOES4)
When no gentle breeze does touch
Your soul.
Or a song of love sing in your heart
Nor laughter do you hear
The stage of life has changed,
The scene.
Dim unmoving figures stand
Yet distant they appear.
Destined to act the part
And smile
On cue to those who watch
Lest they think you insincere
This same part we all
Have played.
To empty seats in dusty domes
Didn’t they call it theater ?
T.E.V 1/6/03

__________________________


 
The Inspiration
July, 2003 Writer (WRITER191)

 
The old hall clock stroked two A.M., I jolted with a start,
something had just clicked inside my brain.
Somehow, I felt the story was coming from my heart
and racing through my mind like a freight train.

 
“I must get this on paper, ” was my only thought,
without the light, I bolted from my bed.
I didn’t realize the blanket had my ankle caught,
causing me to trip and crack my head.

 
“I must get this on paper,” I heard myself recite,
I thought that it was so important that
halfway down the stairs I wished that I’d turned on the light,
‘cause If I had, I would have seen the cat!

 
He must have had more lives than nine,
we tumbled down the steps, he landed on the stoop on top of me.
I opened up my eyes and saw his face was right in mine,
he hissed real loud - and then began to pee.

 
“I must get this on paper!” by now I was obsessed.
I focused now and ran into the den.
Alas, there was the paper, I rifled through my desk,
you see the paper is no good without a pen.

 
The story line was vivid, coming strong again,
the thoughts and words were flowing like spilled ink,
which would have come in handy ‘cause when I found my pen,
and began to write, guess what went on the blink?

 
I felt a twinge of panic now, starting to set in,
a desperate anxiety attack,
then all at once I knew exactly where to get a pen, -
my very good, dear friend and neighbor, Jack.

 
I rushed out the door and raced across the road,
I ran onto his porch and rang his bell.
At last he said, “Who is it?” I said, “Jack, I need a pen.”
He paused a minute, then said, “Go to hell!!”

 
“This better be important!” he said, opening the door,
and then he stopped and wrinkled up his nose,
and said, “My God man, what in heaven is that awful smell,
and why don’t you go home and get some clothes?”

 
It wasn’t till that moment that I realized
I was standing in my shorts and undershirt,
and the smell that he referred to should have come as no surprise,
having recently been doused with kitty squirt.

 
“I must get this on paper,” was all I blurted out,
I snatched the pen and started home again,
thinking maybe, if I hurried, I’d still get the story out, -
and then I met Bill Reilly’s Doberman.

 
The dog and I were buddies, so I surely was surprised
when I reached out to give a friendly pat,
I said “Duke, how ya doin’ ?” but then I realized
that good ole Duke was smelling “kitty cat.”

 
My feet just barely touched the ground as I headed for my door,
I heard the dog begin to growl and bark,
I wished that I had thought to put my trousers on before,
so I would have had the key to fit my lock!

 
The dog was coming fast now; I was getting pretty tense,
and though I never was much good at sports,
I could have won a medal for hurdling the fence
with dog teeth just a half inch from my shorts!

 
“I must get this on paper,” I started now to whine,
I’d pry a window open, if I could,
while Duke had started something sounding like a chorus line
of all the doggies in the neighborhood.

 
All the windows were locked tight, I began to curse,
I had half a mind to break a pane,
and all the while I’m thinking, “I guess it could be worse,”
and right on cue, I felt it start to rain.

 
I looked around until I found a fairly good size rock,
the wind began to rustle through the trees,
and while I contemplated on the window or the lock
I heard someone behind me holler, “FREEZE!”

 
He said, “Be real still, and put the rock down, if you will,
then slowly raise both hands up in the air.”
I didn’t want to act the fool, but how on earth could I be cool,
standing in the rain, in underwear?

 
I said, “ Sir, I can explain.” He said, “I hope so son,
‘cause I have half a mind to run you in.”
And he may have let me go, if I hadn’t let him know
that I was outside, - looking for a pen.

 
“I must get this on paper,” I said, more or less out loud,
as he locked me in a cell all by myself.
Of course, it came as no surprise that just across the room
were pens and paper sitting on a shelf.

 
Standing there in prison garb, I thought I’d take a shot,
so just as sweetly as a bluebird sings,
I said, “Excuse me, Sir, but may I have a pen?”
He said, “Sorry, we don’t give inmates pointy things.”

 
I sensed that it was over as I lie down on the cot,
wondering if Jack would pay my bail,
and as I drifted off, I thought, “he’ll probably let me rot,
I’m sure he thinks I’m better off in jail.”

 
Next morning, they released me on my own recognizance,
and though I swear that this whole tale is true,
when trying to remember what my story was about,
the honest truth is, I don’t have a clue. :)
 
____________________________________


 
1 Pacific Lane
June, 2003 by Tex (TXPOET)
 
 
As I was traveling through the land of sunshine
I saw several thousand houses among the pine
All different shapes and sizes of residences
Many landscaped, some walled, some with fences
Various shades of white, red, yellow and brown
Some old, some remodeled, some falling down
 
 
As I looked over the structures square and circular
I was immediately drawn to one in particular
From a far I could tell it was different and special
It was unusual cause the windows were brightly dull
Around it was a wall where vultures nested
No gate or opening did I see so the wall I tested

 
Stone faced I cracked a joke so very subtle
The wall crumbed and became a pile of rubble
The young house appeared abused and misused
Who could have done this terrible thing I bemused
I tried to peer inside through the cloudy windows
I heard the shrill warning of the owls and crows
 
 
Inside I could see a faint glimmer of life’s light
There, strewn were old pictures covered in blight
I touched the house and could feel it breathe
I listened to it’s terrible tale and heard it grieve
The windows cleared with their warm salty rain
I caressed the house and tried to ease its pain

 
The pretty house was invitation hard to ignore
But there was a faded gold warning sign on the door
I looked around and saw the state of disrepair
Overhead circling the caretaker who didn’t care
The builders seemed to have walked off the job
And left her to be used too soon by a wild mob
 
 
I realized that if I stepped across that open nexus
The flame would blaze up and ignite all the mess
Then the fire would race to totally destroy her
I could not ever permit that tragedy to occur
So I sat and listened to all her past mystery
Each little bit of trash inside was a bad history

 
For her sake I had to remain on the exterior
While she shored and cleaned up the interior
I wanted to help, but entry was not proper
Besides I was on my way to another shelter
I did what I could and installed an alarm
The eagle’s spirit would keep her from harm
 
 
I talked and talked and gave her advice
Then I prayed that wisdom would suffice
No conquest here just an ordained mission
I left her rebuilding and changing condition
This project would take time and be rough
My nagging question, Could I do enough

 
I had to go but promised to keep in touch
She had to stand alone without a crutch
As I traveled away I looked back in awe
The house was brighter than that I first saw
The windows now cleaner and brighter
This house would survive she’s a fighter
 
 
The spirit of the eagle overhead soaring
This house was a home worth restoring
The world would soon see and be adoring
 
______________________________
 
 
Summer's Glory
February 3, 2005 By Haggis

Dark Indigo nights
Speckling stars appear.
Marigold Mornings,
Sunlight bright and clear.

Lemon colored days
Immersed in summer heat.
Evening twilight haze
By then a day complete.

Conceding night birds song
The Loons last treble fades
Cricket symphonies tagalong
Across the evening glades

Then a’ times a rain
Upon the roof will fall
A rhythm to maintain
Tho’ dreams forget it all.

At summers end
When Autumn colors burst
No memories attend
Summers glory first.

TEV 2/3/05

_________________________________
 

 

The Shell
June, 2003 Tex (TXPOET) 

One day along the beach I was strolling
I happened on a lone pretty conch shell
The waves had brought it ashore rolling
I wondered about the stories it could tell
I stooped and picked up the pretty roller
Admiring the colorful swirls of the shell
I thought it would be nice to possess her
To put her on display would be so swell
 
 
Then I placed the shell up to my ear
Instead of the ocean I heard screams
Howls of pain and anguish I did hear
Caused by abuse and broken dreams
The shell contained another treasure
It was not empty, only been forsaken
This shell did exist for my pleasure
It had only been waiting to reawaken
 
 
This shell was more than what appeared
It had a story to tell to the whole world
Inside it, a greater beauty had persevered
A beauty just waiting to be unfurled
Soon that creature would again grow
Gaining strength, wisdom and esteem
That shell would again brightly glow
And go on to fulfill her life’s dream