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Today I would like to go back to a bit of poetry. As I had said in a previous post, I like to try my hand at poetry now and then. I don’t have a great talent for it; I have to work to get out something reasonable. I have two poems for you. The first tries to explain what writing is to me and the second is a tribute to my high school, Elmer L. Meyers High School, in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.
I Must Tell You a Story
I must tell you a story cause it has to be said.
How did this all come about?
That there’d be people and places in my head
demanding to be let out.
Did you ever go to Tau Ceti Two, or Beta Argurus Three?
These names may sound odd to you,
but they’re like home to me.
Did you ever see a light flux in space,
or watch three moons rise?
From my view I can see a place,
where dragons rule the skies.
I see millions of souls march in a Ring of Despair,
and only freed when a woman shows,
that all of their pain she can share.
A misunderstanding between a boy and his Dad,
makes him want to take his own life.
A young man acts on the dreams he’s had.
Will he choose between them and his wife?
On and on the stories go, rattling around in my head.
I must get them out for these lives to grow,
I must get these stories read.
If you see people in your mind,
people and places, both old and new.
If things need to be said then you’ll find,
that you are a writer too.
I must tell you a story on paper so clean.
You must tell me a story cause you know what I mean.
The computer screen beckons and we must not fuss.
For we did not choose writing, writing chose us.
This is for all of the Mighty Mohawks out there, steadfast forever, Meyers High.
Mohawks by Name
The world was new
back in 62,
when we first walked those long winding halls.
Our rooms still held the toys
of good girls and boys,
and super heroes hung on our walls.
Those six years did fly,
like a wink of an eye,
at least it seems so some how.
In those years we grew,
and bore witness to,
the formation of who we are now.
We came from close by,
or down the hill we did fly,
or bused in from Warrior Run.
From wherever we came;
we were Mohawks by name,
and will be till the death of the sun.
We united a again,
Saying, “Remember when”,
telling stories from beginning to end.
I have one regret,
that I let shyness prevent,
me from calling more of you friend.