My Poetry

A Writer's Dilemma The page is white, the ink is black The words are there...'tis skill I lack To bring them forth without a thought For each line is a battle fought and sorely won...yet still I strive To make my tale seem real, alive To make you laugh, to weep, to think. And now, dear Reader, with a wink and nod, I wander off to write ...how shall I entertain tonight? CEB 1999

Lincoln The play unfolds upon the stage The killer hides his madman's rage Up the stairs he quickly sneaks A certain box is what he seeks But there! A figure tall and lean Attention focused on the scene Below. The killer finds his mark The gun roars--deaf'ning in the dark... The President falls -- Booth thinks he's won And now John Wilkes must turn and run Though later caught and justice done A nation's innocence is truly gone CEB 1999 This next one is not one of mine, but my late mother's. She wrote it in response to events many of us remember. It was the rhythm of this poem that I adopted for the Lincoln one. They seem to go well together. November 22nd, 1963 The Setting: Dallas, U.S.A. The Plot: To kill one J.F.K. The Assassin: Oswald, Harvey Lee The Reason: Whimsicality The Season: Autumn, warm, sunny The Year: One thousand, nine, six, three The Day: November Twenty-Two Death waited for a rendezvous The Motorcade appeared on stage A madman shuffled in his cage A rifle shot rang out, - and then - The madman smiled, and aimed again. The awful bullet found its mark Dead lay the President - still, stiff, stark; A nation stunned couldn't understand... A deadly fury filled the land. A world-wide grief couldn't bring him back, And mourning millions cried for Jack. But he is gone....for life is war The Gods of Love laugh as before. copyright EPB, 1963