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God's Signature

He writes His Name
In words of flame
across the sky as darkness falls.

The colors flare
We seldom care
Which Artist's Hand so brightly scrawls...


CEB  1999 
 


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