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The Poetry of 1970

In 1970, I was a junior in high school and very active in school sponsored activities. I'd never felt love, but fell in love with a girl who later proved to be elusive. I experimented with poery more fully, as I did with all writing.

MFN from the 1980 introduction

Luther 1970 posted 6/19/04
Death of a Great Man 1970 posted 6/19/04
Lincoln 1970 posted 6/19/04
In the Grave 1970 posted 1/27/04
Blood in the Street 1970 posted 6/19/04
Triangle One 1970 posted 1/27/04
Triangle Two: A Trapped Canine 1970 posted 6/19/04
Angel Personified 1970 newly posted 1/27/04
Scintillation 1970 newly posted 1/27/04
Footsteps in the Dark 1970 newly posted 1/27/04
Sonnet One 1970 newly posted 1/27/04
Sonnet Two 1970 newly posted 1/27/04
Sonnet Three 1970 posted 6/19/04
Sonnet Four 1970 posted 1/27/04
Poem for the Breeze 1970 newly posted 01/09/05
Peace a Chance 1970 newly posted 01/09/05
In Making it Great 1970 posted 6/19/04
Love 1970 posted 1/27/04
Eulogy 1970 newly posted 01/09/05
Two as One 1970 posted 6/19/04
Smokey Mountain Blues 1970
You Kiss Just Like a Fish 1970 posted 12/05/04


Angel Personified

Sweet round face and a turned up nose,
Soft black curls, highlighted with bows,
Nice and friendly, never complaining.
God's world on Earth is where Lydia's aiming.

Ripe as an apple.
Good like a pear.
Everyone's happy
When Lydia's there.

Eyes that sparkle like a lighted fuse,
A personality deepened with a flower's hues.
Wonderful, beautiful, fun to be with.
Brightens the outlook of one filled with pith.

Lovely as a buttercup,
Endearing to the prime,
Lydia's wonderful
All of the time.

"Blood in the Street"


The sun hung high over Johnson's Bend.
An air of suspense filled the town.
Wagons, they creaked with uncertainty.
There was hardly even a sound.
But the people, they stared at the figure,
That walked from the end of the town.

Joe Williams, the tender of the bar,
Moved away from his post at the window.
He knocked at the door of the rented room,
Of the man they called Gary Winslow.
Gary came out with his gun in his hand,
Then he, too, gazed out of the window.

Kicking dust up with his spurs,
A tall man in a hat walked the street.
He had an expensive silk shirt on his chest,
And high leather boots on his feet.
He stopped just three doors from the bar,
The wagons drove off of the street.

Gary Winslow strolled out of the bar.
The look of hate filled his blue eyes.
"It has come," the people whispered,
"Soon the man with the slowest gun dies."
Gary Winslow stopped short of the sidewalk,
And to the stranger he raised his eyes.

"Hello, Gary," the hatted man said,
As he put a hand on his gun.
Gary Winslow just stood there waiting,
Shielding his eyes from the sun.
The hatted man waited no more.
He shot the young man with his gun.

The townsmen ran out of their houses,
The businessmen out of their stores.
Young Gary Winslow just lay there,
And the people went back to their chores,
The townsmen back to their houses,
The businessmen back to their stores.

A hatted man rode out of the town,
Never again seeing Johnson's Bend.
He had ridden into town that morning,
And had made Gary Winslow's life end.
But his business had terminated
In the town of Johnson's Bend.


"Death of a Great Man"

Through days of plunder, days of strife, 
And the ever-present stench of death.
A war was ended and men had lost their lives.
America the country had joined again.
And a boy named Johnny went home to his Beth.

Some cheered, some cried, but the war was won,
A man named Lincoln dried his eyes.
Off his shoulders came the burden that had weighed a ton.
But there was sadness still within him.
The sadness that comes when a young man dies.

Abraham Lincoln, a man of poise and grace,
Was elected again as President.
But there were lines on his face that would never be erased,
He readied himself for another term.
Ah, the sadness in being a President.

Happiness again filled the tall man's soul,
That he went for a night at the theater,
But a maniac killed him, and before he fell,
He knew that his sadness had ended for good,
As he floated up to meet his Father.

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