Patrick Dumas Poems
|3.||The Burning Sun||5/20/2011|
|5.||The Death Of The Ball Turret Gunner||7/11/2007|
|6.||Birth In The Desert, Death At Sea||10/25/2011|
|8.||The Burning Dream||5/20/2011|
|9.||Back To The Start||7/12/2011|
|10.||Open Your Eyes||7/20/2011|
|11.||A Chance Of Seasons||10/24/2011|
|13.||Mother To Son||7/11/2007|
|16.||To The Lake||6/29/2007|
|18.||A Gypsy Peers Through Her Crystal Ball||5/20/2011|
Ice cycles hung from my nose
hands were stuck to my gun; froze.
All alone in a storm of white
couldn't tell day from night.
Then a warm feeling pierced my heart,
a sniper hit his mark.
Warmth followed by sweat.
Reached for life
but life let go.
So defined is the red blood
in the white snow.
Asking the lord for my mothers presence.
Scenes of life showed me my blessings.
The soldiers blood was warm
in the belly of the trench.
The storm made a good casket.
To The Lake
In Spring of youth it was my lot-
to haunt of the wide world a spot
the which I could not love the less -
so lovely was the loneliness.
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
and the tall pines that towered around.
But when the night had thrown her pall
upon that spot, as upon all,