david lessard Poems

what color is the snow?
for some it's only white;
piles of slush and grime,
patterned by the night.
...

there's not a memory of you that I want to keep,
the bumps and bruises of our love has cut too deep;
I thought the memory of you would surely disappear,
but you come back to haunt me, forever, I fear.
...

my name is frenchie savoie, from quebec,
I came out west in 1875, with wesley powell;
he wanted to take a boat down the colorado,
I told him he was nuts and take along a towel.
...

I lied the other day. I said that Spring was here.
It's not. I see out the window, eight inches of snow;
I should have said...that Spring is near,
I jumped the gun, inserted foot in mouth...you know.
...

you couldn't make me cry.
I'm a big boy now and I don't do that any longer -
you cannot make me sad,
I've been sad and refuse to be any more,
...

there was a young man, from the green hills of vermont,
he unwillingly went west, his dad suffered a disorder;
he hated the desert, he misssed the hills and streams,
he was only a hundred miles or so, from the border.
...

I look out my window and He is there -
I walk along the avenue, and so does He -
I converse with Him and say a silent prayer -
How marvelous it is, that He should welcome me.
...

I, for one, hope that she doesn't,
what kind of life is that for her?
she doesn't need the abuse of power,
all she needs...is to hear a kitten purr.
...

somewhere, no one knows just where,
there's a treasure to be found;
someplace, no one knows just what place,
there's a paradise, waiting to be found.
...

when you and I were young my lad,
and all the others older;
we were carefree, full of joy,
and our minds were somewhat bolder.
...