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.
...

Here we go again,
The PC is my pen;
Thoughts on paper,
Emotions, the shaper.
...

I will not stop for death,
He/she must stop for me;
I'll sing to my last breath,
and hopefully...in eternity.
...

I will never be rid of you, memories echo in my mind,
an emotional roller-coaster, with no end in sight;
images of a bond that's broke, shattered dreams I find,
children in confusion, amidst a never-ending fight.
...

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.
...