Richard Shindle Poems

The night was clear and beckoning as the dawn approached another sunrise
The campfire's ghost sent its last grey shadow soaring towards the towering mountain
Like the silence of death, the sun appeared along the misty horizon
The camp came slowly to life as a new fire kindled the figures below
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Of the high lonesome mountains I dream.
Of glacier fed rivers and clear mountain streams.

The peaceful stillness of a clear mountain lake,
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Death comes unexpectedly in the waning hours of darkness and another spirit ascends into the heavens at the crack of dawn.

A far away quake sends the tsunami rushing to shore where unexpected souls await their fate.
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The last glimpse of sunset infiltrates the giant red cedars as eerie shadows appear on the landscape below in the old growth forest.

The small unnamed island in Puget Sound settles in for the night, as night life sounds abound.
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The old man sat in his chair looking out the window, as the sunlight cast his shadow on the wall behind him.

Trying to kindle a fire that burned out long ago, memories raced thru his mind of times gone by.
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Some people love them, some dislike them.
They were homeless, and we tamed and named them.

Cats come in many colors, and we have most of them.
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From Texas to the Yukon- a 4000 mile trip to behold.
Great places to stop, remote campsites to enjoy in anticipation of the Land of Gold.
A small Indian village awaits us, as the ice on the lake nears breakup.
The days are getting longer, the nights are shorter, as we await our wakeup.
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Remember the way it used to be when one gift at Christmas was a treasure.
Remember the way it used to be when Sunday meant the Family church service and Mom's fried chicken dinner.
Remember the way it used to be when Friday night football with high school friends to celebrate Homecoming.
Remember the way it used to be when a 21 cent movie matinee,5 cent popcorn, candy, and a soft drink was cherished.
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They said it would be there, but it wasn't there.
They said it would be tomorrow, but just another day of sorrow.
Is this thing really true?
Guess I'll have to think it thru.
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