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The World in Present Tense
A Collection of Contemporary Poetry @ The Other Pages   http://theotherpages.org/universe/

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    Zeno is hooray still
    back there
    that's his toga you see not
    Aristotle's or Plato's
    and it doesn't matter that
    Mr. Peirce called him silly and
    theoretically speaking
    took a couple of shots at him
    and who cares that
    Mr. Russel said aw hell
    finite endings to infinite series
    explains it easy
    that almost got him
    but no that's Zeno still Zeno
    back there
    pacing soft summer breezes along
    and listen you
    can hear his old sandles
    way up here in the twenty-first century.

       Don Emigh, © 2004

A Sunrise

    He touched with gold the city where
    Tall buildings stood--
    The columns and the monuments.
    But that was six o'clock.

       Don Emigh, © 2004


    Where the summer went, God knows.
    But here it is November,
    And a cold red sun goes down.

       Don Emigh, © 2004

Love Came to Him

    Love came to him in his old age,
    Love came to him at last.
    But he had been dulled by Time--he was dull.
    Love hesitated a moment, then moved on.

       Don Emigh, © 2004


    I did not witness hesitant persuasion,
    Delicate in the east,
    But rather a convincing demonstration
    Of how to waken every sleeping beast.

       Don Emigh, © 2004


    Leaves fell from the tree
    Reluctant to the ground.
    Strange how soft they died--
    Died without a sound.

    But now their drying bones
    Whisper on the walk.
    Like tragic ghosts, they are
    Now compelled to talk.

    Whisper on, you ghosts,
    Of a springtime spent,
    Of a summer past,
    Of a life that went.

       Don Emigh, © 2004


    Recently I was up on the mountain
    Just trying again to remember
    What it was to be tired and cold.
    I climbed through sunshine and fog on the mountain.
    At a moderate height as I rounded a rock
    There on the ground I saw it--
    A message held from the wind by a stone
    And scrawled in the old familiar hand.
    Message? It was but several words
    That were preachy, unmodern and trying.

    But allow me to read these embarrassing words.
    It won't take long. They appear to be
    Especially edited for this age.
    And with your courtesy please allow
    My usual admonition to
    Ignore them at mortal risk, or worse:
    Without love, all progress is a curse.

       Don Emigh, © 2004
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