Bill Ward - All - Writing - Poetry - Poetry Drafts

At Sea

I stand, craning my neck
Hand on the railing
My feet spread apart
On the deck of the ship
Moving up and down
Slowly
Among the heaving grey-blue

Surrounded by silent dampness
I peer into the depths of grey
Hoping to see something, anything

A gull alights on the railing near me
White and grey, with yellow beak
It stares at me dumbly
Then composes itself to join my vigil

Above, the sky suddenly opens up
Brilliantly the sun shines his spotlight
The bird, the boat, and me
Are revealed to his countenance

The bird flies away
The fog lifts
The harbor beckons.

Copyright (C) 2000 William R. Ward
All rights reserved.
Thu, 28 Sep 2000 2:15 PM

Unmarked Bills, take Four

I got a letter from the bank today.
It was a ransom note.
They have kidnapped my livelihood.

They could have snipped letters
From newspapers
And stuck them together
On corporate letterhead.

Or demanded unmarked bills
In a brown leather briefcase
Left in a phone booth
On Main Street.

But the bank doesn't have to do that.
Their computer just spits out
Letter after letter,
Demanding tribute

On behalf of my most dreaded,
Mortal enemy --
Myself.

(C) 2000 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved
August 8, 2000, 2:15am

Fog

Drifting in the fog--
Days, weeks, months,
Surrounded by silent grey.
When at last the fog lifts,
The current has carried me
Far from my safe harbor
Where life goes on--
Fishing boats disgorge
Into waiting trucks,
Sea gulls swoop and squawk,
Day sailors set
Out to ride the breeze,
As I am
Blown
Slowly, steadily, helplessly
Onto the rocks.

Jul 15 2000
William R Ward

Grandpa's Basement

In my grandpa's basement,
There is a canoe
Hanging from the rafters.
A skeleton, without flesh or skin;
Dust covers every horizontal surface,
As he sits,
Upstairs,
And watches TV.

(C) 2000 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved.
Monday, June 5 2000, 7:15 PM

Howard

Every thing is in its place
Bags of bolts, boxes of nails,
Rusting wrenches on the wall.
Cut wood awaits, wanting work, its
Blueprint lost to the grave.
Dust gathers on aging tools,
Worn handles match his hands,
Worn down to a perfect fit.
Everything is ready now
For a final masterpiece,
Too late now to start.

by William Ward
5/15/2000

Unmarked Bills, take Three

I got a letter from the bank today.
It was a ransom note.
They have kidnapped my livelihood.

They could snip out letters
From newspapers
And stick them together
On corporate letterhead.

They could demand unmarked bills
Placed in a brown leather briefcase
Left in a phone booth on Main Street

But they don't have to bother with all that;
They're the bank.
Their computer just spits it out --
Cold black letters
On stark white paper:

Correspondence from the untouchable proxy
Of my most dreaded,
Mortal enemy --
Myself.

(C) 2000 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved
January 7, 2000, 12:45am

Unmarked Bills, take Two

I got a letter from the bank today.
It was a ransom note.
They have kidnaped my livelihood,
Subverting my earning power
For their own profits.

They don't demand unmarked bills
Placed in a brown leather briefcase
Left in a phone booth on Main Street
(No cops!)

They don't even bother snipping out
Letters from newspapers
And sticking them together
On corporate letterhead.

My time, my happiness, my hopes, my dreams
Are now forfeit.
The bank acts as untouchable proxy
For my most dreaded,
Mortal enemy --
Myself.

(C) 1999 William R. Ward
All rights reserved.
October 25, 1999 20:42

Cubicle

Sitting alone in a cubicle
The glow of the computer screen
Illuminates my face.
Harsh flickering fluorescent lamps overhead;
Faint whirring of cooling fans;
Hum of flyback transformers in computer monitors;
Sound of keys tapping;
Shifting in my chair;
The CD player stopped hours ago.

It is late.
Co-workers have long gone home.
And I am left alone
Alone with my whirring box of electrons
As I form a new structure
Out of nothingness.

I notice none of these things, however.
Enraptured, I do not eat, drink, or go
To the bathroom.
I do not see the dark sky through the window,
Stars and moon have been waiting for me.
I do not hear any sound.
Only the subvocal murmurs in my head
As I construct my new universe.

Some say that God created the world in six days,
Only resting on the seventh.
If that is so,
I think I know
What that must have felt like.

(C) 1999 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved
October 4, 1999

Off the Coast of Oregon

Off the coast of Oregon
There stands a solitary rock.
Standing proud and defiant
Against the ocean's wrath;
Against the turbulent tides,
Against the ravaging waves
Of winter storms.
Year upon year,
It resists.
With each passing year,
The rock loses some of its essence
Tiny grains of sand are pried away
To build up the beach -
The ocean's monument to itself.
Yet year after year,
The rock stands, resolute,
If only a little bit less proud.
Off the coast of Oregon,
There once stood a solitary rock.

(C) 1998 William R Ward
Wed Oct 28 22:30:00 PDT 1998

Unmarked Bills

I got a letter from the bank today.
It was a ransom note.
They have kidnapped my livelihood.
They could snip out letters
From newspapers
And stick them together
On corporate letterhead,
But they're the bank,
So their computer just prints it out.
I got a letter from the bank today.

(C) 1996 William R Ward
Thu Apr 25 02:25:37 PDT 1996