Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places

Quote of the Day

Quote Left"The harder you work, the luckier you get."Quote Right

by Gary Player

  |  Comment

George Towne 1847 - 1899

stark hunter Avatar stark hunter - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail Go to Poets Blog Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled George Towne 1847 - 1899 which was written by poet stark hunter. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

Read Poems by stark hunter

Best Stark Hunter Poems

+ Fav Poet

George Towne 1847 - 1899

George W. Towne

1847 – 1899

From Iowa I came by restless wagon train.
From the mid-west I arrived 
With satchel and silken scalp still intact.
I read Proverbs and Ecclesiastes to pass the time.
I read the Gospels of John and Luke.
I read Harriet Beecher Stowe and
I read John Greenleaf Whittier.
I saw the icy Rocky Mountains beckon me to the west
Waving their invisible fluid fingers
Like blond ballerinas in silent ever-moving tableaux.
I saw the railroad snake through the endless golden valleys.
And I saw the muddy roads converge 
Under a hundred bee-infested pepper trees.
And it was here in this new colony I found a home 
For my wife Fannie and our three dubious children.
You could always spot me in the distance,
Walking down Pickering Street.
For I was the dapper one in black derby hat
Taking the cash in the Greenleaf Avenue millinery.
I was the suited one in dusty black,
Winking and bowing to the lovely ladies
Showing my respect but imagining something else
Deep within my empty searching soul.
I was the tall, cleanly shaven erudite
Who had memorized the entire Gospel of John
And walked the northern foothills at sunset
Wearing my ever-present derby hat
And meeting, yes, 
Secretly meeting Lucy Swain 
Under the tall cedar tree on Rideout Ranch.
Confession is indeed good for the soul.
Confession has always allowed a good but dishonest man to sleep soundly.
To sleep long languorous hours on a cold winter’s night.
To sleep for an eternity without guilt or regrets
Under the hardened forgotten dirt of Clark Cemetery.
For I was the handsome one in derby hat
And only Lucy and I knew,
Only she and I knew intimately
About the patch of soft carpet-like grass,
There under the tall silent cedar tree
On Rideout Ranch.

Post Comments

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Be the first to comment.