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Mark Springer Poem
Jack sits in the wheelchair in the grass
a rebel nerd, he thinks of the time
when he cycled up Teton Pass
by a stream through walls of pine
Obsessed, this viewpoint vampire
his memory full of hill and vale
A landscape loon, an odd desire
But now his body is his jail
The harried nurse to her surprise
Distracted from a patient's cries
sees a vision in Jack's fogged eyes
lakes and forests and crimson skies
[chorus]
In each scene, views so grand
At six thousand feet, he biked along
Never quite reached the Promised Land
But the last verse is not the song
Kate sits in the same old age home
A relic from a bygone show
Her friends long dead, she's now alone
Her melody no longer on the radio
She was warm and could be all heart
Now a meteor in afterburn
She knows that bodies fall apart
Resigned or not, the wheel must turn.
[outro]
Jack and Kate were luckier than some
They were free, knew right from wrong
They lived a long life, and had their fun
The last verse is not the song.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
I come from the borough of Queens, New York
My classmates call me a Klutz and a dork
Those names pervaded my soul, taking a toll
Being at the bottom of the totem pole.
Then Dad took me to the town of Tortilla Flat
I walked into a store, bought a ten-gallon hat
I started talking like John Wayne, also bought some boots
It’s funny how a costume can make a mind slip its roots
The ranchers nodded with respect; I looked like them
Cowgirls smiled in my direction, one shone like a gem
She said there’s a rodeo at half past three
Come join us there, my friends and me.
I said sure, I’ll mosey down there
I’ll bring some popcorn that we all can share
When the time came, I walked into the ring
But through the wrong door, that was the thing.
Two guys lifted me onto a horse, and opened the gate
I shouted, “I’m not a performer!” but it was too late
The horse bolted out, then tried a somersault
I held on for dear life, couldn’t them girls call a halt?
They told me later, t’was the worst horse in the west
I flew over its mane, but it was a personal best
The crowd went wild, but I threw the hat on the mud
Dropped all the popcorn, wiped off the blood
The cowgirl looked adoring, said “that was so cool”
I looked at her, but my mood was cruel
Said “I’m a nerd from Queens, don’t want to pretend
Keep that dang hat, this all got to end."
Dad took me home, the worse for wear
He got me a baseball hat so nobody would stare.
I put it on backwards, I don’t really care
Buy the wrong hat, and it’s dangerous out there.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
Tim was the new judge in Deadwood Flat
Not really qualified, just a rancher at that
He first case was of the outlaw, Horace Slade
Caught red handed in a cattle raid
The jury took ten minutes to recommend the noose
Better than letting this rattlesnake loose.
Tim smoothed out his robe, asked Slade to speak
Slade perked up, though his future was bleak
"It was only my brain, my brain it was me.
Badly constructed, that's how I plea
My thoughts, my feelings, my crooked way
All preprogrammed in my DNA!
"You see Dad was a member of the cardshop mob
Mom always drunk, and moreover a slob
My twin set a cat on fire at the age of three
So, who could predict much hope for me?
Tim panicked, searched his dictionary
Couldn't find DNA, wished he was on the prairie
He had never heard that excuse before
But said to Slade, "proceed, tell us more"
Slade felt hope, and got on a roll
He said "ain't no such thing as a soul'
"I know the computer hasn't been invented yet
"But we're programmed, coded, our path in life set!
"I shot a man to watch him die
Then partied at the bar for an alibi
Not my fault, an MRI would have shown
My limbic system, quiet as a stone.
The jury murmured, Tim gave a sigh
What was a computer, or an MRI?
Slade's nonsense was going too far
Slade could have used a lesson in better P.R.
Tim said, "I hope what you say is not true
I like soul and spirit, the afterlife too.
But either way, some feelings I can't transcend
My brain wants your pointless existence to end!
They planned to hang Slade on the Alder tree
Justice would be served, jury did agree
Then Slade tried a ploy, to explain his crime
He yelled "I'm a traveler through time!"
"I come from the year 2024
DNA, MRI, computers and more
Got stuck in a time warp, had to survive
You'd do the same to stay alive"
They had to let Slade go, agreed he's insane
Tim didn't like to do it, it went against the grain
But Deadwood Flats couldn't hang a guy
Who believed in computers, DNA, and MRI!
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
Title: Wind on our back
A camp counselor once, I thought I should glide
I ran fifteen miles, at the airport applied
A pilot took me up, above the Pocono grass
But I got airsick when the plane took a pass.
The pilot didn't want me throwing up in his plane
He dived to the ground, like an eagle gone insane
So I learned I can't soar, on the road I can glide.
Nothing wrong though with my having tried.
As a teen I ran track at Avebury High
Sometimes slow, rarely fast, I wouldn't want to lie
Then in college I hatched a different scheme
I wouldn't compete, just run with the team.
The coach sat us down, asked our time and event
Each kid's time incredible, I knew what that meant
I said "Skip me, please" ready to escape out the door
But their good natured laughter rose to a roar.
At the U of Delaware, I tried the same scheme
I didn't compete, just ran with the team
Came by in street clothes one day, but led the pack
Then the captain sprinted, a successful attack.
[chorus]
It was a healthy time, and my pace improved,
It was fun to go fast, and with grace I moved.
When you're in great shape the road ahead seems free,
Like running with the wind, like sailing on the sea.
I had short encounters on roads and trails
Other runners, unassuming, but tough as nails
I caught up with a Marine, matched his stride,
"I love hills!" he said, a matter of pride.
On a back road ran a woman, a running blonde blaze
I caught up, but there was steel in her gaze
"Don't bother", she said, "I've run men into the ground"
I had a brief vision of scattered bodies around.
She was swift, and no doubt those guys lost face
But she had thrown the gauntlet, I had to keep pace.
Two runs I remember, they were so nice
One Delaware winter, trees sparkling with ice,
And with Westchester Roadrunners in fields of lush green
Don't know how I kept up, but magic in the scene.
[outro]
That was 40 years ago, but when night descends,
I think back to running with two teams of new friends
At Manhattan, then Delaware, both let me come
Wherever they are now, long may they run.
And may the wind be always at their back
On life's winding path, or off the main track.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
She found a job near Annapurna and when she trekked around a turn
It was like walking into a wall of beauty, awesome like a burn
It sometimes stopped her cold; this display words could not surpass:
Alpenglow on distant peaks, flags on a mountain pass.
Her ancestors lived by Polish rivers, but none were like Dudh Koshi
From Glacial Lakes on Everest and eventually to the sea.
A torrent crashing down, sometimes turquoise, sometimes white
Slowly weaving through dense forests at Nepal's lower height.
Get up early at Kala Patthar, witness Everest catch the sun:
Its light chases over the lakes and on the ridges runs.
Paraglide off Pokhara, see dawn mountains pink and gold:
Bright greens of forests, rhododendron blooms unfold
Cross Mountain rivers: the bridges sway like cradled dreams,
Ski the slopes in Auli, or row on quiet streams.
You can see the highest mountains mirrored inside the highest lakes
Look up at the clouds pierced by peaks, the patterns nature makes.
In Spiti’s stark embrace, stars hush all petty human talk,
Past Khardung La’s high pass, desert camels softly walk.
Dharamshala’s pines and meadows whisper in your heart,
Yet after a vacation spent in awe, you know you must depart.
Some trek here after wars they fought, or before new roles begin,
Some come from countries flooded with crime, their leaders do them in.
I'm pessimistic; on our future I'd hate to bet
I feel a sword hangs overhead, but we just don't know it yet
But this is a place you can remember, before fate hits the fan
Just don't drive on the roads don't breathe the dust, make sure to have a plan.
And as you climb to basecamp, here's another reason why
From real to metaphoric, you can use a Himalayan High.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
At age three she was the baby who couldn't feel afraid
A life track was set out, just the way she was made
They tested her at eighteen, with images of blood and gore
No galvanic skin response, a smile and nothing more
She lied from early on, another way to control
If you had contact with her, it was bound to take a toll
There are doors we wouldn't open, taboos and virtue codes
But like a moth to a light, she went down those wicked roads
She gloated at misfortune, but had superficial charm
It lowered your defenses when you should feel strong alarm
She was rarely caught or punished, usually won the game
Gaslighted victims in courts of law, never took the blame.
She came toward me one day, emotionless as a rock
Saw me with my child, the change gave me a shock
A look of gleeful sadism, on what had been a normal face
Then she recomposed, the revelation left no trace.
There are people who seek aliens in the depths of outer space
But they should look here on earth, within the human race
No pity is found within our alien's mirthless laugh
Inside them bad emotions thrive, beware the psychopath.
You read about these types sometimes, when the truth comes through
You get angry, feel disgust, maybe despair too.
There's no redemption possible, but do they deserve your wrath?
A mis-wired brain is all you need to explain the psychopath.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
During the Civil War, money came late,
Indians starved, left to their fate.
Two braves came across a white farmer's food.
They were hungry and stressed and in a bad mood.
Little Bear picked up an egg, Grey Elk said no.
Some things we can't do, some places can't go.
This is a white man's farm; we can't be here.
Little Bear threw it down with contempt for Elk's fear.
Grey Elk was stung, he killed five whites in the farm.
Chief Little Crow found out; said you've done us all harm.
A young man shouted, "Little Crow is afraid, a white man's tool."
Little Crow said, "I am not a coward and not a fool."
[chorus]
Never tell a Warrior he's afraid.
A red cloud will rise, a price will be paid.
The sitting bull will run with the crazy horse.
The wolf pack of fate will follow its course.
Said Crow: Count your fingers any amount.
White men will come faster than you can count….
they will turn on you and devour you all.
Like leaves your women and children will fall.
Little Crow knew what a hopeless battle meant.
But after so many broken treaties, he had to consent.
Friend Wabasha said: It is Great Spirit's will.
We have got to die. Let us, then, kill!
Sioux lost the war, the goal beyond reach.
"I'm ashamed" Little Crow said in his last speech.
Whites are cowardly women, but they won the fight.
Now we must scatter, like buffalo in flight.
[chorus]
Never tell a Warrior he's afraid.
A red cloud will rise, a price will be paid.
The sitting bull will run with the crazy horse.
The wolf pack of fate will follow its course.
There came many seasons, a Drying Grass Moon,
In Dakota reservation, not enough room
Water no good, no game they could see
They buried Crazy Horse at Wounded Knee
By the Yellow Medicine River imagine that force
Traveling Hail, Lightning Blanket, and Crazy Horse
Fierce riding Braves, Flying Hawk and Lone Horn.
From a vain quest of courage, a legend was born.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
Every morning, I work from home
I turn on the radio, if I'm unhappy and alone
You hear so much misery when the car jams are told
Make you feel happier, if you're mean and cold
The outbound George has a disabled tractor trailer
Some drivers now are cursing like a sailor.
On the inbound Holland there is police activity
Imagine all those slowed drivers, it's like captivity.
(chorus)
There are people who like pulling tails of cats
Others freakout Grandma by attaching bells to bats
But me, I enjoy the misfortune of those who drive
Comparing our fates makes me feel more alive.
On the Pulaski skyway it's a waiting game
I bet Mr. Pulaski would have not delegated his name.
Its bumper to bumper after Passaic Avenue
I bet those drivers are steaming too.
At the exit ramp an accident partly blocks
That teen driver just learned life has hard knocks.
Heavy delays, so many drivers annoyed
But the traffic jams give me Schadenfreude.
The Lincoln backs into Weehawken tight,
They’ve been stuck in that tunnel since about midnight
Makes you wonder, and contemplate
Or if you're like me, you feel really great.
Add up all the lost hours of lives
No need for bombs, no need for knives
Time that could have been used for better things
All the waste, we should have wings.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2025
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Mark Springer Poem
I eased our kayak into the river of lies.
There was me, Dave and Jim, experienced guys.
The current grew stronger, Jim said he would quit,
He said it felt wrong, the scene didn't fit.
Dave urged I go upstream and fight the pull.
I called him a deceiver; he called me red bull.
A rock of hard truth lay right on our path.
I swerved around it; he grabbed on in his wrath.
[chorus]
So many tributaries to the river of lies.
So many ways that untruth can disguise
Be ready to debate, take heed every clue.
And paddle along with a dependable crew.
The waters funneled narrow; cliffs did arise.
I pursued a half-truth on this river of lies.
I shot through Shriek-wind Cleft, and Down-fall Gap.
The kayak shuddered, but I did not turn back.
Went down the rapids, with a groan and a gasp.
Flew out of the boat, into realities grasp.
Crawled up the bank under the merciless sun.
All water was gone, nowhere to run.
I should have credited the feeling of doubt.
High walls all around, how could I get out?
Then found devil's advocate canyon.
Realized I should have trusted each companion.
[chorus]
So many tributaries to the river of lies.
So many ways that untruth can disguise.
They say hindsight's 20/20, that excuse may be true
But when anomalies arise, they're talking to you.
The causes you believed don't believe in you.
False friends fall away, despised friends now ring true.
You overrode the warnings whenever you could.
The paradigm shift was too late to do good.
At lost chance ravine, there's blood on the water.
Down its walls faint echoes of torture and slaughter
Know this - under the din, warnings can be true.
To live you may have to change your entire world view.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
I tried to write a song like John Denver would have done
Thought the way to do it was to emulate each one
Went to Colorado for a Rocky Mountain High
Found heaven near Shenandoah, but inspiration still not nigh.
Left my wife on a jet plane, didn't tell her what for
She would have disapproved, said get a job, what a bore.
In Wyoming, I camped under the moon
I tried to compose, but didn't like the tune
[chorus]
Channeling Denver, songwriter to emulate
I had the acoustic guitar, just couldn't be great
Searching for lyrics in that mountain space
Found peace, but no words in that quiet place
South wind blew in that East Texas town
Had a momentary idea, but couldn't write it down
At wits end, followed a country road home
disheartened, halfway, I sat on a stone.
I thought of John Denver's last flight, his plane fell to the sea
A tragic snapshot of that image before eternity
Remembered his song about his old guitar
In the music pantheon, I hope forever a star
[outro]
I gave up on the lyric, felt writer's block
Did I have anything worth saying? Tried to take stock
Then looked into my past, found what I had sought
A melody of my own, unpretentious and taut
But don't misunderstand, don't get me wrong
I'll can't wait to see the Wrangell mountains and play a John Denver song.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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