The Poet's Page


WASHED ASHORE
By Vic George 2004

Sometimes I feel like ocean refuse,
The empty shells, the dried seaweed,
And pieces of waterlogged wood,
All washed up onto the shores of the beach;
Just one of many upon millions of miles
Of the discards brought in from the sea.
Seagulls come and peck away
At the insects and objects,
Their lonely cries being the only sound of life
In this desert land,
The sun relentlessly baking the sands
And the surf washing it all with salty water.
I feel like I came in from a shipwreck,
Lost in dreams as the waves carry me asleep
To an unknown destination,
Clinging to the wreckage of a past life.
All I have with me is my weakened body,
Still clinging to some semblance of life
As I rest on the beach from being washed ashore.

TAKING FLYING LEAPS DOWN THE STARS
By Vic George 2004

I dream of a day of being in school,
Hearing the bell of dismissal,
Signaling the release of the stampede
Of children being let loosed for home.
I run among the children
As they proceed toward a series of stairs,
Each flight going down a hill.
The hills leading to the bottom seem endless,
Yet I continue at full speed
Toward the stairs heading downhill,
And I find myself leaping over them
Like an Olympic-trained runner,
Clearing an entire flight in a single bound.
But I donít stop or pause;
I continue at full speed toward the next flight,
And I leap again,
With this leap carrying me higher and farther,
And the children seem small on the ground
As they too race for the buses ahead.
I land again and continue to race onward
Until I finally reach the bottom.
And I find myself amazed,
Realizing that with unknown superhuman power,
I had made it to the bottom of the stairs.

DROWNED
By Vic George 2004

I felt as if I almost drowned
I stepped off into the deep pond
I was too young and didnít know how to swim
I tried to reach the surface but couldnít
I sank down into the murky bottom
I was imprisoned in a cage of water
I was without breath
I saw my family through a looking glass
I knew they must be wondering where I am
I couldnít call out to them to rescue me
I was losing strength
I didnít think I would ever escape
Then all of a sudden
A hand broke through the glass
And pulled me to the other side to safety

RUNAWAY
By Vic George 2004

Either I dreamed this or it was real
But I almost ran away
From the school that I was living in
I left my bed and ran outside
There was nobody in the cottage to stop me
In the middle of the night
I was running up the hill
Past the giant willow tree
Toward where the main building was
It was a cool summer night
I was in my pajamas
I felt drawn to escape
Yet then I stopped and realized
That what I was doing is wrong
So I ran back down the hill
Past the giant willow tree
And headed back into the cottage
And went back to my room to sleep
And nobody ever seemed to notice
It was so real and yet it felt like a dream
That night I almost ran away

ACOUSTICAL JOURNEY
By Vic George 2004

I am riding down the road
Taking in the pleasant scenery
As it passes by my window
Going from one place to another
Listening to the mellow sounds
Of guitars belting out tunes
That make me think of places
I would rather be
As spring fades into summer
As summer cools into autumn
As day slowly changes to night
As hours and minutes pass
I see cars passing by me
On the other side of the highway
Whizzing as I travel slowly
Carried along on the FM bands
Lost in another time and place
Going on an acoustical journey

STEPPING OFF INTO SPACE
By Vic George 2004

I always feel like
Iím just one step away
From stepping off into space
Going from being here
To being somewhere else
Beyond this place and time
Going from the familiar
To the great unknown
From walking on the earth
To walking across the cosmos
Saying goodbye to all
That I would leave behind here
Only to say hello to a world
Far different than
The one that used to be home
Itís just a matter of time
When in the next moment
I could step off into space

SUMMER DAYS DRIVING
By Vic George 2004

Summer days driving down the road,
Rocketing and cruising through the scenery.
Girls with hair flying in the breeze,
Laughing with each other as they pass me by
With the top rolled down and sunglasses on.
Radios blaring out music,
Getting the adrenaline running
Like gasoline in the engine.
Coastlands and woodlands
Never looked so alive,
Theyíre more than just living postcards.
Every bending twist and turn,
Every mile upon mile,
Every car riding along the same strip,
Feels like the Cannonball Run.
Itís a wonderful way to escape the slow motion
Of the ordinary everyday world.