Ode to the Tombstone Dash
The tombstone dash reads two dates and a dash
The dash in the middle passes with a flash
The dash is the life, no matter how old
It holds the story of a life not told
The birth and death dates for all to view
But the dash in the middle is shared by few
The dash on the stone is very small
The same for all, short or tall
Remember, your dash is but a flash of time
I’m so glad the stone’s dash is yours, not mine
— Ed Blamires
An Ode to A Stake In The Foot of a Tree
From high above, I look down to see
A man with a tent spike, down beneath me
He had a tent, his name was Jones
He pounded his stake, but hit only stones
Again he pounded, ever so slow
I felt the pain, he hit my toe
I was stabbed, pinned, and pissed, with nothing to do
If only I could move and get even with you
He stayed for days and the pain grew worse
Hope to drop a limb to put him in a hearse
Relief at least, he’s eyeing the site
Now he’s pounding and pulling with all his might
The damn thing’s stuck with the rain
He’s tugging and smashing, oh the pain
Oh God now, he’s thrusting a knife into my foot
The pain is spreading throughout my root
What now? a shovel to hide the crime
He drives the spike deeper and thinks it’s all fine
He’s leaving this morning, I got a good view
I’ll get even you bet if he returns to site 22
I’ll drop some sap and a large dead limb
Onto his head and nose to disable him
I’ll wait for that guy Jones to come under my spell
So I can finally deliver him to environmental hell.
By Ed Blamires
By Ed Blamires 2017
An Ode to the Trailers
An ode to the trailers, a strange crew indeed
They travel on foot, weird people of need
They need the forest and the sky
They need that beauty in their eye
They look at the trees and birds in flight
They come in all sizes, what a sight
They have a unique vocabulary in the woods
A "separation" is a place near a tree where you deposit your goods
There's even a word for a person with gas
She's always a "sweep", always the last
They have a strange rule, never pass a leader ahead
One hike lasted two days, for the leader dropped dead
The hikes are too long, they always complain
But each Sunday they return, for they know what they gain
It's a feeling of group and the great outdoors
A feeling of freedom, as they walk the lake shores
So the group's a little strange and weird, maybe
But it's a group that's fun, it's the group for me