For many years, Ben has been writing rhymes and poems. He began by calling them ditties but after exploring the accepted forms of poetry realized that his ditties were what the mainstream call limericks. From limericks Ben moved to Haiku and worked with the 5-7-5 syllable form to strengthen his composition and inspire short bursts of creativity. Here are just a few of Ben’s efforts:
THE DEER OF WOODLAND PARK
It’s almost dark
In Woodland Park,
And the deer are on the move.
A big tan doe
Leads the herd,
Her belly large with another.
She rules the herd
With an iron hoof,
and experience as a mother.
At the end of the group
comes a forked horn,
All a bulge with his growing muscle.
He’s preparing himself
For the day to come
When another buck he’ll tussle.
It’s an impressive sight,
This majestic herd,
As they stroll so gracefully by.
But, knowing their fate
At the hunter’s bow
Can surely make one cry.
by Ben Echeverria
I’m sure you’ve seen the sticker that may have made you snicker,
Well go ahead and snicker, with your humor there’s no bicker,
Just remember there are laws against the cruel.
Cruelty to a canine is punished as a crime,
so it’s best to always follow the Golden Rule.
Treat all curs with gentle caring for you never know the paring,
when arriving at Heaven’s Doggie Gates.
When the Lord of all us creatures calls forth our special features,
and with our dogs we are paired as mortal mates.
THE WINDS OF FALL
November 1, 2016
The winds of fall have blown away my leaves,
my trunk remains, but
not flexible as before.
The root ball of life
nourished and alive,
its grip on the soil of my being
Age has taken over the physical,
The mind works, but
not like in my youth.
I get down and can’t get up,
a call for help, and
bad wrist, fixed shoulder,
An old couple of
age and mind,
Supporting each other
but never knowing,
when the end will come,
As it was in the beginning,
from the darkness of the womb,
And so, it ever shall be,
From the brightness of the day
Into the darkness
of the night.
the heart beats no more,
It sits on my desk as it did on my mother’s.
Face down, it is just another rock.
Face up, the cut side revealed,
it is testament to our Creator.
Blue encasement terminating in a white window,
surrounded by lava brown.
The lapidary’s tools, cutting and polishing,
revealing its inner majesty.
Born with the earth long ago,
a window to eternity.
I wonder if turtles wear girdles?
To keep them in place when they move?
And I wonder if inside their hard shells,
Tiny straps are suspended in groves?
I marvel at the ground that they cover,
As they move slowly along on their way,
And I wonder if their steady progress
Is because they don’t stop much to play?
They swim without fear of the water
With head extended out far,
But when they go out on the hard street,
They’re at risk of being hit by a car.
A turtle’s a very serious creature,
All tucked up tight in his shell,
Just remember his race with the rabbit,
When he beat the poor bunny, quite well.
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