by Ben Echeverria
Written: November 24, 2014
First Published: January 9, 2019

The legs are tired,
but not the will.
The lips are cold,
but not yet still.

His life is long,
some right, some wrong.
His will to live
is still quite strong.

He takes each day
the way it comes.
The mind still clear
and filled with song.

The music sweet,
it frees the fear,
it moves the feet,
and brings a cheer.

He has no reason
to think the end.
The road well traveled
was full of bends.

Around each curve
new scenes appeared,
sometimes with laughter,
other times with tears.

A life well lived,
a mating well made.
At last he found
a friend who stayed.


Ben Echeverria

It’s Christmas eve of two-thousand-eighteen,
and the full onset of winter,
It’s been a good year, all things considered,
No wasted time, not one to fritter,
In a few days it’ll start all over again,
A fresh new year, a fresh new yen.
I’ll write, of course, on whatever it is,
And maybe publish in the coming year,
But there are so many books out there to read,
There really isn’t a writing need.
It’s not about publishing a book,
it’s more about creating.
It’s not about how the cover looks,
but whether the story is exciting.
A writer must aim at his target group,
and write to meet their needs,
using words that entertain and excite,
the reader’s mind to feed.
But, when all is said and done,
The real purpose in writing,
is to just have fun.


The Deer of Woodland Park

Deer close up 11-27-18
Ben Echeverria

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.

Continue reading “The Deer of Woodland Park”

No One Cares When We’re Old

No One Cares
When We’re Old & Cold
Ben Echeverria

No one cares
when we’re old and cold,
Very few will care
when we die.

The world we live in
cares not for its old,
They just write us off
with a sigh.

We’re written off
like an old bad debt-
like a check that has bounced
one last time.

A wish for a Mulligan
For a life well lived,
To play the back nine
in slow time.

It won’t come about,
as hard be the try,
So, we must play the ball
Where it lies.