A small collection of
original rhyme and prose
by Fred Hurteau


Disclaimer: By no means do I pretend to be much of a poet. I much prefer writing action adventure. That's why there's not really a lot of poetry here. You can read it all in only a couple of minutes.
 
For those who dream of the stars, click here for an Ode to Comet Kohoutek.


Windswept Oak
by Fred Hurteau
"Windswept Oak" (poem and two original acrylic paintings) are based on this original photo by Fred Hurteau. This Live Oak tree is located near Nags Head on North Carolina's Outer Banks.
Wretched, tangled, twisted limbs,
What witches curse has bound you so?
Writhing like a tortured snake;
What agony your limbs do feign?

Only Mother Nature's whims,
Not a witches curse, I know.
Graceful curves your branches make,
And Mother Nature's favor gain.


Bluetsby Fred Hurteau

Bluets sprouting
from the leaves,

Resurrection
of Autumn's death.


Grey Rockby Fred Hurteau

Grey rock, you sit upon the ground,

Cold and silent, ten yards 'round;

And yet you're only just a crown

For what is still beneath the ground.


Friendsby Fred Hurteau

"Isn't it lovely?", said the Elm.

"Oh, yes, quite so", replied the Oak,

speaking of the sunrise realm;

Until a sudden fear evoked

itself upon them; "Elm," Oak said,

A tremor running through his core,

"How great I fear you'll soon be dead.

A man draws near." "But it is your

life I fear gone," the Elm replied,

"For look at you so tall and strong,

and me so small that I can hide.

E'en though I feel it all so wrong,

I feel in you I must confide.

He wants me not, no good am I

to build a house or lumber make."

Elm released a saddened sigh,

"'Tis you he'll want, 'tis you he'll take."

"Fear not for me, my friend so small,

for I have lived my years,

and seen the beauty of it all,

it's happiness and tears."

And then they wept the morning dew,

tears dripping to the ground,

watering the ferns that grew

beneath them all around.

*
Each gave a tearful, puzzled look;

The man walked up and sat

beneath the Oak, pulled out a book,

and read beneath his Ranger's hat.


They Could Touch Each Passing Cloud
by Fred Hurteau

O, how feeble art thou, tree.

How can a giant so feeble be?

Eight long strides art thy around

Where thy sit upon the ground;

So high are thy leafy shrouds,

They could touch each passing cloud;

Ten thousand storms have raged o'er thee,

Yet undaunted thou still be.

Hungry flames have lapped they base

And stinging lightning scarred thy face;

Downies gorred thy skin with holes;

Vines clinging to thine aged folds;

Winds have come and passed thee by;

Floods have torn thy roots awry.

Clinging to good solid Earth

Ever since thine ancient birth,

Tell me, tell me, if thou will,

Standing there quite proudly still,

How can it so sadly be

That just one axe can topple thee?


My Love by Fred Hurteau

Without you, my love,

I am an ocean with no tide,

A mirror with no reflection,

A hearth with no fire,

A bird without wings.

This web page/frameset and all original graphics contained herein are copyrighted by Fred Hurteau
and may not be copied or used without written consent of the author.