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David Pekrul
A Life Honoured
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My Hidden Voice

Copyright © 2004 - 2019, David Ronald Bruce Pekrul , all rights reserved.

Poetry which speaks of the Human Spirit


The poet Robert Frost once said, "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words." And to quote the poet Carl Sandburg, "I have written some poetry that I don't understand myself." Both these thoughts sum up my feelings about my poetry. Some of my poems are from my life experiences, some are works of fiction ("a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness"), and some, well, I have no idea where they came from.

Please enjoy, and as you read, keep an open mind.

Thanks so much,
David Pekrul


A Sound That Tells Me All Is Well

In shallow ponds the tadpoles squirm, until they turn to frogs,
Among the rushes, lily pads, they form a froggy choir,
As each and ev’ry night they croak, and wake up all the dogs,
A sound I love to listen to in bed as I retire.

Among the rushes, lily pads, they form a froggy choir,
As “croak” and “ribbit” there is heard, a song ‘til early light,
A sound I love to listen to in bed as I retire,
A sound that tells me all is well and everything is right.

As “croak” and “ribbit” there is heard, a song ‘til early light,
I rest in sweet contentment as I listen to the sound,
A sound that tells me all is well and everything is right,
And though it seems so simple, it is very much profound.

I rest in sweet contentment as I listen to the sound,
Among the rushes, lily pads, where moonlit waters gleam,
And though it seems so simple, it is very much profound,
A sound of such complexity, which spawns a simple dream.

Among the rushes, lily pads, where moonlit waters gleam,
As each and ev’ry night they croak, and wake up all the dogs,
A sound of such complexity, which spawns a simple dream,
In shallow ponds the tadpoles squirm, until they turn to frogs.

-David Ronald Bruce Pekrul-

Razor's Edge

I walked upon a razor’s edge,
My feet were bleeding crimson red,
The pain was great, I slipped and fell,
And landed in the pit of Hell.

And Satan greeted me with glee,
He said, “How are you, can’t you see,
That you are in my world to stay,
I own your soul and you will pay.”

And voices taunted, visions swelled,
In total darkness, in this Hell,
I begged and begged for sweet release,
A little hope, a little peace.

And then a ‘savior’ came to me,
With powder white, “I’ll set you free,
If in your veins you take me in,
You’ll feel alive, like you can win.”

I tried to fight against this foe,
To turn from what he would bestow,
But in the end surrendered all,
And set myself up for a fall.

The powder melted in the spoon,
I felt the rush and very soon,
Was walking on the razor’s edge,
With bloody feet upon this ledge.

-David Ronald Bruce Pekrul-


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