DeadManWalking
by Ted L Glines

Death licks my soul's tale
Eating at the table of
All my bad habits
Daring me to survive further.

Misfortune ticks my minutes
Accelerating dissolution through stress
Neither offering respite nor reward.

Wisdom bows to maggots
Accumulated knowledge will rot
Lost after all my years of
Knowing it was smart to learn - and
Intelligence resets to
Nothing in my coming
Grave

Author's Notes: This  is Ted at play. Note that the  first letter of each line, scanned  from top to bottom, reads "DEAD MAN WALKING," and the challenge  was to contrive a poem which matched that phrase. A more  difficult  challenge might be to create the poem in rhyming verse, and I may  take  my own challenge on that one.

Death Song
by Ted L Glines

Old Apache woman
laid on her robes
bony hands clasped
on her empty breast
eyes closed - moving
perhaps remembering
playing hoops-and-sticks
as a little girl
maybe seeing two husbands
who lived and died
too fast
perhaps watching
two sons growing
loving - making children
all grown and gone away
everything goes away
and I wait
as she sleeps
barely breathing
holding her hand
and she mumbles

“I am dreaming,
let me never wake up
for if I awake,
I shall die.”

All through that time
days cast grey light
upon her old face
brown lines in her face
white hair shining
nights rained red reflections
from the fire
she never stirred
until
with tears from ancient eyes
she looked at me
sighed and smiled
for one memory moment
thanking me for waiting
before closing those eyes
to begin her journey
to the stars.

I sing for her.

Deadline
by Ted L Glines

To awake at dawn with a grin on my lips
overwhelmed with joy - my fondest of trips.

Bored I have been for many long years
ever sharing the work - the tears and the cheers,
creating kings for a pittance of pay
overcome by deadlines - no time to play,
my day will soon be my own to rule,
easing out of the box and swinging kewl.

Timid notes for a brand new song
into the arts and writing strong,
ready the heart and steady the pen,
entering life once more again
determined to fly like a Hippy wren.

After decades of slaving - some else's job done
getting schedules completed and paydays won,
ages of striving to scrimp and save
imagining freedom - hopeful and brave,
never more a deadline - except for the grave.

Author's Notes: (Acrostic:  "To Become Tired Again.")  Well, "rehired" is to become hired again,  so "retired" must mean ... Knowing me,  I have the feeling that  my "retirement" activities will tire me out worse than  anything  I ever did in my "working" life. All of my life (like yours) has  been  spent in servitude to the needs of owners and bosses, helping  them to achieve  their goals, helping them to make their fortunes,  and now I am about to become  my own boss for the first time in  my life. Gosh, I hope I turn out to be a good  boss. I'd hate to  have to go on strike against ... me!