The poetry of Beto Ochoa, Prose from a spiritual warrior

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The Poetry Of Beto Ochoa~ Prose from a spiritual warrior

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Ode to Mrs Olson who always had faith in me.

I remember the hat Mrs. Olson wore
As she rode the bus each day
She’d bought it downtown at Woolworth's
I've forgotten how little she paid

But she cherished its presence above her brow
And was whole when it was in place
It was decked with flowers and Irish crochet
And it shielded the sun from her face

Yet under its brim was the sun itself
As she beamed to the world her love
And rode the bus to St Mary’s
To light candles for those now above

I’d sit as her escort and she’d talk of life
While we wended the bumpy miles
She taught me of duty, and Gods Holy Hand
And to always speak sweetly and smile

Then one chilly morning she wasn't aboard
So I queried the bus driver’s thought
And exited there in the middle of the block
He’d barely just got the bus stopped

I fairly flew as I raced to her door
And knocked, but got no reply
I went around back and found her gone
Then I sat in the garden and cried

I smiled and spoke sweetly, how I’d miss her so
To ne’er see again her bright face
And went to St Mary’s when they laid her to rest
With her hat set neatly in place

Friday, July 20, 2007

The Shadow of the Passing Sky

Did you know me?
I was there
Though you only noticed the breeze
Or the sound of water
Falling in the distance
Yet underneath your steps was my work
That all I ever needed was a nod
Or truthful remark, be it good or bad
Still, it was too high a price for you
So I faded, broken and forgotten
To trespass your path no more
It has no consequence
As one retires another comes
The passing wheel of sky continues on
The broken lay in the shadow of its passing
To be known no more

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Places

I sat upon my duffle
On the shoulder of the road
And looked back in the distance
At the path that I chose

The places that I’d visited
Some for just a time
Others where I’d tarried
Many were sublime

But there were other places
Where wreckage marked my way
And sorrow fell upon me there
Like water falls from rain

I wished that I could travel back
And start my walk anew
With wisdom that I did not have
When memories were few

But that alas was not to be
And so I rose again
Trekking towards the sunset
As the path was darkening

Then realized the wisdom gained
Was mine to use right now
And felt a springing in my step
Quickened by the Tao

And glancing back to where I’d been
When sorrow had me bowed
I saw the weight I’d carried
On that shoulder of the road

I could not pay for what I’d done
However hard I tried
Seems forgiveness is a virtue
That’s best when self applied

So now I’ll greet each traveler
With that same grace I found
And share the wisdom of my path
With those who’ll stick around

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

The Old Man's Drawer


An old matchbook and a napkin ring from a place we went to dine
Some socks with holes and some thin t-shirts that he swore were still just fine
Some old wrist watches unrepaired and a ring that didn't fit
Are what remains of a life well lived that the others didn't get

You may have passed him on his way and said good day and all
And never known how your lives were blessed by this gentle loving soul
Now I sit alone with his memory as the others have gone home
And the mourning swells in my heart and eyes as it settles in "He's gone"

It's for myself alone I mourn for I am left behind
But hoped I'd find him in the end adorned in glorious kind
Then hand in hand we'd wend the way to where there's much to learn
And from who's gate and starry path this traveler won't return

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Dog Joy


Dogs are, that they might have joy

That in God's service, labor here

Bring us peace, as a child well raised

And love so freely without fear


Sunday, July 01, 2007

Photograph


Hello my friend who's always there
Whose gaze does not wander
Nor the edges droop on a perfect smile
Though you left the door so long ago
Still your phantom lingers
On paper, captured 'neath a sheet of glass
It's good to know one's limitations
And me, the limit of your presence here
Still in the face of storm or conflagration
It's you I'll risk my tenure in this borne to save
The others captive, hanging here
Or set about for all to see
Witness time in silent confirmation
Caught in moments now long past and gone
Am I captive also in a box or album somewhere?
Or 'neath a sheet of glass as you are here
And though that moment caught me with a smile
Below the thin patina am I trapped forever
Broken hearted or malicious in my thought
Perhaps the the primitives were right to fear it
With power to take a wafer from your soul
For all to view the dissection
In microscopic examination
Defenseless to the moment for one's self

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My families came to Texas when It still belonged to Spain.

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