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 28, 2011

Underwood


Oh grand machine of grand design
I press your keys one at a time.
Pray words take form on rendered wood.
That I will craft them fine and good
With fair intent and understood
The gilded script now fading, wrinkling
Spaced by hand upon the frame
So long ago yet all I see
Is that script staring back at me
The pulp and linen standing by
A pile so neatly stacked and styled
I pray the words will come, and good
Yet all I see is Underwood
Somewhere within my huddled id
The words are there but staying hid
And only one fine gilded word
On ancient frame in wrinkling script
Is there within my frame of view
I close my eyes but it remains
And though I muse of joy and pains
My poor imagination strains
The grand machine of grand design
With keys worn barren over time
Yet every station's script remains
I pray the words will come, and good
Yet all I see is Underwood

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

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