Ralph F. Dunne

 The poems and art on this page were done by Ralph F. Dunne. Ralph is a recovering stroke victim, and the poems have been a step towards his recovery. The computer images were done prior to the stroke. He was paralyzed on the left side--and he is left handed. This has hindered, but not stopped his painting and drawing. Some of his recent work is included, and will be updated at regular intervals.

Why won't my body cooperate?

I want to climb mountains
Again.
Cross meadows!

Not just meadows.
But MEADOWS!
Meadows with soft spring
                    grass,
Flowers jostling for attention
       beyond granite stones;
Oak trees leaning over
       dreaming cows,
   As if they knew what a mother
               hen felt about her chicks;
Small, slow moving streams
      Carrying bits of
          unidentifiable, decaying
                flotsam
In fascinating starts and stops,
        Inviting a wayfarer to follow
            Their course with eye,
If not with feet.

I wonder if I'll ever have
the chance to roam again.
 
 

 

Melting snow,
Row of drops
Lining up and jostling for
Position
To leap into space
and
Obliterate themselves
into
Mud, grass, dog
or
Person passing by.

 Today,
I caught hold of time.

I held it in my hands.
An impossibility of reasoning,
Sitting in stark contradiction.

Now,
I know it can he held,
Be examined,
But I can't prove,
Nor do I want to.
For then I will prove to myself
It never, nor could happen.

All, one time or another
in their lives,
Have,
Or will, hold time in their hands:
They must,
For it is a part of their
life-giving,
life-sustaining,
life-getting force.

And,
When you can't hold it,
Won't hold it,
Then you have sought death.

That
you will hold,
For the compulsion is beyond
you to forego.
You can't stop yourself,
For you do not control your life force.

Who will hold time
In his hand
for but a moment
In all this universe.
 
 
 

 Come to my hill.

Let the wind blow across your body.
Sit on the grass
and let the earth absorb
tensions,
the worries,
the fears.

Hear the insects hum.
Hear the belled cow.
Hear the cry of the hawk.

Feel the warm sunshine as each muscle
relaxes.
Smell the sweetness.

Come to my hill
and find deep within your mind
places opening
you had forgotten
were there.

Warmth rushing behind your
thought;
strength surging through your veins
as man again becomes
one with creation,

walking
at peace once more
in the garden

that is my hill.

 
 

 

Today,

The sun was slicing through
The fog in ribboned streaks,

Tearing edges,
And dropping wisps
Slowly to the ground
To be absorbed by green
bushes

Or
Entrapped in bare, twigged
trees.

 

Computer images were done in Lumena and Crystal 3D software

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