Biography of david lessard
I grew up in vermont. have also lived in new york state, virginia, nevada, new hampshire and currently live in central arizona.
I was a respiratory care practitioner most of my life. I am now retired.
I have an associate's degree in the health sciences.
Working on a life-journal that totals over a 1,000 pages. (A shorter version that is 250 pages) A 'novel' of 165 pages and about 400 poems, make up the balance of my writings.(poemhunter and poetfreak)
david lessard's Works:
No published books. Some articles published in respiratory care magazines. A few poems published in a jr. college volume of creative writing, called 'Voices.' (Subjects dealing with second hand smoke and held-in anger)
david lessard Poems
I'll Think of You
As I go to sleep, I'll think of you - The things we've done, the things we'll do - And my dreams of you will last and love will stay- though the slumber hours, until the light of day.
A time to bury sorrow
A time for you and a time for me, to be whatever, we choose to be; to set our sights, to reach the peak, to realize goals, we truly seek.
Armchair traveler (with apoligies to Rob...
I've climbed the highest mountains, swam the deepest sea, Struck gold up in Alaska, felled the tallest tree, I've ridden wild broncos and slept on desert sands, and lifted massive weights, with these old, arthritic hands.
My Heart Has No Compass
My heart has no compass, I am hopelessly lost; Going in all directions, My soul's paying the cost.
Out of the great, green, grove of trees, In the darkness of the night; The snowy owl came sllenty by, A graceful poem in flight.
Ode to Coffee
Here's to coffee! 'Tis such a boon... It takes from a stumbling goon, awakens me from my cocoon, into a more affable baboon.
Arizona is not all desert
To those of you who think that all of Arizona is a desert, I've got some news for you; See the Mollogon Rim and the hundred mile view. Visit the White Mountains, fish in Crescent Lake,
The six minute poem
A poet's mind is seldom still, It fluctuates with mood, and suddenly the words pour out, flowing freely,
A Prayer For God's Love...
Shelter me, from life's dark sorrows, Take me 'neath your wings of love; Give me to me the secrets of the 'morrow, As I search the heavens up above.
Who speaks for the Indian?
Who speaks for the Indian? The Indian himself is not allowed to speak. The white man attempts to do that for him. How can one race speak for that of another?
In this land of little rain, Suddenly there comes a shower, a burst of rain so fast and hard, it makes timid ones to cower.
A World Of Silence
I live in a world of silence, It has nothing to do with you, I live in world that has no sound, though it isn't all quite true.
Here's To The Poets!
The poet is a writer, for want of better things to do- He/she composes rhymes and prose, and then sends them on to you.
A Remembrance Of My Father
I saw you as you were, Not as the person I last viewed - You were handsome, strong and good, Movie star looks and a great smile.
I can see my breath before me,
my moustache is being painted white.
my arms and legs move in unison
and I glide gracefully
over the frozen earth...
Every muscle in my body is moving,
my pulse in the aerobic range...
the only sounds I hear are