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The Scientist’s Tower

7/25/2018

Horizons from his tower room
reach out beyond the city's brink...
the urban squall would not allow
a focused mind that yearns to think.
This lonely room with lab arrays
implores to find the missing link.

Diseases' cures are still in need
of finding by the precious few
who hide behind a mask or wall,
avoiding public déjà vu,
but free to concentrate their skill
on brilliant deeds long overdue.

The world is better off, indeed,
because the doctor has a place
where he can study, take his notes,
experiment, and yet, embrace
his view from windows high above
the chaos of the human race.

Published in "A Troupe in Masquerade" and "Eloquence"
By Jack Huber- All rights reserved.

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Twilight

7/18/2018

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I think dusk becomes you,
With darkening roads and signs,
A sharpened horizon
Contrasts with your pale confines
Of dimmed observation.

My traffic and focus,
Which dutifully holds my heed,
Succumbs now to beauty
Of sundown and clouds that precede
Twilight's hesitation.

Brown sky after sunlight,
You've paled from your brilliant day,
But yet to elapse
In noble attempts to delay
Your cold transformation.

Published in "Trappings of the Years" and "Eloquence"
by Jack Huber- All rights reserved

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An Architect Speaks

7/11/2018

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If you peek at the architect's pad
you will see what a craftsman might sketch,
a small window to musings he's had
when he's given the freedom to stretch
his imagination.

You won't see the sharp squares of his youth,
the rectangular buildings that trace
kindred lines, a distortion of truth;
no, the world's not a uniform place
of delineation.

Semicircular summits extend
the sweet curvature, arching to span
a great foyer, for eyes to ascend;
he perceived it before work began-
his celebration.

Its construction is on a quick stride
for completion in four or five weeks;
it will act as the humanist's guide
to the world, for the architect speaks
with admiration.

Published in "The Dilettante's Garden" and"Eloquence"
by Jack Huber- All rights reserved

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Graveyards of the Past

7/3/2018

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Technology appears anew,
as Progress must advance,
and past inventions take their cue,
resigned without a glance.

Replacements serve us humans well,
each polishing the last,
the obsolete are left to dwell
in graveyards of the past.

No time for aged, passé machines,
too quickly Progress comes,
as retrogressive metal scenes
are views of low-tech slums.

How sad to see what once was used
to save us work and time,
now tossed aside, disfigured, bruised,
a shadow of its prime.

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Poem of the Week

The Scientist’s Tower

Twilight

An Architect Speaks

Graveyards of the Past

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