Heartfelt Poems

Precious Windmill

Four wheels,
Two little feet,
An open door,
Fifteen steps,
And a cement floor.

A recipe
For disaster.

Their only child
Head over heels,
Into the darkness.
A precious windmill
Crashing to the floor.

Mother and father
In a timeless second.
Air-shattering screams
Into the dark basement.

A squadron of angels
Offering hands
By step,
By step,
To grandma's
Daily prayers.

Walker's totaled.
Baby's fine.

Thank you Lord.

Lori Eldridge
Copright (c) 2-9-95

Escape to Life

Escape the curse of
loneliness that drags you down
into death, and live.

Lori Eldridge
Copyright (c) 10-14-94

Mommie's Lost

I see the little girl standing before us.
She speaks in a tiny, frightened voice.

My Momie's lost and I can't find her.
Her hair is red or black.
I don't know what she was wearing.
I don't know where she was.
I don't know where I am.
I'm 5 years old.
Why is everyone asking me all these questions?
Leave me alone!
I want my mommie!

Where's my baby?
She was here just a minute ago.
I told her to stay right here.
What if something has happened to her.
What if she's been kidnapped.
What if . . .
Oh God! I'll never forgive myself
if anything happened to her.
I want my baby!
Where's my baby?

Mommie! Mommie!
Oh, my baby! My darling!
Here I am.
I was so worried about you.
Mommie you're squishing me.
Don't ever leave me again.
Why are you crying mommie?

And watching them,
I don't know why I'm sobbing, sobbing.
I know,
and I don't know.

Lori Eldridge
Copyright (c) 4-7-93

Eight Pounds of Ashes

A eulogy for Wayne Eldridge

Eight pounds of ashes
Heavy as a tomb.
The same eight pounds
I had carried in my womb.

No money for a casket
Mt. Spokane I have come,
One foot before the other,
Bringing you my son.

He was only 19 years
But he finished his race.
I know he'd love this mountain,
His final resting place.

Lori Eldridge
Copyright (c) 9-30-93

First Snow

Driving the freeway.
There's a lash in my eye
That won't come out.

It's a bright,
Sunny morning.
Crisp air.
Blue sky.
Icy roads.
Winter's here.

Mount Spokane is in the distance,
Framed by the underpass.
My son is buried there.

I can almost see the spot
Just below the tree line
Where I buried his ashes last fall
Beneath a tree with the top snapped off
And the sap running into the ground
Just like his broken aorta.

The mountain is
Smothered in snow.
A thick slab
Upon his grave.
Ice cold

He's cold.
I'm so far away.
I want to dive
Under the snow,
Lay my body
Over his grave,
And keep him warm.

My Son is dead,
Cold ashes,
Covered in snow.

Tears fill my eyes
Exploding from my heart.

The eyelash is gone.

Lori Eldridge
Copyright (c) 11-18-93

I have also written a story about burying my son
on Mt. Spokane called Beneath a Crooked Tree.

A friend also wrote a poem about Wayne and his accomplishments called The Olympian

See Lori's other poetry:
Humorous Poems | Heartfelt Poems | Religious Poems | Endtime Poems