Richard Capps was born and raised in the Chicago area, living first in 
the city and then the Western suburbs.  After a teaching career in high school
of more than 32 years he finally settled with his wife and the family dog,
Titus, in Aurora, IL.  He holds B.A. and M.A. degrees in History and now in
retirement he plans to spend his time on writing, photography, and travel.
Writing has always been an illusive temptress and over the years he has
published articles and photos in numerous books and magazines.

Andean Wedding

The train jerked mightily
Before coming to a stop
Outside the open windows
A steady hissing of steam
As though this great dragon
Had no intention of going quietly

Then the sounds of music
Cascaded into the coach
Trumpets and a base drum
Yes, definitely a base drum
Along with violin and charango
All floated on the Andean breeze.

“It’s a wedding,” someone shouted
As the passengers angled for a better view
Near the end of the main street
On one side of the town plaza
Church bells sounded as if
Offering a benediction of their own

The bells, the town band and
The sounds of the train all blended
Into a kaleidoscopic image.
The colorful costumes accented the scene.
Even the llamas wore bright ribbons
In honor of the occasion.

“Look there,” someone said, pointing.
The train’s arrival had split the procession.
On one side of the track, was the bride
Dancing alone down the deserted street
Completely unaware of her solitary condition
While on the other side, the band continued to play.

All eyes were on the bride, a young Indian girl
She was the embodiment of grace on this her wedding day.
As she danced the steps of the ancient ritual dance
Her feet seemed to barely touch the ground.
As her body bent and twisted according to tradition
She floated along like a fresh mountain breeze.

Living On The Edge

Oh how near to the edge of being
We mortals come, forever claiming not to know
Where our course is set and never seeing
The compass bearing that guides us where we go.

So we set sail in search of some great prize
Brim full of hope and unfounded certainties
Unaware of the muffled yet barely heard cries
Of those that before us have sailed these seas.

The captain must be a fool indeed
So undeterred by the fruit of reason.
No storm warning will he likely heed
A veteran gambler in any season.

His haughty demeanor is less seen than felt
This ghostly captain’s course has been set
By the toss of a coin or a card that is dealt.
Our fate is determined by the luck of a bet.

There on deck the captain’s presence looms
He plans and plots what he will do.
“I can, I will, I must,” the captain fumes.
As the ship sails on with a willing crew.

The bow holds its course through wind and wave
Ignoring the cries rising from this watery grave.
“Beware, lest our cruel fate be yours too!
For alas, the captain of this ship is YOU!”

Copyright, .Richard Capps.
All rights reserved by author.