The HyperTexts

Charles "Charley" Weatherford



Charles "Charley" Weatherford is the owner of two companies. Meta-Enterprise Consulting is a strategic planning and enterprise engineering firm. AKA Wordsmith allows him to burn off some of his more creative energies writing poetry and books about various businesses and aspects of business in general. He has been on the boards of four separate non-profit organizations in the past, and is currently president of the council of a non-profit strategic planning educational group called The Strategy Forum. He is currently working on three non-fiction books, in collaboration with various associates.



Leaf Droppings (The Life of a Leaf Fugued in Five Voices)

The Life and Times of Leaf the Red

I am Leaf the Red, born at the top of a tree!
I've been here since May and feel the need to travel.
Autumn calls with icy winds, soon I shall be free!

When I was born, I was light green with bel-esprit,
but months come and gone, my stem starts to unravel.
I am Leaf the Red, born at the top of a tree!

Summer months passed, I grew darker green with ennui,
watching the street below and counting the gravel.
Autumn calls with icy winds, soon I shall be free!

Chloroplasts throughout my veins, I fed mother tree,
for wood that soon will be no more than a gavel.
I am Leaf the Red, born at the top of a tree!

With Fall, chloroplasts leave, showing my color verily.
I am leaf the Red; my doughty stem unravels.
Autumn calls with icy winds, soon I shall be free!

The frigid November winds blow and tug at me,
and soon shall I fall and blow across the gravel.
I am Leaf the Red, born at the top of a tree;
Autumn calls with icy winds, soon I shall be free!



On the Tragic Fall of Maurice the Yellow

I'm up a tree, it seems to me.
My name's Maurice, and life is hard.
There's no way to fall gracefully.

In the Spring I was fancy free,
before I saw what's in the cards.
I'm up a tree, it seems to me.

The Summer sun warmed and lulled me,
as my fate I did disregard.
There's no way to fall gracefully.

But Autumn has come upon me;
I look down to imagine shards.
I'm up a tree, it seems to me.

Yellow with fear, I won't let it be!
How was my life so evil-starred?
There's no way to fall gracefully.

To have lived a life so shortly
to be thrust upon the pile of discard,
I'm up a tree, it seems to me.
There's no way to fall gracefully.



The Utter Confusion of Agnes the Orange

Agnes looked down onto her flat sides.
"Am I supposed to be this orange?"
She was baffled by the seasons' tides.

Agnes had thought she had green insides,
but now she noticed another tinge.
Agnes looked down onto her flat sides.

Agnes studied on November's ides,
"Do my edges really have such fringe?"
She was baffled by the seasons' tides.

She, who old leaf tales always derides,
finds herself ready for the final plunge.
Agnes looked down onto her flat sides.

That she has quite a drop can't be denied,
as she looks down, she feels quite a twinge.
She was baffled by the seasons' tides.

As her stem lets go from where it abides,
she flutters downward with a cringe.
Agnes looked down onto her flat sides;
She was baffled by the seasons' tides.



The Despair of Brunhilda the Brown

Oh, the deep, dark despair of Brunhilda the Brown!
Her days were numbered from the first day she sprouted.
She'll finish her last days wearing a dreadful frown.

Leaves on neighboring trees are painted like a clown,
even from here she hears as her name is shouted.
Oh, the deep, dark despair of Brunhilda the Brown!

She has worked hard these months to beautify the town,
but now her old beauty is certainly doubted.
She'll finish her last days wearing a dreadful frown.

She once was the beauty of a great red oak's crown.
Woe and welladay!  Her aspect is now routed.
Oh, the deep, dark despair of Brunhilda the Brown!

So tired of holding up to wind blowing down,
she is losing the strength of the oak so touted.
She'll finish her last days wearing a dreadful frown.

In a month, will any remember her renown?
Although battered, she'll not be the last leaf flouted.
Oh, the deep, dark despair of Brunhilda the Brown!
She'll finish her last days wearing a dreadful frown.



The Jollity of Gregor Greenleaf

They always said I'm not a proper leaf.
They said that I was but a sharp needle,
But now it's fall and I am a time thief.

November winds blow upon forest reef,
and with their poor gods the leaves do wheedle.
They always said I'm not a proper leaf.

They lay on the sodden ground by the sheaf,
giving damp domiciles centipedal.
But now it's fall and I am a time thief.

I hold place doing the job of a leaf;
They look foolish like the brothers Tweedle.
They always said I'm not a proper leaf.

Haughty deciduous leaves lives are brief,
as is observed by evergreen needle.
But now it's fall and I am a time thief.

But still with me these fool leaves have their beef;
while they are justly food for the weevil.
They always said I'm not a proper leaf,
But now it's fall and I am a time thief.

The HyperTexts