Sandra J. Hagle: I was born in Honolulu, Hawaii ... and it was a great year for Chevy's and baby girls. We moved to the mainland when I was about two, something I would have protested had I understood. I've lived in Oregon since then, and yes I still suffer from climate shock to this day.

Off and on all my life I've written poetry, went into a long dry spell, sat down a few years ago and picked up a pen again... haven't put it down since then. I just write what I feel, because the words are me. I can't really say who my influences are, I am especially fond of the 'old' poets like Rossetti and Lord Byron. Shakespeare could also put a good rhyme or two together.

.... hoping to work on finishing another collection of poetry for another book.

Oh ... this is one of my favorite quotes and I'd like to share it with you. It pretty much sums up most die-hard poets.

"To the poet belongs life in it's full entirety, not merely the beauty that men look at, but the beauty that men listen to... Most people become bankrupt having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour." --Oscar Wilde

Sandra has written a book called "Heart Full of Soul."



Pushing Big Rocks Uphill

Between a hard place and a tight space
Wedged in by walls with enough room to crawl
I'll make my way though I know I'm still
Just trying to push a big rock uphill.

Saw only my shadow outside the window
Where changing winds blow me into tomorrow
Under my tongue is held truth's bitter pill
While I keep pushing this big rock uphill.

With all the right answers for the wrong questions
I bump into doors never opened before
If I fall short of redemption guess I will
Always have to push big rocks uphill.

Between a hard place and a tight space
Wearing out this stone's got me worn to the bone
Seems I'll be pushing a big rock until
I can stop and see down both sides of the hill.




Copyright 1999 by Sandra J. Hagle




The Legend Of Punkin' Head

When shadows creep across gravestones
Stretching over those sleeping bones
With a heavy sigh the wind moans ...
"Beware yea of the living dead
Fear has a name, it's Punkin' Head!"

An eerie moon now haunts the sky
As restless spirits rise to fly
Cast no glance there as you go by
Walk swiftly past where none dare tread
The burial place of ole' Punkin' Head.

Where glowing red eyes watch and burn
From a shapeless from you cannot discern
A hovering orb, just a jack-o-lantern
He feeds upon fear, that's what's said
About the evil ghost of the Punkin' Head.

Long ago in a field on Halloween eve
A boy stole a pumpkin and did not believe
It was cursed by a spell a demon did weave
And the children screamed as away they fled
For they saw the boy had become Punkin' Head.

This creature tracked them through town
And sucked their very souls right down
No trace of the children was ever found
With guns and axes the people led
A posse out after that ole' Punkin' Head.

Along the riverbank, deep into the wood
They searched, alas, it did no good
As they turned to leave ... there he stood
"Don't look in its' eyes, attack instead!"
Was the cry as they went after Punkin' Head.

The monster was slain with bullet and blade
Because they had faced it unafraid
Into hallowed ground its' corpse was laid
They placed a marker upon it that read ...
"Go back to Hell, you devil Punkin' Head!"

Every Halloween you'll hear, so the story goes
The wretched shrieks of those stolen souls
Still held captive as the midnight bell tolls
So pull up those covers and stay in bed
Is it the wind at your window ... or ole' Punkin' Head?


Copyright 1999 by Sandra J. Hagle