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It Speaks to Him

Walnut bookcases line the paneled walls

filled with myriad books

that take him to mysterious places

when he needs to escape.


The massive desk dominates the room

inviting him to sit a while

and lose himself in revelries

of hidden thoughts and dreams.


The banker's lamp shines softly

illuminating his special room

with a soothing light

that puts his mind at ease.  


The room is his haven,

caressing him in its opened arms,

and as he sits alone in its soothing light

he feels the tension melt away.


The room speaks to him each day,

surrounding him with quiet peace,

his special place of refuge

where all his problems quickly melt away.

© — Sheila B. Roark

This Rusty Old Nail

The shadow of an old cross

And this rusty old nail

Reminds us of our iniquities

And Christ’s suffering and travail.

When wearing a crown of thorns

Nailed to that cross of wood,

He paid for our earthly sins

As only He knew He could.

A symbol of His love for us

He gave all He had to give.

The teachings He left behind

Giving His life that we might live.

Let this rusty old nail be cause

To renew a faith grown cold,

Polish our tarnished old halos

And reach for our crown of gold.

© — Dorothy Miller Birdwell

The River Path

The river path to arrowhead mainspring

Was a magical sight for the beholder

Standing firm was the Golden Apple tree of life

As scripture sang and I listen for the silence

Drinking in the knowledge

While a field of flowers sway to and fro

With the gentle breeze

Like a dance of contemplative thought —

They meditate —

My heart arrest,

My soul lifted,

My eyes washed in the light,

My body but a mere sculpture

Containing the whole

As a universe transpires within

© — Gary Drury

The Pieces I Held

Every

Hordes of dogs

I remember a TV screen

THE NEXT MORNING, my hands at a

medical   examination—is   a   gizmo

remains answered to the newsroom fad

than Jewish    beauty   assuming It   will

not   Equal this overdressed somebody

da!

Do you want to know where's body?

In boarding school   some secret     

Exact stoic and inadvertent thirty—

Hours 0 one   1   roll at an at meet

against. This jade hair color addict.

Very interesting snap music.

Pulse rate is below norm natural.

© — Mark Sonnenfeld


Riding A Pony

I lie in green field of clover

Gazing at endless blue sky

When white clouds pass over

Pictures flow thru’ my mind,

I see a lovely young lady

I knew a long time ago,

Now I think of her drifting

Somewhere thru’ time in my soul!


I met her when riding a pony

On trail deep in thru’ trees,

Her smile radiantly glowing

She looked so pretty to me;

No longer go riding a pony

Except in mist of a dream,

Thru’ the years I’ve wondered

Does she ever wonder of me?


I lie in bed in the evening

Staring at ceiling ‘n walls,

My memory keeps on screening

Endless pictures hanging in halls,

I see a sweet Mona Lisa

That slipped away long ago,

I wish that I could reach her

Before seeing the last picture show!

© — Gerald Heyder


Last Moments

She lays quietly in her bed

Thinking of her life

And smiles remembering long ago

When she became his wife.


She thinks of all the things they shared

For oh so many years,

The ups and downs they both lived through

And how he wiped her tears.


Yes, she thinks her life was good

Because of his sweet love,

But now she knows that she must go

To meet her God above.


She looks at him just sitting there

Her eyes filled with wet tears

And says I love you very much

And have for many years.


Then she closes tired eyes

On that dark, awful day

Leaving him to cry alone

Awash in dark dismay.

© — Sheila B. Roark


“More”

When he took her

In his arms

It was done

In a masterful way.


Like being held

As a willing,

And complacent

Prisoner!


When he released her

It almost undid her!

She reeled!

She felt her world, tilt!


And now she wanted

More of the same.


More!

© — Linda Amos


Enchanted by The Glory

Enchanted in the glory

My soul radiates beyond the darkness

As your sweet tears drip onto my heart

A nourishment beyond compare

There is a sadness for a fractional moment

Then I shoulder the burden of your bloody cross

And the thorns pierce my sensitive flesh


Enchanted by the glory

My body feels no real pain beneath your light

Your sweet tears quench my driest thirst

Your blue blood appeases my direst hunger

Wisdom flows from your mouth with God’s wrath

While there is a happiness within my being

I find now, it to be, an everlasting feeling

© — Gary Drury


Summer Rain Out West

Rain drops falling from the sky

As I sit and wonder why

Mid-Summer—everything is dry

I see the birds flying and singing bye


The rain brings food for babies to test

Mom has move all — berries at their best

Now I can find a book of interest

Reading the Bible, hearing the rain out west.

 The Lord, said, now rest.

© — Dorothy I. Brown


Giving

Of all the things discovered during

The years God’s given me that I have lived

Prime is that for life’s hurts and ills curing

For much comes when to each other we give.


Giving can be great or may be small.

What matters is one gives of oneself.

The act of giving will leave richer all

Who give out, as the act itself creates its own wealth.


I speak of this from experience of my own.

Blessed was I with a mother who by sharing

Taught by example, so by her I was shown

That the world and oneself gains form such caring.


So my experience shows me each day.

So I hope others can find in their turn.

Generosity of hand and heart is the way

To better the world in this life, I’ve learned.

© — Sandra Frank


Beachcombing

Wave after wave endless rushing,

 Gulls crying, riding the wind.

  A starfish grips the rocks.

Horses of the sea raising white-maned heads.

 Salt air, a cool wind,

  A summer of bright days.

I find china hats, tiny crabs, beach glass,

 Jeweled rocks shining.

When I return home out of sun and sand,

 They are dry and usual.

© — Peggy Kennedy


Summer of 68

The noble creature bounding through tall grass.

Heads toward the wind and sniffing.

Tender eyes and soft to touch, hoofs sinking

In the wet mud, he stops to listen.


The youthful hunter slender age of 17

Peers through the telescopic sight

To see the prey. He pauses as their gentle eyes

Seem to meet across the brackish slough.


A screeching trail of red hot lead

Explodes and the noble creature

Falls dead, his eyes wide open

To the world of those who must eat meat.

© — Ken Gillespie


To My Unknown Man and Woman

I am an Eternal spirit of harmony

Wandering in the Universe,

Trying to awaken unknown souls,

Waiting for a radiant smile

Which appears on the eager lips.

But I never know when a new love will come

Or when everything might be reduced to dust.

I expect that a blue reflection of Earth

Will appear in your wondrous eyes.

I don't know when the feather of the Firebird

Will touch your heart.

Will you bind me by a golden chain?

Or will you disappear like a haze?

I want to be with you as a flap of a wing,

I am ready to fall madly in love

And realize all your dreams.

I am an Eternal spirit of harmony, I am the hearth

For the unknown Man and Woman,

I am their connecting half,

I am the Fire of Love on trembling lips!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, Ph.D., Litt. D., IWA

 

The Box

The Box

Has six sides

Outside

But is infinite inside

Yet never knows what it encloses

Or that the questions it poses

Are for those who suppose

The earth is after all flat and small

Though trees are slim and tall

And mountains are full of all

Things that are green in spring

And white with snow

And though we have no king

The president is president, you know

And that the elephant has a trunk

And is scared of the mouse with spunk

And that it is that way or this

And there is no room for something gone amiss

With its plans

For the box can

Only see six sides to the outside

And never truly knows

Or even supposes

What the inside holds

For sure.

© — Lydia Guillot


Montana Morning

lush

meadow

grass invites


pond water ripples


as a soft

morning wind


rustles

aspen leaves


glacial peaks poke


through the clouds


September sun warms


piles of ponderosa

needles


while rainbow trout


chase nymph flies


into blue sky

© — Sheryl L. Nelms

 

Light Source

Well, you are the one, who hung the Sun and Moon, their high, shining

Light, and scattered the Stars along the Sky, and taking more light,

Gave it home in the heart, and the eye—so, light from above comes

To us, is in us, and goes from us - marvelous light of life—

The people of light, at home with light, shining for you and me.

© — Glen Corliss

 

Immaturity Bliss

Between responsibilities

and obligations,

around the ghosts of failures and   

the Ouija board of the future, I am

neither paralyzed or scared straight.

Simply step out and away from the norm.

Hurling into uncharted territory,

defying social challenges, there's no

chance I'll just watch others get the

most out of life.

There's too much of a world,

Too much of me still to learn.

© — Milton Kerr

 

You Can't Take It Away

You were a child and then you began to grow up!

But the beauty in your heart is still there!

You learned to walk and you loved to be outside

Where the wind blew you beautiful hair!


You learned to talk and that was fun!

We explored the hills and roads around here.

In the Fall we found five different yellow flowers.

We rode the four-wheeler to see Ann, when she was near.


When the neighbor's dogs ran out to meet us, I was afraid

They would bite your legs and I tried to protect you!

When we had passed, you said,"Mamaw, let’s do dat again."

So I guess you were not afraid at all and I loved you!


You can begin to pull away and not come to see me,

But I see you everywhere I look in my home.

I see the toys you had and the chair you sat in...

The bedroom you stayed in to go to school in my home.


The years can take away all the photos and the Scrapbooks,

But the memories I have stored in my mind and heart will stay.

Nothing can rob me of the times we spent together.

 You can leave

and go to another place, but you can't take my Memories away!

© — Bobbye Read


In Shades of Night

Gone to dreams in shades of night

The whistler long down the pike

Hanging echoes of a fife.

II

Gone to dreams in shades of night

The moon — an apricot full ripe

I wish I may — I wish I might.

III

Gone to dreams in shades of night

O’er the crest of the hill — almost out of sight

I can’t follow — I rein in the horses tight.

© — Jane Pierritz


Kensington Gardens

Blue. The solitude of leaves,

driftwood in space, running

on air.

Stepping

on my hand,

light colours,

flakes of gold in a bed of green

water.


The echoes unseen. Human time

is not safe.

Grabbing

my arm the gratitude of great cities.

The wind

is a

cold hand, leading me to breaking sky.

© — Austin McCarron

 

The Tender Touch of Christ Hands

Chorus:

 O’ the tender, the tender touch,

 The touch of Christ Hands, yes,

 The tender touch of His Hands,

 One who cares so much, mightily

 Reaches down upon the lands.

 In the sands of time love graciously

 Touched mine, our souls to bind by

 The tender touch of Christ hands.

Repeat last like three times . . .


Awaken in the early dawn by the touch of His Hands,

Lavished my soul totally abandon to Him in song.

Stood upon this bleak Earth seeking all His fullness of the lands,

Made me speak His words with true power never alone.


Asked divine favor of Heaven’s own light the healer,

Praises offered as my eyes were mystified in purest white dawn.

Purposed a faith trusting crop from the sacred tiller,

Breathing in His goodness filling my soul with song.


Said farewell to evil that old Satan played my life,

Fixed my soul plainly spoken to blossom with Christ in jubilation.

Angels have un skirted the Heaven’s rose climbing sky,

Freed by Christ I follow His voice in righteous justification.


The blazon portrait of Christ orchestration, our home eternal glorified

Station of life with Jesus, His exalted tranquil burden free place.

To dwell assured in Heaven angels standing in awe, Christ by our side,

Singing in free rhythm loving Him of mercy and grace.

© — Elayne Gocek Walden

 

Shading Stare

Shades of mauve painted the skies

icicles of wheat weather-beaten

as one


Oh but the sky shows no tear

Painted so perfect somber

 it stares


Like an eye it awaits as I gaze upon its lashes

Weather- beaten wheat cold upon my back


As I appear intently upon this maze

I could lay here for hours


But the eye will soon fade

As the darkness of the mauve painted sky


Disappears with the break of day

© — Tanya Lyles

 

God's Realm of Day  

In the realm of every day, I walk away . . . Away.  

The gray of every day has fallen into

Decay . . . so, I walk away . . . Away.

No ray of sunshine nor rainbow come's my way, to me

world of decay, of today . . .

May God come into my heart,

hold my hand, and change the realm

of gray in my day . . . so with Him I can walk away . . .

and the sunshine and rainbow will be

Him in my heart forever and a day.

© — Juliet Rhodes Lynch

 

Summer Mourned

In coldness of a winter's night,

With sliver of a moon for light,

I walk along the frozen way

Remembering a summer's day.


A day when flowers bloomed with pride

And brightened up the countryside.

The trees encased in green array,

Whispered, "The easy times will stay."


But loveliest of days don't last.

Too soon the verdant beauty's past

And like our lives and loves in pain

We doubt the lushness comes again.


So come my love and walk with me;

The wind is blowing out to sea.

Seasons forever roll around;

Last Summer's love can be re-found.


We'll seek the violets where they hide,

The daffodil's winter abide.

The tiny snow-bells showing through

Are proof enough love can renew.


Triumphantly, one bright spring day

The blossoms as a love bouquet

Will cheer a winter near dried heart.

Just so, a true love can restart.

© — Joyce Johnson

 

Disconnected

I turned around and saw his face

Full of love—full of a life that

I expected to become one with mine.


For some time I thought it was

But the edges ruffled,

The fire burned out,

Our hearts bleed into different pieces

Disconnected from each other.


Yet, the pain was fully deep inside my heart

I bleed into myself and still fall sometimes

Because the power of the love that was there

Still lingers forever trapped in the past — out of reach forever.


Lying to myself for so long

Blaming myself for the downfall

I still blame myself some days

When the regret comes rushing in keeping me alone.


I die inside when I hear songs

But the words of one beat deeply inside me

For the truth of the words clings to what's left of my heart

For what could have been . . .


"What hurts the most,

Was being so close

And having so much to say

And watching you walk away

Never knowing, what could have been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I was trying to do…"

 (Song ‘What hurts the Most’

  Rascall Flatts

© — Alice M. Harnisch


With No One Else There

She opens a kit and

revises her portions,

darkening, reddening,

contrapting, even

revenging the very

structure of her facial

bone-fit.


She applies it all and

ties up her hair,

walks into someone's

kitchen,

the doll's eyes,

the fall dress,

knockout for chicken salad.

© — Ray Succre


Santa’s True Colors

“And who are these for?” inquired Mrs. Claus as she inspected a pair of red lace scanties trimmed with black lace.

“Rose Tripper, the stripper.” Santa replied. “She never seems to buy enough panties to last her ‘til Christmas. Each year her pathetic letter

wheedles another pair out of me.” Santa fingered the frillies surreptitiously.

“Isabelle, what do you think of my choice?” Santa asked pridefully. “I didn’t leave such a delicate decision to my elves as I doubt if they have good taste considering how old they are.”

“These are beautiful, Santa---a woman’s erotic dream.” Mrs. Claus sighed with youthful longing.

Santa rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Belle, Rosie’s just going to have to go without this year. I’ve made a decision.”

“You haven’t called me Belle in years.” Santa’s wife regarded him quizzically. “What’s that gleam in your eyes? Are you up to something?”

“Yeah, Belle. I’m giving these pretty panties to my best girl. I’m not the only man in Rosie’s lif.” Santa dangled the panties on the end of his finger. “Here Belle, you take ‘em.”

“Nickey, you old rake. With a little practice I can out strip your Rosie any time. There’s still a bit of the oolala in me yet.  Just wait ‘til Christmas Eve after your run. Be prepared for the surprise of your life!” © — Cecilia G. Haupt


Flicker

Not a drowning bath

A shiv or slug would have been kind

Her Midas caress left him alive

From him whom she birthed

A salted heart withdrew

Forever lost the playful gay filled days

Of life’s spring

Hell’s fire to the killer of spirit pure

Damn the god who made it so

Torture him who needed her most

Sit him alone days on end fiddle his thumb

Pick his nose video games to boredom come

Maternal bonding cast aside like afterbirth

He waited in the cold the rain

For the mother who never came

To her a Valentine to him a stone

Too mortified to face teachers and peers he hermitized

Shrunken heart bladder squeezed emotions

A cimmerian aura

Head-banging agony

Smothering the mother of primal screams

A comatose spirit flickers.

© — Gerald A. McBeen  


THE BACKPACKER OF HISTORY

Picking up a vague gold thread,

I possess the city,

refreshed without worldly images,

its palaces

and triumphs, its evil and despair.

The smoke

of its

firearm hangs like a rival in space.


I follow an impetuous fluid, the oil

of a dirty river.

Rising the noise of its clammy depths.

On its hairy arms,

the muscle of concrete, towers of glass.

Holding up its belly steel and iron legs.

Sticking

out of wet gray socks a bridge of shoes.

Time

is a mouth: teeth dropped inside water.


I pass the gate

of temples, flooded with vague careers.

Black with music

the sound of walls, the sphere

of ballads, its language and imagination.

Foreign the step I take.

Remorse tugs at my sleeve,

the heart

of a golden empire, chilled by its secrets.


Drunkenly,

the water passes, like episodes in a dream.

Human matter squirms out of its rolling eye.

On a shore of houses,

nature arrives in ships.

Scattered

its sacred vows, the smell of its sinking night.

Holding

me open the

sun is a curved star, its blood vivid with noise.

© — Austin McCarron, UK


THE LAST TRAIN

All aboard!


Let the train pull out!

I still have my life to live,

Long I marched to fife and drum

counting daily’s duties done.


I did not plan to leave so soon.

My time clock half past noon.

Children grown, on their own.

Husband dead. I’m all alone.

Widow’s garb discarded

I’ve escorts, teas at the Ritz,

dancing ‘til pink dawn.


Please. Let the train go on.

I’ll wait for another

well after this one is gone.

My bags not packed.

I’m not prepared for good-byes

to friends, loves I have shared;


All aboard!

Engineer, you deny my request?

I’m not even dressed.

No gloves. No hat.

Leave as I am!!!

Oh, damn! What could be worse?

A woman without her purse!


All aboard!

Okay, if I must succumb.

Guess it’s time after all.

God. grant me grace

to stand tall and strong

as this last train speeds along.

Hello, St Peter!

Goodbye, darling Paul.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


GENEALOGY

I think that I shall never see

A mess quite like my family tree;

The branches gnarled and mostly bare

Still bore a nut here and there.


I often think it might be best

To leave genetic ghosts at rest.

Why dig up an ancient bone?

To find it better left alone?


Suffice to say we cannot blame

The ancestors from whence we came

For what we did or didn't do;

Each sprout upon the bough is new.


Rival limbs look lofty and stout

Yet still the monkeys swing about.

So I'm just grateful for my tree—

Without which . . . there'd be no me.

© — C. David Hay


ABC'S

The ABC's of age

Attitude Adjustment Agree

Each decade turns the page

For younger ones to see.


Believe begin behave

The best is never done

Give thanks other lives to save

Awe is better than one.


Courage creates confidence in crisis.

Grow better we fight the worse

This is now and how it is

In chorus we write the verse.


Do Everything

Fun Good Health Is Just Kindled

Love Makes New Opportunities

Prioritize-Plan-Pause

Question-Reply-Show Thanks

Until Victory Windows

Exercise Your Zest.

© — LaVerne Marie Tucker


I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU

I don't know how much I love you.

I like your elegant style,

I devour your every word!

I don't know how much I love you

But I would recognize you

Among millions.

I sing you my song

Of love tirelessly

And will sing this song all my life.

Nothing will separate us,

Not even death.

I don't know how much I love you!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov


TORTURE OF LOVE

Cupid sent his arrows

Into my heart,

I am enveloped by dense clouds,

I lost my state of rest,

My heart is beating inside love's net.

What are you doing with me, love?

I don't know is this bliss of paradise

Or the torture of hell?

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov


THE UNKNOWN

I stand here upon my lone grave

Feeling everything gradually disappear

As mourners slowly slip away,

While dawn draws to mid-day


Angels tears are showering on me

A Heaven’s kiss blessing thee

An orchestra of silence my platinum key

I kneel here now for my angel to collect me


I hear solemn voices far and near

As the last shadows fade away

Nature’s chorus kite in the background

Until sections of time are laid down


I cannot sleep in final rest

Until I’m in the arms of an angel,

A Godless night is approaching

With raging storms deafening my ears


Roaring thunder quakes as lightning dare bless

A violent dark with its forging light

The mist all-encompassing lingers and gathers

Beneath my spirited feet where ground is sod


Lumbering this new life erecting from my death

Pain has not ceased but by far is less

No harboring will reside in me

For my energies have towered beyond


To the unknown

© — 2008 Gary Drury


RETURNING TO ST. ANDREWS

Trains huffed and smoked a lot then

And screamed right across the neat patches

Of farms fitted like jigsaw puzzle pieces

All the way down to the North Sea.

We were out of money

On our After-Christmas return

From the Continent. Eager

To break our sleepy fast,

All night rocked and lulled

By the ticking of rail ties,

We held out our few coins

To ask if there might be anything

To eat for such as we.

In those days, the dining car

Was crisp with linen and uniform.

The waiter brought us toast and tea

And did not stint on butter and marmalade.

We knew we were home

On this island all slipped off

From the bulk of great land masses,

We little and far away,

Hungry and cold, cold again,

Ready for our frigid flat and windows

All holding the North Sea

As it forever lapped at

And washed away how things were.

© — Carol Hamilton

 

LIKE ME

Like him,

he lived in his own world.

Population of one.

Alone with his ghosts.

Like me,

he dreamed of a better world.

Like me,

he couldn't go there.

© — Milton Kerr

 

WEST TEXAS HALLOWEEN

the yellow bloom of broom-weed

fills the overgrazed pasture

a mistletoe snarl of mesquite tree

pokes up

here and there

flash of white tail fills

the green swoop of live oak branches

that sway

in the south breeze

thin necks of wild turkeys

wave this way

a javelina climbs

the limestone hillside

as October's full moon

slips over

the Callahan Divide

© — Sheryl L. Nelms

 

CRITTER COMPANY

The Katydids long roll

Interspersed by the half-clarion,

Half-laughing mock of the black crow

Rudely interrupted the peaceful glade o' mist.


Unshaven men and those with full grown beards

Disappeared with gun in hand into the bush

To kneel beside silk facen lads in homespun.


They've all come for one reason,

One object de culture, one single-minded purpose,

An undying just cause, a noble motive:

Southern Independence!


Why else would men, the ‘last of the yeomanry’

Men who owned no slaves, come here to die

With the Butternut Brigade?

(They only had a small farm for their graves).


The 'jug of molasses and sack o' corn' is all gone.

But their unflinching, steady muskets are well aimed.

No bayonet for these lads, they hath a hatchet!

And a long knife their pappy gave them


From former 'red-stick' days.

No neat Napoleonic line of false splendor.

'War means fightin' and fightin' means killin'.'

So comes the order from the Warrior's throat:


'Close with the enemy!'

Forest, standing in his saddle, shouts,

'Gaus, sound the charge!'

The Critter Company rises as one man,


And a shrill yell fills the peaceful glade with terror

As Yankee invaders meet

Death face to face trembling,

Dying in a foreign land.

© — Ken Gillespie

 

"AN EPIPHANY ON A FINE JANUARY'S DAY!"

Some people don't just burn

Their bridges behind them


Hell no they napalm the perimeter

And incinerate the hell


Out of the bridge abutments

And all of the roads to and from it!

© — Linda Amos

 

PAYING

I can’t believe how expensive hope can be

Tonight it charged a high price to me!


And as I write I see, one single letter

Could change issues considerably! One


Different letter could have made it be, “for what

I bought was tickets for a lottery! No surprise!


As often before, it did not pay a pri-z-e!

But I had decided to throw in the dice!


I wonder in paying it was I just a dope?

For I paid a high pri-c-e just for hope


I paid it for high was the stake in that lottery!

Alas not all is lost I got paid for what it cost


With my reporting it, — as all I did, — in my poetry!

© — Sonja Christina

 

DISCONNECTED

I glanced at a lone woman

sitting on a bench,

a city bench

in the city park.

Slants of sunlight

through late morning fog

mottled her face.

Her gaze fixed on nothing,

a stare into space.

Black circles like

charred memories

outlined her eyes;

dangling from lifeless

fingers a cell phone.


Returning home, I saw.

sitting on a bench,

a city park bench,

a woman

frozen in solitude

clutching a dangling

silent unanswered

broken cell phone.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt

 

BOLD RIDERS

We were the bold riders, free spirits of strong heart, knowing there

Must be More — go hard, go far, and long — somewhere, find glory's good

Fit, joint of satisfied heart — so, mounted on power of young-life

Beauty, we laid tracks on Earth and Sky, looking to find and learn

Life, to gain our own wonderful More — wandering in our way,

Bold riders find beauty and wonder, find that glory might be

Anywhere, and some, everywhere — and with fading numbers, ride

On, seeking Sun and Moon, friends that were, in hearts, still riding us

Dream, old riders of young spirit, wishing for More —

knowing life Ride of heart, dreams, power pursuits, why and how — of maybe, More.

© — Glen Corliss

 

SKY WRITE

The white contrail from the zooming jet,

isn't all that's left

of the skywriting plane.

The buzz boom bang echoes

in my burning ear and ‘burnt out’ brain.

May as well’ve been a bomber pilot,

that ‘nuked’ my noonday dream.

Was it really a bashful boy?

asking ‘Bonnie will you marry me?’

If he had to write something,

why wasn't it ‘Shop at Willie's?’

Sue was a laughing hyena,

when I begged her to marry me.

But if Willie's had a close out sale,

fire sale, stolen goods sale, etc.,

I'd shop and save on something, anything.

See, I never held a steady job,

and can't afford any (semi) swanky store.

But I dare not get lost in the past,

only the near future.

Soon the blue sky will be mine again,

the golden sun will re-shine,

and the only white up there,

will be in the form of a fluffy cloud,

and the shape of a tail wagging dog.

She says ‘it's lonely in Heaven’.

I smile back and say

‘It's a lot lonelier down here’

© — Richard Sponangle

 

BACHELOR BUTTONS AND PINK CARNATIONS

See the pretty girls

With their twisty curls

Smiles white as pearls.

II

See the pretty girls

In their frilly dresses — white as whipped cream

Twirling — swirling batons.

III

See the pretty girls

They'll get the lads — it takes patience

Bachelor buttons & pink carnations.

© — Jane Pierritz

 

AFTER THE RAIN

Leaves wear diamond crystals

formed by the drops of rain

that gently fell from high above

to quench earth's thirst again.


Finally, the sun shines bright

with warm and soothing rays,

as dampened flowers stretch their arms,

and share their sweet bouquets.


There is a sense of happy peace

that floats upon the air,

as rustling leaves sing out a song

that sounds just like a prayer.


Birds fly in the azure sky

then settle on the trees

singing out their songs of joy

that float upon the breeze.


Nature sighs with happiness

so thankful for the rain

that gently falls down from above

to slake its thirst again.

© — Sheila B. Roark

 

HAVEN'T YOU MURDERED ENOUGH IRAQIS YET?

Now another Iraqi dies from your war!

Do you even know what this war is for?

Nothing good, astronomically increased

Theft of your tax dollar, corporate welfare

Centralized to all democrat conspiracies

Dominated industrial complexes, like police

Intelligence, military, security, etcetera.

"Unnecessary, unending war", engineered to

Fail by Bush, Bin Laden + co (whose families

Have been in business together for decades)

In order to establish its permanence in

Time, centralizing power to conspirators,

All interlaced, locking systems, corporate

Structure's convolutions devolutionary

Directions societal and sociological,

Programming of any + all kinds, to all ages.

Aiding militarism's continual use of plausible

Deniability in service of "unending" lying,

In a process of setting up, then replicating

Perceptions, coalescing of consents, realizing

Consensus, determining acceptance of over a

Million murdered Iraqis, a way to keep the

Price of oil lower, in your unsustainable

Supposed way, standard, of life and living.


Also, a process of codifying and developing

Democrats political viability in   perpetuity.

So far, going on 800,000 have been killed.

How did great Mesopotamia, the cradle of

Civilization, become this democrat hoped for

Hell, where sectarian civil war could devolve

Into bush' desired for global inter-Islamic

Jihad, and "then they'll kill each other; so,

"We..." don't have to"? Hussein and his

Bathe party, supported, armed (including

Chemical weapons) and financed by us, as he

Warred on Iran, etc., when he was doing the

Atrocities we wanted, or could ignore, was

No problem.


When the Shah's secret police

Imprisoned, murdered a 100,000, the USA

Supported him in every way; when necessary

Reaction, the Revolution, swept him away,

The USA was against them because they were

Islam's future. Now, war with Iran too, to

Distract from our future losses, Afghanistan,

Iraq, cementing purported need for unending

Supposed Christian crusading blitzkrieg of

Islam; as Islam would defend itself?


"We’ve suffered 1,500 coalition losses and

10's of thousands wounded from: lack of

Preparation for the war (no post invasion

Plan, lack of armoring for vehicles, uniforms,

Cushioning in helmets) as Bush wanted to

Lose it for a while to manufacture any and all

Extremists, forming a preamble to their next

War, ball, they want to juggle, Iran (for the

More balls, wars, they keep in the air, the

Less relevant future losses in previous ones

Will be, as the naive populace are terrorized

Into almost only being concerned about the

Most immediate fabricated "threat" of the,

Purported, largest magnitude, etc.), and

Rushed in to assure the fake intelligence it

Was based on wasn't found out before it

Started and his re-enthronement, for, only

Then would he be a sitting war president;

Readily re-elect able. Over 200 Iraqis die

Daily from it! Abu Ghraib prison was 1 of

A dozen across Iraq where atrocities were

Committed against 10,000's of civilian

Detainees, genocide was committed in Fallujaj etc...

Now, our criminal insanity Has determined similar

Iraqi behavior. Ten Iraqis die every hour from the war.


USA goals to manufacture astronomically

More supposed terrorists, rogue states + add

Definition to their list of countries that are to

Be destroyed, their "axis of evil", + making

Civil war, soon global sectarian Islamic war,

To dictate permanent bases in Kurdish North,

As a divided nation won't throw them out,

Etc., is already realized; the only reason they

Prolong the war is to get Iran and/or Syria


Into it- to enlarge war against Islam + aid

Sunni against Shiite in the process, trying to

Justify the unjustifiable unending global war!

Father, brother, son, nephews in military,

I Know we must stop the war; the future soul,

Life of this nation is in your hands, act now-

Before it's too late! "We" can stop thinking

We're able to abdicate our civic duty when

We choose to abdicate our power by giving

It to supposed leaders; and act, instead.

Our Troops home would save 100,000's of lives,

Is reality on the ground, within our heart,

This drum beats a tattoo that will only

Become louder the more our leaders ignore it.


Why do USA military rape Iraqi kids, women?

Men, the same reason they rape kids here,

To destroy the future adults, families, nation.

We don't stop the Nazi pedophiles from being

Criminally insane here, we don't struggle

With democrat conspiracies leadership here,

To stop them from having wars, then they

Do, and "we" don't struggle with them to stop

Their unnecessary wars, and they don't; they

Engineer them to be "unending". One reason

Why over 200 Iraqis die every day from the

War is because you're too cowardly to own

Your responsibility to struggle with democrats

And keep them from devolving into being too

Criminally insane. That's a reason the USA

Exports that criminal insanity, not freedom,

To the world, determining most almost

Become the same, and extremism, from all

Supposed sides reigns; making the "unending"

Wars that the democrat conspiracy couldn't

Manufacture before, because people were

More civically active, alive, in the past, and

Wouldn't let them! If you don't stop being

Those irresponsible cowards, their "unending

Unnecessary" wars will end you, humanity

And large mammals, not just Islam, through

Extinction; for, war is the largest polluter Ever, etc.

Until "we, the people" end this War, it won't.

Now another Iraqi dies from It!

Do you even know what you're living for?

© — James Nordlund

 

WATER DANCE

The rain is dancing everywhere —

On roots, and heads, and trees.

Let me dance here too, they hop

And land and hit the glass to merge.

The oak leans in the wind aloft,

And every tiny sprout and bud is wet.

Iris, roses, peony, and pine,

Petunia, and the pansy sway in time.

The pumpkin flowers inside the garden

Are weighted with the drops again.

The rainfall is a dance; it seems

To never stop;   

I sure do love to watch.

My parents say that things will not grow

Without water sent from the Lord,

And it's the same with our souls

So thirsty for The Creator's Word.

© — Peggy Kennedy

 

DISTANT THUNDER

Many things loom beyond horizon!

A blue sky replacing clouds today,

Green grass neath snow doth lay,

Sweet lilac fragrance means spring

As does robin’s nest is sure thing!

But horrors exist unseen

Like snake stalking mouse for meal!

The mind is horizon of tomorrow

Perhaps wishing to forget today?

The heart is also horizon

Praying to shoo shadows away!

‘Tis distant thunder we faintly hear,

Ominous harbinger fretfully near!

Guns barking in distant lands

Is reflection of those already here,

Could distant thunder be voice

Of conscience that we fear?

Perhaps each human is horizon

World waits to see,

Wondering if distant thunder

Will accompany?!

© — Gerald F. Heyder

 

IN THE BIG OLD CHERRY TREE

The sunshine is so bright at noon

Children try to climb to touch the moon

In the years it has grown old and high

All the years the cherry tree has reached the sky

Standing all alone, we watched it — alone to cry

Once again the children have all come home

Now it will never again be all alone

The children have repaired the old swing

For generations to come home to sing—

With the birds and bees resting their wings

The children have passed with a good grade

Next year seniors to be — as Summer will fade.

© — Dorothy I. Brown

 

A SOUL BADLY BRUISED

From birth a soul badly bruised,

At the very moment by God used.

Death was at the entry door,

Mama battled for life, went to war.


The doctor’s said testimony, if I survived,

Perhaps blind, together mentally tied.

Mama did not want me to suffer,

Prayed to God, take me to heaven’s cover.


Mercy of God came to front, life was chosen,

His spirit was upon me, carefully woven.

Through years broken in Christ’s hands,

Life sorrow’s ground as grain, His command’s.


A soul badly bruised, special trials to endure,

Throughout His love always sweetly pure.

Difficulties challenged energy to preserve,

Always a passage port, God’s calming the fear.


So Christ knew my name in mama’s womb,

Had a victorious life for me, not the tomb.

Prophesied, ISAIAH 49, I would bring Him glory,

I leave it all with God’s light to create my history.

© — Elayne Gocek Walden

 

WISTERIA STAGGERINGLY BEAUTIFUL

In dead hot summer mist,

Dreamt of wisteria staggeringly beautiful.

Burst spring blossoms, fragrant sweet kiss,

A joy cascade, violet = blue raceme mystical.


God’s creation relates spiritual communion,

Symbolic with Him of seasonal royalty.

Twining stairway to mount compassion,

Wisteria loves water baptism daily.

True Godliness, promise things to come,

Long life with powerful healing ability.


Bravery its roots firmly ground, head in sun,

To gaze upon her countenance reveals serenity.

The dead of summer mist, there is much sweat,

Dreams open, wisteria staggeringly beautiful is met.

© — Elayne Gocek Walden

 

LEGACY

Old farmer leans

upon his cane,

takes labored

hesitant steps

down a shady lane-­

two straight lines

of stately pine

planted when he built

the clapboard house

sixty years ago

for his new bride;

now, at eventide

he walks with pride,

talks to these trees

as if they're

his children.

© — Marion H. Youngquist

 

RETURN TO KARNAK

(Early Evening Love Song)

When evening comes, the sun falls into time

a fiery red ball crossing sapphire skies

so night comes quickly home and with night dreams

that bring you back in secret hours I kept

a hundred years at least, or so it seems,

when I was sleeping by you in your arms.


I move so lightly in your feathery arms

when we are sleeping here when lonely time

has gone away again, or so it seemed;

the moon lingered above in midnight's sky

a silver shadow that dawn's light will keep

when day comes and we waken from our dreams.


I wondered if you held me in your dreams

as I have kept you cradled in my arms?

What visions we have known! what secrets kept

through centuries of slowly turning time

when shadows slipped across a silent sky

and life was waiting as real as life seems


If one cannot keep night and that night seems

to slip away inside such private dreams

that decorate both moon and starlight skies.

But I remembered not to leave your arms

although you were "you" there and simple time

kept me inside my heart, when your heart kept


Me wrapped in memory that holds and keeps

true love as true as changing life that seems

to gather us back in forgotten time.

Time keeps us free and remembers our dreams

so I can stay a ghost held in your arms

until we're soothed again by midnight's sky.


When day brings back the bluest of cold skies,

when rain falls on these secrets I have kept

when I long to lay sleeping in your arms,

reality is more real than life seems

so that I give to you all of my dreams

and ask you to take me back into time.


Night's listening sky and softest stars seem

to hear my spoken dreams and secrets kept

inside my arms; your heart answers with time.

© — Jane Stuart

 

THE LIGHTHOUSE

The storm was raging, waves were rolling

tossing tumultuously on the open sea;

darkness pitched the skies to hover

silently, ominously over me.

Fear was welling, water swelling

the craft I trusted to safely carry me.

With each breath expelling, death was compelling

me to believe it was more than a possibility.

Though rain in silver torrents pelted

mixed with tears ceaselessly blinding,

from the innermost depths of my racing heart

His urgent whisper left me finding

my eyes searching the fixed blackness to see

the miracle promised, though as yet to be.


Illuminated by the brightness of the

truth it was there standing for

the Lighthouse beamed forth its ray of hope

the perpetual signal from earth’s rugged shore;

that the lifeline thrown was buoyancy

on the tempest life had always been,

and safely from the raging storm

was I then gently carried in

to the Lighthouse promised,

the provision made would be.

that the Light of the world would hear

my humble, desperate plea

and with His transcending love

did come to rescue me.

© — Janet Goven


WHAT DO YOU DO ON MONDAY?

 What are you doing on Monday, she asked? The old man replied," What I do on Tuesday & Wednesdays. And she asked," You must do something on Thursdays & Fridays." And he said, " All my days are the same". " and she said, how sad — indeed."

 "I'll take you home for dinner & later I'll turn on the music and dance". And the old guy said, " It would be a pleasure, but for me it's too late." She nodded her head & turned away. He watched her all the way down the road. If only he were younger, he'd go in a moment. He'd love the dinner & they'd dance the night away, he'd give her — a kiss (just a little kiss).

 Tears cane to his rheumy eyes. He looked to the sky and said, "Lord, "Why have You let me live so long? "I’m weak & sick- no more use to anyone". Of a sudden, a bolt of lightning came from the Heavens and struck the old man dead.

© — Jane Pierritz

 

LIFE'S LESSONS

I've sailed on vessels large and small

And seen the seas in every way

From the Arctic to the Caribbean.

I've watched the waters roaring mad

And enjoyed their placid calm

As they followed one another.

And like most lessons taught in life,

Those changes that I found at sea

Have made me very much aware

Of dangers of complacency.

© — Robert Donald Spector


THE DEVIL YOU SAY

On the hot line, direct to those above,

he yelled. It seems his clientele wasn't

going straight to hell.


He was told, yes it's true, his clientele

was being redirected to another kind of hell.

America's divorce court system and


It's parade of black robed Satan wannabes

were making hell, a hell-of-a-lot hotter,

than it was ever intended to be.


That made Lucifer madder than ... Well

the little devil knew, without difficulty,

he could be as vile as any attorney.


Venting his hostility, he took his case

to the highest authority and was

given his due, another opportunity.


That spiteful little being with a lean

diabolical traded in his pitchfork and

his horns for black robes and a gavel.


Now sitting there alone on the throne

he feels quite at home.

So if by chance you are sent to hell


And you end up in divorce court

being roasted alive.

That's because, in hell, you have arrived.

© — Gerald A. McBreen

 

A CHILD'S NIGHT PRAYER

Dear God, I truly tried to be good.

Didn't know mamas disliked frogs.

Somehow he landed in the wash machine.

Sister called my caterpillar ugly.

Crawled up her leg. Got lost in between.

Teacher said my spider belonged outside.

I thought he needed air, afraid he'd die

scrunched up in his jar, afraid he'd starve,

she screamed, "Nasty!" when I fed him a fly.


Anyway, I did know my lessons,

received an "A". Dad grunted, "Okay."

Read his evening paper through,

another grunt, ordered me to bed.


Dear God, I'm just a little boy.

You had a Son like me.

Did he like frogs, creepy things?

Were you too busy shining stars

to kiss Him good night?

Did his mother say,

"Don't forget your prayers.

I'll turn out the light."

God bless mama, daddy, sister too.

Forgive them for what they didn’t do.

© — Cecilia Haupt


VARIATION AFTER SUNSET

The red sun is sinking into the ocean.

Everything expects something,

Everything is enigmatic and strange.

The last sunbeam is painting pink clouds

An impressive picture of the sunset!

Darkness is not coming yet,

A hope is still glowing in your soul.

You forget about mundane worries.

Your heart is full of eternal love...

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)

 

QUESTIONS

The ships are swinging on the waves

Near their berth on the pier...

Where is the end of the beginning?

Of our life? How long will the ships?

Sail on the sea?

When will we obtain an answer

For the eternal question:

"To be or not to be?"

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)


WE NEED TO FALL IN LOVE TODAY

We need to fall in love today

When the blood is shed everywhere,

When people are in strife.

We need to save our world today

From hatred, evil and violation.

We need to give a chance to the flowers

To be in blossom again.

We need to fall in love today to survive,

Because the war will never solve

The difficult problems. Let's learn to find joy

In a rare beam of sun, otherwise

We will never see sunrises again!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)

 

SUN POET

In passing mountain moment,

old poet Sun peeked in upon

Young Echo Canyon, shared bright Sunsong,

caused Canyon to glow with

An array of long-light shimmer,

full of fire, life's timely, fine

Turning phrase, moving pattern of quiet power,

soft and strong —

Color-music, warm-light lines fill

Canyon's heart, with Sun poems

© — Glen Corliss

 

I'LL BE THERE

When the days’ wane long and dreary

And the nights are longer still,

Trust I'm watching over you —

And I always will.     


Sonnets of love are sweet refrain

But none can ever compare

To simple vows from the heart —

I promise I'll be there.


I am your guardian angel,

Together we have flown,

But when your wings grow weary —

You'll never be alone.


I hope you always understand

That I'll forever care,

And when you need to reach for me —

You'll find that I am there.

© — C. David Hay

 

SQUIRRELS

 Saw a squirrel today, Bill, in fulfillment of your dream that the Commons shelter squirrels.

 Was it you? It had no fear of me. It just escaped having a scruffy tail. It loved and came to me like the one I saved from dying in that drain pipe.

 I choose to believe you sent that squirrel to me today, darling. May he gather for you acorns of my love.

© — Susan C. Barto


BARELY A MURMUR

The aphrodisiac that you gave me

Scarcely soiled my dry barren lips

As you deployed a fragile preaching of

An adventurous, all conquering naval trip


The boot full of rauncheously chaffed lies

Is impeccably slick, which more or less

Accomplishes the nitty gritty shuffling trick

There's barely a murmur inside a brick


A merchant ship on rough tide can sink

Then love lights up like a silver chip

Life rapidly becomes a far flung strip

There's barely a murmur inside a brick

© — Frank Karan


PERUVIAN LEGEND

Beneath Lake Titicaca

in calm dark water graves

two star-crossed lovers lie;

gentle zephyrs slowly weave

through tall bamboo trees

swaying shimmering

in white moonlight;

through slender reedy trunks

both lovers' spirits rise

whispering their secrets

in the rustle of the leaves;

there a small Parula bird

hides—his flute-note throat

sings a poignant love song

near Lake Titicaca.

© — Marion H. Youngquist


After hearing the South American musicians, Andes Manta, play their native instruments in music that illustrated this legend. They appeared at Wisconsin Lutheran College, Wauwatosa, on November 6, 2001.



KEEPER OF THE SPRINGS

I come to clean the springs,

Or downstream the waters change,

And beautiful things will die of drought.

As I come to clean the springs I know

That because of me things will flourish.

Through storm or heat I climb to clean

And care for springs that gush up pure.

My reward is beauty all around my feet.

How glad I am to be Keeper of these springs.

© — Peggy Boogaard Kennedy

 

RIPTIDE

The waves with long, silver fingers

Gather sand and release it.

The polished rocks and glass shine

Jewel like as a starfish grips the rocks.

Endlessly the children play at the beach

And never think to wonder

At the wavering fingers of the sea's reach.

© — Peggy Boogaard Kennedy

 

THE RESERVOIR

The hills are petrified rumbles of thunder,

Purple and misty blue.

The ground is broken with rubble.

Reptilian snouts break the clear water

That soon will be dangerous to drink

Since they are spraying the gypsy moths again.

The blue-gray ridges lead to cool, sibilant woods.

Dusk settles, the singing birds

Dream of flying in silent sleep.

Night brings promises and the cries of loons.

© — Peggy Boogaard Kennedy

 

PLEASINGLY ZAPPED

We made love in a very open special solemn way

As the clouds overlapped, i scrambled for your

Hand, so lovingly you slapped my sweating face

Tingling with sincerity rejuvenating integrity


Your, pretty love wings have often been   flapped

As my lonely virgin heart is zealously   trapped

This amorous sensation is refreshingly   capped

The titillating senses, are pleasingly   zapped


Stop whining! We're due for some fine dining

Even though our nervous lives, are colliding I

 wish to lye in a box of fluffy duck pillows

To glisten above the daydream rainbow willows


I've journeyed past the backbone of your soul

Defragmenting the particles in the black hole

I've now got nothing else left that is of old

Can you barter with something when it's sold?

© — Frank Karan

 

TALL TATTLE

The stringendo passacaglia evoked an intercession

In our inveterate reciprocating dazed relationship

As the catalyst was a cocktail of rich tall tattle

The invidious actuary performed his frugal facility


Stashed in a catallactic timocratic loose formality

Solicitously attesting to the autistic smithereens

Our knockabout knight errant was inviolably pursued

As a limp wristed doughnut new centurion linchpin


Knackered by years of weary kleptomaniac battle

A kingly sum bestowed in the archipelago chattel

The anoxia aurora illuminates the mattamore castle

An anosmic polychrony reflects a soot fasting hustle

© — Frank Karan


CIRCUS MAXIMUS

We’re at the circus. Not great.

Sorry animals poorly fed,

Growing discontent.


The acts go on and on.

My wife intent upon each move

Claps child-like,

Drinks strawberry soda,

Asks for a balloon,

Popcorn, a crazy hat.


She never grew up.

I’m bored, but I love her—

I think—these fourteen years.

Her annual holiday,

Watching animals perform,

Cringing as whips crack,

Sighing when all ends

And cowered creatures caged.


Tomorrow her mood will change.

Demands for a new chapeau,

Expensive dress, shoes to match,

Fancy dinner, best wine.


Her chatter never ceases.

Criticizes my performance,

Office and bedroom.

Her snapping tongue is sharp.

Subdued I retreat to my cage.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


TRUCKING

We are pulling a heavy load on a long and hot-tired road,

Trying to make mountain time pay, to earn our dime the hard way,

Rolling a Rig down the line, our heart and hope strong to win out

Against dollar squeezers and law, weather and bad road, the clock,

And extra cargo, on worn-out Rig and Driver, pushing line.

© — Glen Corliss

THE MYSTIC DOOR

I have a mystic door

That only I can see.

It opens to the past

And memory is the key.


Beyond the threshold beckons

Treasured visions in the mist,

Filled with joyous times —

In the heart they still exist.


It leads to bygone days,

The weathered house upon the hill,

And ghosts of cherished loved ones —

They live and always will.


Life is full of pleasures

That make the spirit soar,

But still I dream of wistful scenes

Beyond the mystic door.

© — C David Hay

 

SINGING RIVERS' SONG

Misty rivers whisper to the wind

while autumn's orange leaves

are turning brown,

then silver shadows

in the moon's late light.

Each moment of forgetfulness

comes from an early robin's

springtime song—

and we hurry home through summer's parks,

our kerchiefs tied around our heads,

big bracelets covering our arms

that paled under the strap of knives.

These are the only hours we know,

when rivers sing, at night,

back to the wind—reminding me

of our mothers waiting at the bus stop,

so long ago,

somewhere in time,

so long ago.

Jing, jing, the trolley car is nearer now;

it is almost time to go back home.

© — Jane Stuart


CHOSEN

Why do we whack weeds?

With rusted sickles that whoosh through the air

While hacking four feet of drooping eyesore

Til Lazarus rises from underground ashes,

We then fall to the scorched summer dust

Swearing while on all fours, as though to pray

Hands dig through dried up dirt

Like a deprived dog seeking a bone,

Determined to snatch demonic roots of Hell,

But daisies and daffodils must live

So we water flowers and cover plants,

Yet dandelions and weeds are the dawning sun

To those drowned by inner tears that fester

Covered with frowns from drought like lack of success

God put living things that grow

Yet some we save, some we 'shoot to kill'

© — Richard Sponagle

 

THE LANE IN AUTUMN

The country lane is tinted

with brilliant colored leaves

that rustle out with happiness

while dancing in the breeze.


Vivid shades of red and gold

along with bits of green

adorn the trunks of chestnut brown

in this idyllic scene.


The lane waits very patiently

inviting one and all

to savor all it offers us

the start of every fall.


So, walk upon its velvet rug

made up of fallen leaves,

and listen to the trees' sweet songs

that float upon the breeze.

© — Sheila B. Roark

 

MY TWO SONS

Watching children as they play

Gives me a special pleasure.

It stirs up memories for me,

Not of the childhood that was mine,

Which seems a century ago?

But of the time my sons were young,

Which, too, was many years ago.

I'd watch them in their innocence,

Romping through their childish play,

And it was clear to me back then

That they would turn out to become

Men who'd make me proud of them.

© — Robert Donald Spector

 

PASSING TIME

I watch the tides as they come and go,

I see the nights replace the days.

Even the robins flying South

Are reminders of passing time.

If I am sad to see these things,

They also serve as inducements

To live life to the full each day.

© — Robert Donald Spector

 

A SISTER'S TEAR

I hold your tear on the tip of my finger

It bubbles there on the tip of my finger

A crystal ball revealing life

If you can read it as light passes through

Rainbow beads of different hues

Popping random memories unbound by time


Tear-wrapped crystal reveals the story

In the gray of a shadow I see life ebbing

A long life's ending is not a tragedy

Still how it hurts to be nudged toward the funnel

When you are not ready so unwilling


In your tear I see a paper-doll-girl

As the light shifts a puppy-dog-boy

Life's happy residue blocking your view

As you inch closer to your crossover cruise


Tilting crystal ball on the tip of my finger

Tells me life's ending started in its beginning

A continuing voyage toward the nipple of peace


Oh sad little tear you're losing your shape

No longer a bubble streams down my finger


I kiss the tear taste the salt lose the fear

© — Gerald A. McBreen


IT'S ALL RELATIVE

"Have you a PhD? he asked.

Poising my pen to record his responses,

I replied, "Yes, but does it matter?"

then stated, "You came here for counseling,

not to discuss my credentials."

I was off on the wrong foot. He was

entitled to know my professional status.

He lit a cigarette, "Please, no smoking."

I suggested off-handedly,

"You may call me by my first name."

I opened the slatted shades,

Cracked the window a bit. We both

Needed air, "How may I help you?"

He did not answer, restless, moved about.

I indicated a comfortable chair.

"Is there something you want

to tell me?" Professionalism must be

retained, yet, not forcing the issue.

"Christ! I don't know why I came.

Bad dreams, strange vibes,

home life's gone to pot. Been fired!"


"Where would you like to begin?"

"Begin! I just want to find the end."

"I can't help you unless you start

with a beginning." I glanced at my watch.

"Would you like to continue this session

or return when you are at ease?"

He looked helpless. I felt helpless.

"Tell me something about yourself," I urged.

Common ground, if I could discover one.

He stared at my flat shoes;

raised his eyes to my gray hair

coiled in a business-like bun,

then scrutinized my face.

"Remove your glasses!" he demanded.

I did. He recoiled. "Oh, God!

You look like my dead mother

all over again. Never could talk to her.

Everything came out wrong."

He rushed to the door;

stood in its opening.

"She never listened to me.

I'm out of here. You'll probably

lecture me like she used to do."


My credentials nailed to the wall

shivered as he slammed the door.

Even a PhD has depressing sessions.


I called into the waiting room,

"Louise Martin, how nice to see you

so happy today. You are

prettier than last week." She was.

"Oh, thank you, Doctor. You sound

just like my mother. She always

had nice things to say to people.

I do miss her so, but you make me

feel she's right in this room."


I wished at that moment Louise were

my daughter, Next week we would

say goodbye, her sessions over.

I'd return to my sterile life,

childless. All mother-like roles

summed up in one struggling

PhD's busy but normal day.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


WINTER RETURNS

Winter returns, it's snowing as before.

There are the same sad problems

Which I need to solve.

There is the same endless job

Which I need to do,

How absurd is this mundane life!

There are not enough

Honey cakes for everyone.

I am sitting near the fireplace

Looking at the glowing embers.

Another year is gone, nobody knows where . . .

I feel the smell of an old bureau,

Christmas will come soon . . . I say:

Don't worry, everything will be okay,

Let's live and see . . .

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)


DO YOU REMEMBER?

Do you remember how happy?

We were here many years ago

When we drank a delicious wine

And peace was in our souls . . .

Now, after separation,

When our love is in the past,

I understand suddenly,

How tender it was!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)


I WRITE YOUR NAME

I write your name on the blue sky,

It glows on the dark thunderclouds,

I hear your name in the storm's gusts,

I keep your name always on my dry lips.

Your name appears in the sky after sunrise

With the first sunbeam.

You name will be immortal for me

For the rest of my life.

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D.(RUSSIA)


AUGUST

 August came and stole the child of my heart. I somehow stumbled on to nurse his father who had this time escaped the death of August.

 All that hard year I labored to try to accept my loss and to save the child's father.

 But August came again and robbed me this time of husband. Now August had ripped all love and life from my heart leaving me a shell.

 Now is there anything left to lose or fear? If you two had to go first should I not follow expectantly. Ready?

© — Susan C. Barto


A CHANCE MEETING

Hurrying out of my office head down

Stopping for a split second to glance

At the time, only thirty minutes for

Lunch, what to eat that's fast and energy

Fueling. So engrossed with this menial

Chore, I neglect to carefully navigate

Around the corner bend, Bamnmwn! in an

Instant a handsome stranger and I are

One on the floor. We are embarrassed but

Laugh anyway, few moments later we exchange

E-mail addresses.

as you can probably surmise. time for a

Quick bite was gone. I'll grab a yogurt

For dinner at the corner diner in order

to hurry home and check my computer.

© — Sandra Glassman

 

CALLAHAN
DIVIDE
COMANCHES


Camped

Around


water holes


they survived

on their

Skill


with hand

chipped

Rocks


Wrapped

Onto


Smoothed

Wood


© — Sheryl L. Nelms

 

COME SWEET GOSSAMER MUSE

Come sweet gossamer muse,

Heavenly syllabic symphony;

In world’s salacious streets!

Monarch wings transport gently

Fragrance that is spring,

As scent permeates languid breeze

To every living thing!

As vision thru’ sight of eye

Is vast as azure sky,

Skin faintly touched

Is delicate as whispered sigh!

Temporal chamber’s flooded thoughts

Of secular earthly delight

Coerce relevance of the day

To disperse for pleasure of night!

Snap tethered bondage of fret

Irksome to the soul

Releasing grateful peace of mind

We rarely get to know!

Let subliminal script on page

Be spoken to the ear

To soothe away the savageness

We daily come to hear!

Yes, come sweet gossamer muse

And weave your magic spell

Thru’ spirit’s descension from heaven

Forsaking quicksand to hell!

© — Gerald F. Heyder


THE SOUL SEEMS TO WHISPER

 The soul seems to whisper, yes, the soul seems to whisper and it expands more each day for the woe, the waste, and the tears of life belongs to its interlude of yesterday, not it’s finale, trusting in God the giver. The soul follows where even I go, whispers do not make haste, diverge the fears and hope in God, is always good, the soul seems to whisper, that His angels transports the veil covering His hands. Faith in God I am fixed secure. I am never alone, for to appease my passions, I let Him, my soul to whisper, fashion my life from strife. No more to sing alone, for my soul strings have been atoned. The soul seems to whisper, to function, live on, the answer comes as I become the caresser. God’s grace shall meet me face to face. Then my soul finds jewels from all impoverishment, because God’s gifts, no other can dream. He is the dreamer of all dreams that put the schemer in vain. The soul seems to whisper from God in my ear, the strong divineness that the angels are aware.

“The soul selects her own society, then shuts the door” — Emily Dickinson

© — Elayne Gocek Walden


Un Amore Così Grande

Standing alone in the dark mist of a lonely room

My soul begins to speak in a meek solemn whisper

At first I am astonishingly surprised its clear voice

My wings blossom bright as the cathedral bells sound

I’m alone but there is a presence of many it seems

The explosive love of an endearing never ending universe

My excursion has made a quiet passage to the grand beyond

As a sprinkle of cool glistening rain showers its blessings

The absolute knowledge of all things rapidly invade my mind

In this very noble instant I am humbly honored to accept

My new position as an archangel, blowing my trumpet loud

For in my burning heart I have un amore così grande

(A Love So Grand)

© — Gary Drury



PRIDE

Why do people profess pride

When Packers\Pittsburgh score or catch pass?

We're programmed to 'pull' for the 'home' team

But pull\push or yell at top of lungs:

We don't control player's performance

Any more than whom wins Oscar

Or polopony match in Paris, Peru

We curse our 'pathetic' city

Yet root for prized hometown Pottsville Pigs

Pro players move from town to town

Lust for millions as squirrel grabs nuts

Know no loyalty to fans anywhere

Why pretend that 'our town's' people

Are better than 'their cities' bums'

Tomorrow, we'll be theirs and vice versa

Take pride in being good person

And spreading God given, joyful love

We always control these things

© — Richard Sponaugle


CORRUPTION

Lounging in a smoke-filled bodega,

empty glasses in straight line,

bloated soldiers on drill

void of their blood-red wine.

Colored lights obscured in haze.

A world away from the world,

an opium dream. Cigarette stubs

smoldering, odor, fetid air,

solitary ends betraying illusion.


Drunkenly I loll upon the room.

Its tilted ceiling, uneven walls,

I tally my hard losses

and hate that I loved Life

with its genitalia and finesses.  

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


MELANCHOLIA

We made colored paper lanterns

to swing between boughs.

I knew our game would not last.

The act touched my sadness,

besides, they could not be lit.


We picked apples, too many,

They rotted in the bowl.

We stared at the moon.

It crazed our thoughts.


I read great books aloud.

You did not listen.

We rambled through pastures,

drank from chilled brooks.

You were always thirsty.


This morning in a frenzy

I sought your presence;

found you lifeless.

You had baked your

last loaf of bread.


A white cross of flour

marked your forehead,

signaled your final hour.

A pathetic effort

to feed my starving soul.


Now, I am ever alone

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


WALKING MIDNIGHT

Walking midnight past blank walls of silence.

Streetlights stretch in soldier lines to the horizon.

Like sleeping dragons, the silent cars rest.

Steps and moonlight fall to make the listening trees glisten.

Huge pillars are marked with initialed graffiti.

The statue of a giant troll beneath the freeway

Looms spooky now beneath the shadowy overpass

These are the moth hours when light draws them.

Lives are wrapped until dawn announces the day again —

Dawn tinges skies, and glass towers flash.

Morning awakens me. I open my wings.

© — Peggy Boogaard Kennedy


BUTTERFLIES FLIGHT

The butterflies glory is to fly

A pattern of beauty in the sky —

They are going South, to warmer live

While on their trip they do give —

A perfectly beautiful show

So large or small — they do know

Exactly where on Earth to go.

© — Dorothy I. Brown


YOUR SUNSHINE

Introduction: I am, I am, I am your sunshine, sending sunshine one of a kind. Yes, I am sending you sunshine in great measure through and through, no matter what kind of weather, skies become blue. With love’s sunshine treasure. I am your sunshine marked by splendor with a heart that truly binds your sunshine, your sunshine, sunshine.


O love can you feel the warmth of sunshine,

Every expression, in a pompous manner in every line.

Need to be held very close, tell me you are mine,

A sweet passionate kiss which thrills every time.


O darling entice me with your magic playfulness,

Every laughter touches with your very nearness.

Desire joy into my life with loving tenderness,

As a rose symbol of Christ love, the beauty of Christ consciousness.


O honey, you are in my constant prayer of memories,

Every happy dream burst songs into full musical symphonies.

Keeping the faith of unconditional love in life’s journeys,

As a bubbling pure fountain before Christ express my testimonies.

© — Elayne Gocek Walden


GREAT IS HIS FAITHFULNESS

In heaven we will drink the waters of life.

Pure and spotless, the Christ bought a wife.

He redeemed her off the auction block, a slave,

And washed her, restored her, gave her His place.

Our Jesus will wipe the tear from every eye

The judgment comes when the trumpet splits the sky.

A new heaven and earth He gives His Bride,

A white robe, a jeweled crown for wounded side,

Tearing wounds, nailed wrists and feet abide.

He gives eternity to those who overcome

To live with The Father, The Comforter, The Son.

No more hunger, no more thirst,

For the last shall be the first.

© — Peggy Boogaard Kennedy


THE DANCE OF THE WORDS

So much joy there is, in lilt and light of our reading of song

Hearts, the lines of sunshine and shadow, moving in rhythms, at

Once, strange and familiar, gently pulling us into that dance

Of wonder, senses of soul raised, heart and mind, finely tuned to

Delightful special ness, mutual gifting, pleasing rise of light.

© — Glen Corliss


WHAT IS A POET?

Poetry must express the poets mind

Must speak of his own time in kind!


A poet’s work shows his reflection

His own aimed at inner direction!


He photographs in words all seen

Tells how he by it developed has been!


He observes reports all with a word

Photographs all he's seen or heard!


In so doing he exposes his own ideal

And affects in the reader’s heart


Recognition and appeal!

© — Sonja Christina


A KISS ON BROW BESTOWED


The lamps of Heaven burn low

The lights extinguished one by one in a row

Slippered feet- move quiet - slow.

II

The lamps of Heaven burn low

Silken skirts as rivers flow

Dainty ankles show.

III

The lamps of Heaven blink out

Water drips from a gargoyle's mouth

A kiss bestowed on a brow.

© — Jane Pierritz


RURAL MOOD

From the stuffy town department

I disappear in wide fields

Where my free song flows easily,

Where a murmuring brook talks to me,

Where air is fresh

And rural paths are inviting,

Where I stroll aimlessly all day

In grassy meadows

Under the bright sunlight

And keep silent,

Being blissfully happy,

Looking at the sunset sky...

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D


I LAY ON THE VELVETY GRASS

I lay on the velvety grass

Forgetting all my woes,

Looking into a balmy sky

And singing a sweet song.

My soul is full of blissful light,

Ready to fly immediately

To the glittering clouds!

These moments of life

Are unforgettable.

 I am ready to soar like a bird.

Go away, sadness and grief,

Life is magnificent!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, Litt.D

 

THEY COME ALIVE

The sleeping flowers

blanketed by a layer of fertile soil

are roused from their rest

by the warmth from the sun above.


They stretch their velvet arms

displaying brilliant pastel colors

that paint the verdant grass

with a myriad of beautiful hues.


The aromas of the flowers

send perfume through the air

enticing every bird and bee

to enjoy their alluring scents.


As gentle zephyrs blow

the flowers gently sway

performing a graceful dance

celebrating the arrival of spring once more.

© — Sheila B. Roark


WEST TEXAS OCTOBER

fat green

strippers


work the

cotton


gather boll

after


boll


into caged

catch


bins

© — Sheryl L. Nelms


PERFECT LANCEOLATE DART POINT

hammered

white

flint


reverberates


through the

centuries


with the ingeniousness

of a Paleo-Indian


brain

© — Sheryl L. Nelms

  

PLEASINGLY ZAPPED

We made love in a very open special solemn way

As the clouds overlapped, i scrambled for your

Hand, so lovingly you slapped my sweating face

Tingling with sincerity rejuvenating integrity


Your, pretty love wings have often been   flapped

As my lonely virgin heart is zealously   trapped

This amorous sensation is refreshingly   capped

The titillating senses, are pleasingly   zapped


Stop whining! We're due for some fine dining

Even though our nervous lives, are colliding I

 wish to lye in a box of fluffy duck pillows

To glisten above the daydream rainbow willows


I've journeyed past the backbone of your soul

Defragmenting the particles in the black hole

I've now got nothing else left that is of old

Can you barter with something when it's sold?

© — Frank Karan


It’s All Relative

“Have you a PhD?” he asked.

Poising my pen to record his responses,

I replied, “Yes, but does it matter?”

then stated, “You came here for counseling,

not to discuss my credentials.”

I was off on the wrong foot. He was

entitled to know my professional status.

He lit a cigarette, “Please, no smoking.”

I suggested off-handedly,

“You may call me by my first name.”

I opened the slatted shades,

Cracked the window a bit. We both

Needed air, “How may I help you?”

He did not answer, restless, moved about.

I indicated a comfortable chair.

“Is there something you want

to tell me?” Professionalism must be

retained, yet, not forcing the issue.

“Christ! I don’t know why I came.

Bad dreams, strange vibes,

home life’s gone to pot. Been fired!”


“Where would you like to begin?”

“Begin! I just want to find the end.”

“I can’t help you unless you start

with a beginning.” I glanced at my watch.

“Would you like to continue this session

or return when you are at ease?”

He looked helpless. I felt helpless.

“Tell me something about yourself,” I urged.

Common ground, if I could discover one.


He stared at my flat shoes;

raised his eyes to my gray hair

coiled in a business-like bun,

then scrutinized my face.

“Remove your glasses!” he demanded.

I did. He recoiled. “Oh, God!

You look like my dead mother

all over again.  Never could talk to her.

Everything came out wrong.”

He rushed to the door;

stood in its opening.

“She never listened to me.

I’m out of here. You’ll probably

lecture me like she used to do.”


My credentials nailed to the wall

shivered as he slammed the door.

Even a PhD has depressing sessions.


I called into the waiting room,

“Louise Martin, how nice to see you

so happy today. You are

prettier than last week.” She was.

“Oh, thank you, Doctor. You sound

just like my mother. She always

had nice things to say to people.

I do miss her so, but you make

me feel she’s right in this room.”


I wished at that moment Louise were

my daughter. Next week we would

say goodbye, her sessions over.

I’d return to my sterile life,

childless. All mother-like roles

summed up in one struggling

PhD’s busy but normal day.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


Would I Could Dance

There goes my old beau

once young—son of a king.

He was gallant and fair,

I, his princess in blue.


We left Easter behind.

Walked hand in hand

into spring;

heard meadow larks;

smelled sweet grasses.

Prisoners of adolescence

reluctant to surrender

to summer’s demands.


There goes my old beau,

afraid to look back;

to remember love’s garden.

I left. He clung to a tree.

“Safety”, he whispered.

“I’ll hug its trunk.

You leave without me!”


I did. Found joy in my own way;

Raised tall sons, genteel daughters.


My old beau, bent,

a reed in the wind;

lonely, uncared for,

travels an unending road.

I, bedridden wheel chair driven;

hands frail and veined;

body a broken wing.

Yet, I tend and feed

my blue bird of happiness

because I am the one

who is free, know beauty.

Not he.

© — Cecilia G. Haupt


This Is the War without End

This is the war without end

Of always raging veins,

When being on the verge of despair

Nobody wants to be taken prisoner.

The poison of chronic fear

Kills us over again,

We are afraid of the guillotine.

Someone else's star is shining,

But we cannot see anything,

It is too late, alas, good heavens!

The plague of hatred has been wandering for

Too long around the world,

And mankind becomes mad!

People forget about Heaven,

The hope for good luck disappears...

Are we really empty?

This is an endless war inside of everyone!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


We Come Naked to This World

We come naked to this world

And live like bisexual creatures

Thinking that we were born

With a silver spoon in our mouths!

But when misfortune comes to our house

We are surprised every time,

Why is reality so cruel and why is our life?

So full of suffering and tears?

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


On Your Majestic Shoulders

You keep the sensuality of night

On your majestic shoulders,

And your attractive eyes

Float under the star's sail!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


Myriad Cupolas of Love

Myriad cupolas of love

have been made by many hands

Which covered these domes in gold?

To attach to love a special charm

Which warms the hearts

And gives joy to people day and night!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


We All Are Different People

We all are different people

With different color of skin and eyes.

But what unites us,

What help heals our wounds?

It is our dream because everyone

Thinks about the Promised Land,

Where the sun shines,

Where the flowers are in blossom,

Where the wind of enmity

Disappears from view forever!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


The Language of Love

It is difficult to understand each other

When you don't know a foreign language.

But if you met a beloved girl

You'd have no more problems of intercourse.

The grammar of love is simple,

Everyone knows her language:

I love you, my darling,

You are an incomparable instant of happiness!

You may be anyone: Chinese, Spanish, French.

Love speaks without words!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


I Am Pleased by Smell of Your Skin

I am pleased by smell of your skin,

I feel an aroma of spring blossoming,

I see a bed of velvet green grass,

I sing a love song!

I kiss your tender palms,

I adore the blue sky!

The first love, an unprecedented bliss,

We are united forever!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


When the Ferocious Wind Comes

When the ferocious wind comes

To destroy everything around,

How important it is to know

That somebody will help you.

Overcoming the natural fear

He will support you,

Not thinking about danger!

And when the wind stops howling,

He will close his inflamed eyes

And say with a tired smile:

Thank God, we have survived...

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


Sometimes Life Gives Us Rigid Lessons

Sometimes life gives us rigid lessons

Like a big master!

We must have infinite patience

To turn everything around.

But in other times

The sun shines friendly, the grass is green,

But this joyful day will not be last.

Our soul is full of rains again in autumn.

We cannot be happy when the weather is cold...

Sometimes life gives us rigid lessons,

Nevertheless, we still have a little ray of hope

Which brings warmth to our soul!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


Clouds Float in the Blue Sky

Clouds float in the blue sky,

We breathe with a full breast in the spring!

There are no more trees covered by frost,

The weather is wonderful!

Winter months are in the past,

There is no colder and shivering.

The nature looks so friendly

Among all this spring commotion!

We awaken from hibernation,

The spring fragrance grows in our blood,

We walk and smile simply:

This is not celestial; this is terrestrial paradise!

© — Adolf P. Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)


Northwoods Lodge

High on a wall of tawny logs

Hang trophies from November’s kill;

A ten-point buck and massive moose—

Their furry heads are prized for skill.


With heads aloof, their glassy eyes

Watch hunters raise their Merlot toasts;

Their pointed ears alert to hear

Of treetop blinds and prideful boasts.


At crack of gun, their nimble feet

Zigzagged in fright through forest glen;

Shot! Now they stare lifeless, mute—

Silenced by rifles, stalked by men.

© — Marion H. Youngquist


Solution

When foreclosure came,

Jessie moved across town

To Fourth and Elm Streets;

A tired weathered house—

Peeling paint, sagging steps;

“—Needs fixing’—,” said Jessie.

She started the next day.


She planted a hedge of

Blush-pink cabbage roses,

Curving around the corner;

People stopped, took pictures,

Inhaled the sweet aroma

Of lush full-blown beauty,

Said it was a lovely place.

© — Marion H. Youngquist


Honeymooners

After perfect weddings,

the couples go to the Poconos;

the morning after

the hostess promises

great fun for everyone—

golf

tennis

bowling

shuffleboard

ping-pong

hiking up to Lovers Bluff.


After that,

it’s downhill—

down all the way.

© — Marion H. Youngquist


February

Tis the month of frigid cold

when blowing winds loudly moan

as they coil around the sleeping trees

that dream of warm spring days.


It is the month when once blue lakes

change into icy sheets

frozen by the frigid air

that changes the landscape into a world of white.


It is also the month of love

when lovers renew their deep felt vows

promising to always care

when Valentine's Day comes around.


But mostly, February is the month that promises

that spring is on its way,

until then the world sleeps and waits

surrounded by the blowing, icy air.

© — Sheila B. Roark

 

Reckless

You know you can't walk in the whirlwind

one step forward, then backward two

you won't admit the velocity

of the wind is much stronger than you.

You know you can't swim against the current

its drag will just suck you in

the weight of the water so heavy

intense pressure insures you won't win.


Why do you accept such a challenge?

that others already refused

a lifetime of such constant struggle

your energy otherwise, better used.

You try to tackle the impossible

spend all your strength on futility

what has blinded you to the quite obvious

most others apparently see.


Though some may say you have courage

a fool is what you've really been

I hope you never have to acknowledge

it's too late to start over again.

© — Janet Goven


Needed Answers

Suddenly, a loved one dies

sorrow comes, the familiar pain

as the mind rejects the unknown cause

time passing won't help grief to wane.


Suddenly implies some mystery

answers would shorten the time to heal

you wait for closure soon to come

the needed answers to reveal


because


if sorrow is not laid to rest

healing must wait in the wings

the pain will remain familiar with

the sorrow, remembering always brings.

© — Janet Goven

 

The Blue Heron Space Flight Club's Dance Fest

Over deepest blue-mooned frosted sea,

The clamor against the rocks intense,

Along that stretch of beach I stand


To claim the winner of the Heron dance.

Two by two they glide abreast

Through the dawn’s embraced loneliness.

The spy me there to grade their test.


So the Heron do fancy turns,

And dive in and out in seabird jest.

Aye, tis the Blue Heron Space Flight

Club's Dance Fest.

© — Ken Gillespie

 

War Stanzas Fini

So good night mama,

We're burying our dead

Another generation

In long neat rows

Of chipped, hard stone reflecting.

Their lives are gone.

The bankers live on.

© — Ken Gillespie


Haiku

Snowy owl sojourns

Roosting on a rocky slope

Barren sycamores

© — Diana Kwiatkowski Rubin


Untitled

Loving, love

I do not love

I'd rather hate

and lie.

I have a love

And it's

not you

So go away

and hide.

Loving, love

I do not love

To stare into

your eyes.

I'd lose myself

in glossy orbs

so ugly

And oh so very sly

Loving, love

I do not love

to see you stand

and cry.

Slowly,

tears

fall down your cheek

 and i think that

I could die.

Loving, love

I do not love

to have and hold regret.

But loving, love

My passions for you

I'd surely rather forget.

© — Katharine Rubin


Clear Presence

Never give up

on someone who's trying

on someone who's willing.


A helping hand,

a clarifying word,

will do a lot more

than a blast of sarcasm.

© — Richard Edgar Zwez


Hands Across

Do you have something to waste?

Waste not, want not.

The hungry wait for the fruits

from your hands.


Do you have many books?

with pages you'll never turn again?

Do you have a coat?

that has been not worn for a long time.

© — Richard Edgar Zwez


Galveston Ferry Tale

passengers

were tossing


Cheetos up

to the trailing gulls


ten-year-old David

had nothing

to offer


except


a small wad

of Kleenex


that he threw

into the air


then watched

in horror


as the lead bird

caught it


and neck

extended


accordion

it down

© — Sheryl L. Nelms


Sands

For thousands of years

Whims of Winds ruled Sands, shifted

And shaped them as they

Would, simply because they could—

We see Sand, Land in progress.

© — Glen Corliss


Campfire Dreams

Camper's night dream, is

Fine flowing melody, two

Part, soft harmony

Of Stream thru' the rocks, and Wind

Thru' the trees, wild lullaby.

© — Glen Corliss


The Dance

This one knows the dance

Of Sage, the brush of sweet breeze,

Whisper of grass song,

Wild blue cloud sweep, light leap of

Warm shine on mirror stream life.

© — Glen Corliss


Walking The Line

We wander along

The Waving line, ebb and flow

Of life, the laughter

And strife, doing what we can

In the rise and fall of time.

© — Glen Corliss


Friend

In the knowing of

You, is knowing of myself,

Found better than I

Knew myself to be — even

Yet, helping in memory.

© — Glen Corliss


Old Friend

Said he died, last night —

I see him at River, just

Sitting in shade with

Fishing pole, letting it tend

Itself — I see him, sleeping.

© — Glen Corliss


Glory Steps

In heavens above,

Story light beauty dances,

Our heart romances,

In warm way, life music moves

Us to love, steps of glory

— Glen Corliss


Like The Dawning’s

We were like Dawning’s,

Glory streams of heat and light,

Wonder stuff of dreams,

Beautiful laughter of life,

Horizons to horizons.

© — Glen Corliss


Whistle

The train that goes to Out Beyond

Runs on a one-way track,

And those who take the journey

Won't be coming back.


Every road has a beginning,

Every ride comes to an end;

Blessed be the traveler

Remembered as a friend.


But this is a crossing one takes alone,

None else can lead the way;

How well we made the passage —

Only God can say.


So when I hear the whistle

As the train arrives for me,

I'll board with faith in knowing —

I fulfilled my destiny.

© — C. David Hay

 

Not My Little Girl

I fight from who I was that broken relationship

laying in the dust

For many years I have continued to run from

that destructive relationship

And now when I see you and know that

I found a reason to change I still struggle

Because of fear — fear that I will change....

Fear that I can never change...

I always thought I would be a mother,

Hold a baby in my arms but it was never to be...

Meeting him, didn't change that it just brought me

To know his little girl … but she isn't so little...

Sadly, she will never be my little girl,

she pulls at the idea … I reject it because it can never be...

Her own mother filled with fractured reality and

abusive husband

Can never really see how wonderful she and

her Daddy are together

And I am so grateful to be a part of it.

© — Alice M. Harnisch


The Windows of Heaven

In the beautiful city with streets of gold

Our family will live in houses beside the men

Who won the kingdom for Jesus the Christ?

Now another looks — from the casements of heaven.

We have blue-hazed mountains, snow-topped peaks,

And seas of endless beauty, but the River of Life,

Awaits, and the sight of Our Lord's Face.

Before that city bloom healing trees, the Tree of Life,

There will be no war or contention, lions we can ride

Children by the throng, multitudes of youth.

There all our tears are wiped away, and sorrows gone.

The joy bells of heaven ring, as seraphs circle

The Holy Throne, the angels sing more glorious

In the forever halls of light where the Ageless

Alpha and Omega sits high and lifted up above a glass sea.

I know my brother and sister are having more fun

Than on earth they ever expected or had.

© — Peggy Kennedy


The Bow of Many Colours

Forty knots were tied in Noayhe's counting rope Within the ark, the rain ceased, and the quiet stirred the animals. Noayhe opened the window to see a vast expanse of water reaching to the horizon in every direction. The ship danced over the waves heading to the north. When the waters began to subside, a raven was set loose, but it did not return.

Then Noah took a gentle, white dove, and loosed it. The first time it returned empty beaked, the second with an olive branch, and the third time, the dove did not return to the ship at all. Noah waited until the full year had passed to open the door which the Lord had closed.

The men moved the animals out, and the newborn creatures stepped down with wide eyes gingerly onto the earth. Noah took a perfect bull and sacrificed it, and the Lord answered with his bow of many colors in the clouds to mark the second beginning of man's race which paralleled the Messiah's atonement.

© — Peggy Kennedy


Thrill in Old Louisville

 Chours . . .  O, I found, I found my thrill, I found my thrill in old Louisville. Yes, found it in old Louisville that bid me carry on with a song into waking dreams singing about this thrill most impressive and intensive that cause me to tremble when my eyes saw your persuading dimples. My soul was carried away in ecstasy for it moved me to carry on with this song.  Each day I found my thrill in old Louisville, what a thrill, thrill each and every day yes, the thrill in old Louisville, Louisville.


I found my thrill in old Louisville,

WHEN you walked in out of the blue.

That's when my heart truly knew,

Love at first sight, broken heart to heal.


I found a thrill attraction drawn together.

There was absolutely no shaking a thrill as this.

With God’s Holy mercy came loves kiss.

Love that moved mountains, none never better.


I found my thrill praying to Almighty, His will.

The skipping heart beat perked up with enthusiasm.

I began to vision life’s unspeakable wisdom.

Unscrambled my life’s journey, came to yield.


I found my thrill as a high note beating drum.

It pierced deeply into the soul to forever remain.

The faith tool that God has given never to wane.

Dark is the shadow of night awaken o morn star bright sun.


A thrill of sheer breathless hope, highest expectation,

Walk in God’s light secure in stormy night, His presence.

Titus. . 1 .2 God can not lie; He keeps His promise.

Destiny is in His hands, no one can twart this revelation.


Dedicated to Peter J Andolino of Louisville

— Elayne Gocek Walden

 

Musclecars

Back in 1969,1 got my first real car.

Every night, you'd see me headed down to the bar.

The boys and I really had ourselves a time

in that hot lookin' V8 car of mine.


I modified the engine from top to bottom.

If you want some horsepower, yep, I got'em.

I could impress any girl I'd find

until she discovered what I had on my mind.


Musclecar, musclecar, good lookin' as can be.

Musclecar, musclecar, neat toys for you and me.

Musclecar, musclecar, you are so much fun.

Musclecar, musclecar, you're really built to run.


Now, I pulled up beside another car one day.

He gave me a mean look, and we both got carried away.

It was a contest to see who had more power.

I gave up at 130 miles per hour.


Then there was the time I got chased by the cops.

I'd been drinking and didn't want to stop.

I darn near took out a telephone pole.

He caught me and said, "Thirty days in the hole!"


But those days are gone and I've since settled down

and bought a house in the nice part of town.

The wife says she'll have nothing to do

with a man that loves her and musclecars, too!


Yesterday's musclecars, we had ourselves a blast.

Yesterday's musclecars drank their share of gas.

Yesterday's musclecars I thought were here to stay,

but yesterday's musclecars have all but passed away.

© — Mark Stoll


Stranger

Who would have thought I could fly

When a stranger caught my eye

The feeling I have inside now is definitely — do or die

Drowning in music of your eyes,

you're stealing my heart's time

But I will never mind, just let me —

Let me commit this mortal sin forever more

Forever more, Forever more


I see the surprise in your eyes,

When you spread that devilish grin

I know you will be my eternal sin

A little dirty secret until the end

I will not ever regret you my friend

When we touch it is far to much

But lavishes me with riches and such —


Who would have thought I could fly

When a stranger caught my eye

The feeling I have inside now is definitely — do or die

Drowning in music of your eyes,

you're stealing my heart's time

But I will never mind, just let me —

Let me commit this mortal sin forever more

Forever more, Forever more


Your sunshine kisses burn my lips like the sun

While heavenly blissful winds hug me tenderly

Fond memories kismetly bond the two of us

Whenever we are apart I miss you kindly

My heart is tortured with sun's passion,

My love radiates with bloom of Paris moon

I pray you'll be in my arms again ever soon —


Who would have thought I could fly?

When a stranger caught my eye

The feeling I have inside now is definitely — do or die

Drowning in music of your eyes,

you're stealing my heart's time

But I will never mind, just let me —

Let me commit this mortal sin forever more

Forever more, Forever more


My secret is out — you are my eternal sunshine,

My northern star, my ground, my day and night.

You are my everything that I could ever dream of —

You are every breath I inhale and exhale,

My every heartbeat, every second of the sum —

You are my friend, my lover, my stranger

Who brightens my life and makes me kite

You literally are the Earth and Heaven above —

Stranger

© — Gary Drury


Dreams Upon Me Lying

Sweet the dreams upon me lying

Catkine crying

I give no heed to tomorrow.


II


Sweet the dreams upon me lying

I feel so loose — so hollow

Let what will follow.


III


Sweet the dreams upon me lying

Of trouble none to borrow

God's eye and the sparrow.

© — Jane Pierritz


A Touch of Pussy Willows

Come with touch of pussy willows

Kiss of "Hello" under a yellow umbrella,

Come with touch of pussy willows.


II


Dance fairies and trolls

Across your eye lids — flower petals

Across your lips a taste molasses.


III


Come with touch of pussy willows

Let the world kick up its heels

A sprinkle of ashes of roses.

© — Jane Pierritz


Me and Them

When I was a kid I thought my parents were special.

As a teen, I knew they were dummies.

By the twenties, I knew they had something.

Now that I'm entering my fifties,

I want to ask them questions.

© — Milton Kerr


Beside Me Lain

There's nothing twixt our earth 'n moon

nor sun and stars that shine

to behest gold's wealth to me

to make my life divine.

'Tis within my heart 'n soul

to search for gems to touch

that mean much more to life 'n limb

than gold or silver rush!

Tho' I may wield my lance to blow

on life's invincible shield,

I am but mere skeleton bones

against an armor of steelo.

Love may come 'n love may go

but I still hope to gain

a valentine with love that's pure

to cancel harlequin's disdain!

When my earthly shock of flesh

is laid to rest in grave,

providence may bless my soul

with true love beside me lain!

© — Gerald Heyder

POETRY