POEMS BY MEMBERS:
DAYDREAMING
Nancy Powell
Crimson red
clover, worked by bees,
peacefully swaying with the breeze,
blue skies overhead, sun on my skin,
sweet dreams are made of things like these.
Closing my eyes, I drift again
back to child games easier to win.
Bright visions brush away gloom,
call back a thought to start the spin.
Butterflies kiss flowers in bloom
arousing winds to stir perfume.
Selective recall is the key
that unlocks charm in any room.
Brief are moments truly free;
squirrels scold from a hickory tree
that this territory’s not for me.
It’s time for fantasy to flee.
MISSING THE MOMENT
Judy Young
Flat planes of gray lie
scattered across the level
expanse of Illinois fields
forming irregular shapes,
solids framed by new green
stripes, widening and
narrowing unevenly, hinting,
at certain angles, of lessons
in perspective.
My tires race past on
flat planes of black
pavement, sending mist
in its wake. You sleep,
missing the moment when
the sun briefly pushes through
the dense foreboding clouds
to turn the fields to
polished silver.
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Velvet Fackeldey
the new year beckons
teasing with possibilities
tantalizing prospects
promising another new beginning
and once again it eludes the grasp
as it slips through the fingers
and becomes days and weeks and months gone by
once more a fresh start lost to time
as we wait for another new year
to come around
bringing hope
ANONYMITY VS. IMMORTALITY
Phyllis Moutray
Why is one's contribution, one's life's work,
frequently not recognized during one's time?
How many recognized
Vincent Van Gogh's artistic genuis?
How many were kind despite his insanity?
Do you think it safe to say not many,
or perhaps to venture an answer of not any.
Why do you suppose
nineteenth century recluse, spinster,
Elizabeth Barrett Browning , suffered anonymity?
Did any speculate this childless woman's immortality?
How many even read,
"I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree"?
Today's advertisement "Dare to be different"
could be the mantra for all times.
Do you suppose tomorrow's immortals
are among today's spurned or anonymous?
Do you imagine it's true "the more things change,
the more they stay the same?"
FOND OF FAUNA
Tom Padgett
I am a man who's always loved
the animals I've lived among.
I've spent my time in filling bowls,
bathing, worming, cleaning up dung.
And though I have no bumper strip,
I've braked for terrapins or squirrels
and let my family keep enough
tame animals to please three girls.
Each gerbil, puppy, hamster, fish,
and kitten in our house turned loose
contributed its part till I
was traumatized by pet abuse.
So when a fellow martyr from
another section of our town
chose night to dump a cat on us,
I did not take it lying down.
I yielded to the prompting of
some basic, generous chromosome.
I caught that cat, drove thirteen blocks,
and helped it find another home.
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SUNDAY VISITATION
Pat Laster
In the gym
families,
noisy as starlings,
cluster four square
in metal chairs
with missing backs.
Lumbering fans
barely stir the air.
Babies brought
to mothers-in-absentia
stripped to diapers,
fawned over, fanned
with empty popcorn sacks.
Other moms follow children
to cumbersome machines
swallowing coins,
spewing packets of chips
and cans of cola.
Outside, still
other mothers carry,
walk their youngsters
through the courtyard,
fenced and razor-wired.
Gathered under the stoop
a group sings
Amazing Grace.
Couples in quiet conversation
circle the yard, lap after lap;
no one ready
when the whistle blows.
TRAPPED
Tania Gray
A moth is trapped in a clear plastic box
among strapping tape, box cutter, scissors
and labels, the tools for packing possessions.
The moth is trapped in a clear plastic box
buzzing against a corner where straight ahead
looks open but there's an invisible wall.
If the moth would fly up it could clear
all the jumble it spends itself then quits
not knowing there's no lid on the box.
I am tired of straight-ahead movements
of switchbacks and detours
and roadblocks horizontally
there is no progress
there's no lid on my box, why not fly?
A CHRISTMAS TOAST TO HEAVEN'S HOST
Jean Even
And ye shall be filled with the Holy Ghost,
With glad tidings and joy from Heaven’s Host,
Flooded with laughter, spreading to most
Folks the news of peace from coast to coast.
And from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific coast,
Many shall return Your glad tidings and boast
Of the cheer that comes from the Holy Ghost.
The birth of Jesus is something to toast.
And so it was Jesus gave us His most
Precious gift from the Heavenly Host:
Eternal life with God on Zion’s coast,
A joy in freedom with the Holy Ghost.
And now we can all stand and boast
With joy to make a praising toast,
To God, Lord, and King, our Heavenly Host.
Here’s to Your peace on earth resounding the most.
CLOSET DANCE
Harding Stedler
The coats are dancing merrily
behind closed doors.
I hear their rhythms jingle
as they sway.
When I unfold the closet door
to watch, I see happy coats,
headless coats
that hear music I don't hear.
Their steps are uniform,
perfect and silent,
in the dimly lit ballroom.
The emperor, from his throne
encased in glass,
looks down,
nods his approval.
The dancers keep right on.
VISIT WORKSHOP FOR AN ASSIGNMENT.
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