THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS
Vol. 4, No. 6      An Online Chapter of Missouri State Poetry Society     1 June 2005
 

THE POEM AS ORCHID

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Begin by reading this brief biography of Roethke and a few poems:

http://poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/13

For a timeline of data about Roethke's life, visit

http://www.arches.uga.edu/~squirt33/theodore.htm

For ten poems by Roethke and some links of interest visit

http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/

For still more Roethke poems visit

http://www.poemhunter.com/theodore-roethke/poet-6647/

Buy a book of Roethke's poetry at

http://www.booksense.com/index.jsp?affiliateId=AmerPoets

http://www.powells.com/

http://www.amazon.com/

For a free e-book of several Roethke poems, download

http://www.poemhunter.com/i/ebooks/pdf/theodore_roethke_2004_9.pdf

 

He follows on my evening stroll
My vigilante on patrol
Past holly trees and hollyhock
I walk my cat around the block

The neighbors watch in mild surprise
As we encircle them clockwise
With steady pace on long sidewalk
I and my cat around the block

He sometimes stops to stalk a bird
Or if alarming dogs are heard
I keep ahead as scout ad hoc
My cat walks me around the block


A BIRTHDAY MORNING AND ITS ANTITHESIS
Judy Young

                    I
A sunlit room, a cup of tea,
A pad of paper on my knee,
A quiet house, a dog asleep,
Aromas of the brew I steep.

A pane of glass, a sunbeam shines,
A dance of dust makes a design,
Across my lap an afghan's spread,
A slice of honey-buttered bread.

A sound of birds, a wren I see,
Alighting high up in the tree,
A warmth of light, a rocking chair,
A flower in some earthenware.

A clock that ticks upon the shelf.
An hour or so all to myself.

                  II.
A darkened room, an empty cup,
A pad of paper wadded up,
A cacophony of dogs and kids,
A smell of which I should forbid.

A dirty pane, a cloud that chills,
A layer of dust on windowsills,
Across my lap a crumbly spread
A couple crusts of day-old bread.

A TV blares, a bug I see,
Upon the wall it stares at me,
A chilly draft, a squeaky chair,
A smell of mildew fills the air.

A clock annoys upon the shelf,
A wish to be all by myself.


RUB WINTER FROM YOUR EYES
An Elfchen
Nancy Powell

PERFECT MATCH
Harding Stedler

Like you, the cell
is cold and calculating.
Just as you planned in detail
the murder of your spouse,
the cell has plans for you.
It intends to keep you,
to keep you
until you show remorse.
It too is cold.
No carpet there,
only steel bars and tiled floors
and dungeon-like, icy showers.

The comforts of home
are history now,
the abandoned riches
in disarray.
No house, no husband,
no self-respect.

Survivors of your
unconscionable act,
though scarred, go on.

Yours is a new life,
a new beginning,
with a new mate:
a cell.
 
Your decision,
one of classic stupidity.

FOR ME?
Patricia A. Laster

The pickup’s tires
scrunched
on the gravel
driveway.
He pulled
the dull metal
frame,
sparse as a skeleton,
from the bed,
bouncing the tiny tires.

Sans rubber
hand and pedal grips,
worn dry and brittle
till they fell off
the way retreads
split off semis,
still
it was beautiful.

Dared I hope?
“Oh, daddy,
thank you!”
I jumped on his neck.
It would be
the last time
I ever kissed him.

I CHALLENGE YOU
Valerie Esker

Come see!
Come see the light
that shines from lonely eye,
when smiled upon. Just try
this sweet delight.
Could be

you'll thrill,
to flip the switch
that lights a darkened soul.
Make that a daily goal--
and there's no hitch.
Just will.

Just care
enough to smile,
enough to say hello.
Then you may go.
It's no real trial.
Just dare!


WHO IS THERE?
Henrietta W. Romman

I heard silent, creeping
footsteps, tiptoeing steps
towards some peaceful days
of my December.
I heard them clear:
first approaching slowly,
then in haste like floods
shattering dikes.

They were the unmistaken
strides of pain.  PAIN.
Pain that pushed away
the world from my life
took all else, spread
its thorny wings like
hungry vultures over
the sea of my wasting form.

I heard, I knew pain
lifted up its tail . . .
whip! whip! whip!
It lashed and lashed
through days that fled
away.  Days were void and gone
as I lamented and bemoaned.
I looked around and waited
for relief.  It never came.

All day I groaned as though
in fetters; my soul roamed
the earth in search of rest.
The night did come
so full of storms and woe.
The universe bespoke of
yuletide and mirth,
good cheer, chiming bells,
unwrapped gifts.

I looked afar beyond the
railed bed which protected
me to ease my agony.
There was no hope for me.

And then I looked deep within
my heart and cried with joy!
For here resided for my peace
the King of  Kings . . . my Lord,
whose sword, the only Word,
is all that I shall ever need
to heal, and He healed me.



QUESTION
Gwen Eisenmann

Why is my inside so different from my outside?
I don't look to be who I really am.
Or am I really who I look to be?
Then who is the person I think I am?

Skin side?  Inside? We live together,
But sometimes one doesn't fit the other.
Carrying me around, I wonder
Who is myself--me, or the other?
 

WHEN GOD SLEEPS
for Smithy on her 51st
Mark Tappmeyer

When God sleeps,
rivers of air
roll into Him
then out,
spilling onto
clay figures
He embraces
that by night’s end
live.

Like now, my sweet,
in this early hour
as the air rolls out of you
and onto me,
and I
rather than turn away
breathe it in
somehow aware now
of your secrets
and the dreams
that bring smiles
to your deep sleep.
 

THIRSTY
An elfchen
Velvet Fackeldey

A LITTLE SERMON ON PRIDE
Tom Padgett

In Hawthorne's works a looking glass reveals
the hidden truths of those who gaze upon it.
In "Snow White" the mirror of the jealous queen
proclaimed her beauty only second best,
Narcissus lost his life because he fell
in love with what the pool showed him of him,
but not a day goes by that you and I
in pride forget the dangers of a mirror.
 

has rewards here “beneath,”
but I’m still finding sheep have teeth.

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