POEMS BY MEMBERS
OVERNIGHT GUESTS
Pat Durmon
From where we stand in the
yard, we see
beyond leaves of the sweet gum tree. This evening
it carries a burden of bees . . . a swarm of thousands.
They look like a dusty brown cloud as they cluster
on two limbs.
The bees cling to one another
the way an old couple
sleeps waiting for heat, hugging the one in front
like a pillow; and yet, they seem one organism
not unlike a crowd emerging from a subway.
No busyness with fleur-de-lis. No spreading of gold.
No humming like bacon sizzling.
But what are they doing here?
Here where
the May sun begins to warm our days, here where
there is no glittering hive for a queen and boundless
bees, here where we stand momentarily mute
with eyes wide-open.
Actually, it is touching the
way the sweet gum holds up
leafy arms and a swarm of bees cleaving, perhaps
catching a brief bit of rest. The air suddenly seems
intoxicated with gentle waves. And we are full-up
with certainty that we know little about these shifting
times— only that we tread on tender ground.
SISTERS
Jennifer Smith
This is a poem about a pair
of sisters.
(I suppose they really love each other.)
The older one is Elle May;
She’s more mature, more set in her way.
MaryRose is the younger one--
Outgrew the older ‘fore she was done!
Sometimes they play real nice
together.
Sometimes they’re jealous, each one of the other.
Personalities? They each have
one.
MaryRose is the talker; Elle the quiet one.
Around the house MaryRose
scampers with glee,
Plays with her toys, and “talks” to me.
Nestled in the bed ‘tween us
each morn
Elle is content to sense our love alone.
Arts and crafts are, oh, such
fun.
String art is their favorite one!
On the couch I lie and read--
Elle likes to cuddle and “read” with me.
Birds and squirrels on the
porch to watch
Such excitement! MaryRose talks a lot!
These girls are not afraid of
the dark
Though storms are a fright and loud noises a shock.
Ah! These sisters give us
such delight
All through the day and even at night.
Changes in our schedule, toys
on the floor,
Followed the kitties right through our front door!
BEGINNING OF SUMMER
Senyru sequence
Pat Laster
first day out of school
an early telephone call
spoils my sleep-in
first day out of school
at mid-afternoon, the child’s
still in his skivvies
the last day of school
this year and in this building
5th graders crying
now that school is out
I move grandchildren’s art works
from icebox to file.
fathers sometimes cry
on their kids’ first day of school
and at commencement
SUPER PREMIUM AND BRIGHTEST WHITE
Tania Gray
“Your problem isn’t
knick-knacks,” Charlotte said,
“it’s too much paper. Look at all your books,
the magazines, the files, the greeting cards,
the manuscripts, the monographs, the mail
your mother kept and you have failed to shred,
old lesson plans and uncompleted works,
the folios of art and teacher helps!”
My life is all ephemera.
It’s thin
and two-dimensional, rectangular
and flat. When viewed on edge, it disappears.
When massed on shelves, packed up in boxes, stacked
in piles, the fragile pieces of my past
accumulate a heavy, solid mass.
It’s not a pretty sight. Each item cries
to be held up to light and scrutinized,
yes, savored and adored. Who has the time?
I need a Presidential Library
and curator. I need archival help.
That, or a herd of goats to munch their way,
eliminating pesky problem pulp.
SUCCESS & ECCLESIASTES
5:10
Jeanetta Chrystie
Worthy causes fill each hour,
And greedily my days devour.
Offering bouquets so sweet
And accolades--they do entreat.
The guise of productivity
Is busy-ness, yet do I see?
Plied with applause and usefulness,
I soon succumb to busy stress.
I gave myself--so indiscreet.
Now, lay my plans at our Lord’s feet.
He sorts the chaff with but a breath
And tunes my heart to what He saith.
Now beckon those sweet scents
of praise
That court my heart but waste my days.
God waits for hearts to guide and bless
As He defines “What is success?”
FANTASY FISHERWOMAN
Valerie Esker
"I have made peace with the
water",
said the woman standing in sand.
While she gazed at the breakers breaking,
three times stretched out her strong hand.
She then magically molded an
image,
gathered stars from celestial array;
fashioned them into a necklace
that rivaled the brilliance of day.
We witnessed the pompano
skipping,
saw the rising sun shock the sky red.
I trembled to see frenzied sharks feeding.
"Make peace with the water!", she said.
I cried, "All souls are
called by the water.
Not all can answer that call!"
She flung her net into the ocean,
pulled out a magnificent haul.
"Make peace with the water ",
she sing-songed.
"Only then can you sail the salt-sea."
Forever I always will wonder,
did she mean that dark sea . . . within me?
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FOREBODING
Laurence W. Thomas
The morning light idles
behind lashings of clouds
shades malinger
streetlights argue with time
the feral cat lies low
her kittens mewling
winds finger and stiffen
like waifs
looking for an offering
finding only errant leaves
first explorations
of raindrops singing patter songs
prevoyant as snare drums.
SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL
Dewell H. Byrd
Mid-America danced to the
tune
of a 5.2 temblor recently.
Eyes got big,
tummies turned inside out.
We have five of those
on the left coast before breakfast.
Our restaurants are well
known
for fantastic scrambled eggs.
When California’s San
Andreas fault
decides to crack its last smile
the West will stand solid,
rigid;
watch the nation sail into the Atlantic.
So, cowboy-up, middle
America,
take your shakes and build an ark.
ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
Harding Stedler
Like a UFO,
the alien funnel touched down
and then was gone,
leaving in its wake
downed trees and power lines
and buildings in heaps of brick.
It left behind a shroud
of dark black clouds
and torrential rain
to mask its fury.
There was nothing kind
or earthlike about the monster
that leveled houses
and snuffed-out lives
as quick as a finger snap.
It showed no remorse
for the wickedness of its ways.
The horror inflicted on the
innocent
defied description.
They will be forever scarred
by the deafening roar
that gave them no time
to seek shelter.
ETHEREE FOR ERNIE
Diane Auser Stefan
There!
Look up!
Can you see
that downy cloud
just above the trees?
What’s it look like to you?
I see Ernie The Ermine,
fresh from his morning river swim,
all shaken off, soft and billowy,
lightly floating across the sky to dry.
THALES AT CARIBOU
Steve Pentcuff
A simple cup of coffee
("small: $1.85")
and beside it, in chalk, on its own
special board: "First natural philosopher
(appr. 540 B.C.)"
I pose my answer bashfully
in a question (though I know I'm right),
and a twenty-something at the counter
flashes irritation all the way
to the register, where her manager
wrote today's answer. "Yeah," she says,
without the fanfare I hoped for,
and gives me my 10% discount.
Perched high at my table,
feeling
like Zeus, I take my first sip
and calculate on a napkin the .068%
I just earned toward this month's loan
from a Master's degree in philosophy
ten years ago. The problem
with a philosopher, perhaps, is that
this feels like a good enough deal.
SING
Jean Even
Rise up and sing unto God, for His Glory is upon us.
Be strong
in the grace of God’s love; He has us thrust
In freedom’s way, where liberty proliferates around us.
There is
so much joy that there is nothing to discuss.
All we can
do is sing for the blessings He has given us.
LIFE ON A FRISCO SPUR
Tom Padgett
Since we were on the Frisco spur
from Willow Springs to Piedmont,
our little town (population 723)
had two trains, two days a week,
or rather one train twice, two days.
On Tuesday and Friday mornings it
arrived at nine o'clock or thereabouts,
transacted business at the depot,
made its way on east, with stops
at Birch Tree, Winona, bigger
little towns than Teresita and Montier,
which it royally scorned. At Piedmont,
its switched its engine so its tail
could pull it back home after noon,
making the same stops it made
earlier that day. If we were
truly fortunate, the pressure gauge
would warn the engineer it needed
water for its last leg home. On
those lucky days the big black
beauty pulled beside the tank
that brooded a short distance
from our depot. Then the tank,
a grasshopper-like assemblage,
detached its hindleg--the trough down
which water ran to build up steam
for the train to complete its trip.
As it huffed away, the boys
who had collected here from
all over town sighed, climbed
back on bikes, accepted as their
fate one more day's delay
in their careers as engineers,
and prayed the train would take
another water break when it
next came down the Frisco spur.
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