THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS
Vol. 3, No.3         An Online Chapter of Missouri State Poetry Society      1 March 2004

HAVE YOU READ THE LATEST ISSUES OF YOUR ONLINE NEWSLETTERS?

Remember to read Spare Mule Online and Strophes Online by clicking on the CONTENTS menu. You can keep up with members who get newsletters by mail by remembering to read them on the Net. The January 1 issue of Spare Mule Online and the January 1 issue of Strophes Online are both currently available to you..

HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT THE BULLETIN BOARD OF THE MISSOURI WEB SITE RECENTLY?

Click on Missouri State Poetry Society on the CONTENTS menu above. Then on the MSPS menu click on Bulletin Board for information about various poet societies, including contests they are sponsoring. 

Remember that September 1 is the deadline for our Summer Contest.  As members of MSPS you can enter two poems for the price of one entry.  Details are given on the Summer Contest page at the state web site.  Click here.

POEMS BY MEMBERS:
 

A MARCH MINUTE AND A HALF
Pat Laster

On March the first, the lion roared,
like toro gored,
and left in wake
severe heartbreak.
By April first, the lamb returned,
survivors learned
to deal with loss
without pathos.
Who knows what May Day has in store--
a strong, new floor,
four walls, a roof,
tornado-proof?

What Mother Nature tore apart
folks must restart,
or relocate,
thumb nose at Fate.
With friends and neighbors, skilled, unskilled,
we will rebuild.


CHRISTIAN DEATH
Andrea Cloud

Why do I look at one side of the horizon
and see a beautiful color-rich scene
that has just hidden the sun,
but when I peer into the other side of the sky,
I see a darkness that makes everything appear
as a shadow compared to it, and my glance
disappears into the night?

My friend died two nights ago.
I know he is in heaven, but still I
am very sad that he is gone.
And I wonder why.


THE DECLINE OF THE SISTERS
OF PERPETUAL SUPPLICATION
Mark Tappmeyer

Franciscan trained and tough,
these sisters tag-teamed unremitting
prayer, starting when the Wrights

first conquered air, and from their iron devotion,
nigh a century at work, fought back
the devil and the world's despair.  Every hour,

matins to noontide, noontide back to night,
turn upon turn, their ongoing prayer bore
fruit on the stern marbles of the vestry floor.

Holy spinsters Bernice, Beatrice, Claire,
Agnes, and two generations more, shielded
the world, at least Cleveland and Bel Air,

in their vigil of constant prayer.  That is,
until a novitiate, recruited for the cause,
defanged their labors with a prayerless pause:

One cold hour, comforted in woolen wear,
Sister Helen, at peace before her God,
awoke from a moment's nod.
 

SLEEPLESS IN SPRINGFIELD
Tania Gray

My husband is awake at two a.m.
To swallow an amoxycillin dose
Among the medicines prescribed for him.
The fan pulls in a false breeze warm and close
And also draws in blackness from the past
As if the past were worse that how it is--
And so I tell myself these days won't last.
I tell myself to stop the nightly quiz.
He rearranges pillows, falls asleep
While I am wide-wake, alert, drug-free.
I start the coffee, shower, dress.  The deep
Dark inky green of the permission tree
Stands out against a gray-blue hazy dawn.
I go pick up the paper from the lawn.

DISSIPATION
Judy Young

The music connects me to the planet.
My thoughts, however, have left,
wandering
aimlessly
through the black ink of space
formed between
where you sit across from me.
I try to grasp your words,
but they are meaninglessly
broken
into bits,
floating
in circles with the smoke
that leaves the candle
set between us,
ribbons spiraling up,
twisting
and moving
with no apparent reason.
I cannot concentrate on anything
but where ribbons go
and how they dissipate
as do your words.
 

RESURRECTION SONNET
Valerie Esker

Just yesterday, my dooryard tree seemed dead.
Her gnarled limbs were skeletal and bare.
Chilled winter sky was backdrop gray as lead
and reasons to feel sad, were everywhere.
When I was green, I planted that poor tree.
Her supple arms were strong, though slight and small.
Her yearly growth marked milestones for me;
shared summer storms gave way to vibrant fall.
My daughter's child then gathered scarlet leaves.
She squealed each time she spied a brighter hue.
I marvel at the wonders God's hand weaves - -
this child, this tree, sun's daily rising, too.
     Today that warmth which touched each failing thing,
     announced to tree and me, "It's spring. It's spring!"

Here comes macho, masculine March
taking charge of the final spring cleaning fray.
Winds, gusting and roaring
tear dead twigs and boughs
from their precarious hold on bare trees
and shatter their brittle, dead bones
on the ground
before they can tear and damage
tender young leaves and blossoms
soon to come.
Using rains, and circling breezes,
he clears banks of fog
and heavy clouds
that seek to settle near the ground
and allows the sun to shine through,
melting snows,
warming the ground--
the gentle, soft alarm
that causes all of nature
to awaken
and welcome spring.

WHAT IS A BEE?
Gwen Eisenmann

What is a bee?
He is a she
usually.

What is a drone?
He bee on loan
serving the throne.

What is a queen?
Laying machine,
soon a has-been.

What is a hive?
House of bee jive,
honey dive.
 

GARDEN COMMUNITY
Jean Even

The garden community entered the sanctuary,
Delirious from fragrant flowers in bloom.
Slowly they lay down in eternal sleep,
Forever free from fear, torture, and killing gas.

Though their remains were turned into soap,
Their souls are free to pick bouquets
Of posies like roses in Heaven's grand garden.

Many will remember the garden community.
They will never forget the deadly sanctuary
Or the products produced from the garden
Of flowers that once bloomed in human form.

INSANITY IS A STATE OF MIND
Velvet Fackeldey

state of mind
state of health
my heartbeat like a machine gun
echoing in my empty head
fever, fever pitch
coming at me like a fastball
between the eyes
Fourth-of-July skyrockets bursting in my brain
booming in my empty head
echoes like a cave
dark, dank, cold
I remember stalactites hang from the ceiling
because they hang on tight
or is it stalagmites hang on with all their might?
might makes right
but the pen is mightier than the sword
use the sword to slit my wrists
or my throat
to stop the pen

WORDS OF PREY
Phyllis Moutray

Boas swallow rodents,
Raccoons plunder eggs,
Eagles plummet to fish,
Men, on the other hand,
Destroy their own kind..
 

RUSTLING UP NOVEMBER
Harding Stedler

The street is filled with runners
rustling feet on blacktop.
Their feet make scratchy sounds
on cool, crisp afternoons
where November
wastes its rainbows.
Fallen leaves hold me spellbound
in days of naked trees
framed by gray metallic skies.

The rush of scampering leaf-feet
makes for uneasy sleep
on nights that north winds howl.
I shiver in dreams of winter
against my will.

BAD SCENARIOS
Tom Padgett

Don't kick the dog or stomp the cat.
"It could be worse," someone will say;
I'd recommend ear plugs for that.

You hear a brand new tire go flat
outside the A.S.P.C.A.
Don't kick the dog or stomp the cat.

The talking scales report you're fat
when you have starved yourself to weigh;
I'd recommend ear plugs for that.

Arriving home, you find a hat
and learn in-laws have come to stay--
don't kick the dog or stomp the cat.

The tax collector ends his chat
by wishing you a prosperous day;
I'd recommend ear plugs for that.

Your hair loss prompts a marital spat;
her father kept his, thick and gray.
Don't kick the dog or stomp the cat;
I'd recommend ear plugs for that.