POEMS BY MEMBERS:
Welcome to new member Nancy Powell from Arkansas.
GRIEF
Nancy Powell
Take warning
Merely say
Good morning
Or good day
Cry alone
At midnight
Delight gone
What a sight
Worse than sad
Eyes show red
Sun-up mad
Covers spread
Day appears–
Stoic wall–
Thin gauze sheers
Keep it all
Hold on tight
She pulls back
Showing fright
In death’s track
No relief
Love should say
Respect grief
One more day.
DRIVING UNDER BRIDGES
Judy YoungI love driving under bridges
When it’s raining.
At seventy miles per hour,
The soft cat paws of misty droplets
Which hit the windshield,
With continuous sound like a brush on a cymbal,
Suddenly cease.
A break in time.
A split-second warp,
Blatantly here and then gone.
A moment of silence.
First breath, last breath
Promises made, promises broken
Dreams fulfilled, fears realized
A rash decision which forever changes the future
A final moment concluding long made plans
All happen in the time
I drive under a bridge
In the rain.
METAPHOR
Gwen Eisenmann
I think that all the crises we endure
Are training for the greatest one of all:
The separation from what seemed so sure
When we were young, our present self. To fall
From life we hold to so tenaciously
But wake before we land, as in a dream,
And feel our cherished senses floating free
From Spirit self, with no return, must seem
The greatest crisis we will ever know,
The greatest loss. But freedom so profound--
With unadulterated love to show
The way beyond with shining all around--
The great adventure we are training for
Must make death seem a tired metaphor.
REVISION
Mark Tappmeyer
You should be warned:
this poem’s into murdering before morn,
Clean kills, most say, work best:
those piercing traumas to your chest
of wits, your clutch of verbs, the trite that’s stored.
You, like the diver luckless with his cord,
thus fall into what’s new.
Earth, welling up, to him affords
an arresting view.
EPIPHANY
Todd Sukany
Once while I strummed,
My passions stirred.
I arrayed a joyful noise
And emphasized the clatter.
I sought Your pleasure.
I sought to serve
The object of my affection,
But You were away
Surrounded by beings
Whose whole purpose
Is to cover You
With redundant praise
Like rains on the ocean,
Like sands on the desert,
Like lights at noon,
Like children at playground.
Suddenly, You were closer
Than my jangling plunks.
Like Adam’s in Eden
With nakedness at attention,
My ruddy hue
Exposes nothing more
Than Your
Converting noise to worship.
MATINEE
Tania Gray
We watched a matinee, those three--
Pallas and Britches and Nestle--and me.
Pallas stretched out on the table and slept
and Britches curled up on my stomach
and kept me quiet, not moving,
while Nestle stayed cool on the floor
as Gene Kelley acted the fool.
Walter Slezak was evil and Judy was pure.
When all looked most hopeless,
a tragic death sure,
Gene saved her virtue, his neck and the town.
I most liked Miss Garland's elaborate gown.
WHAT'S IN A NUMBER?
Phyllis Moutray
A day, a week, a month, a year?
A life, a family, a state, a nation!
A cough, symptom of a cold--
one alone is a bronchial tic,
a few are a nuisance,
the many of spasms or spells
rack a body
ultimately threaten life.
So, what's in a number?
A word, the microcosm of everything.
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A SALUTE
Pat Laster
It’s Veterans’ Day, and in my mind
I see the flags and guns aligned,
parading down the thoroughfare,
cheers and chanting everywhere.
With wholeness gone, but proud and free,
from wheelchair, an amputee
waves tearfully, perhaps through pain,
and hopes it was not all in vain,
his sacrifice.
Memories, still vivid, swirl,
blitzing those who served at Pearl;
the Rangers now, though all old men,
smile proudly as they think again
of Normandy.
Gunner’s mates, ensigns and chiefs
remember all their various griefs
and hells, awaking still to screams
of slogging through the swamp in dreams
of Vietnam.
Returned to glorious accolades,
the troops of Desert Storm parade,
proud of their work in blinding sands
defending Kuwait’s borderlands
on Persia’s gulf.
And in my mind’s projection room,
I hear the drum’s resounding boom,
reminding me of sacrifice,
of pain and death: the awesome price
of freedom.
LANTERNE
Valerie Esker
Sail
away
from trouble
before it swamps
you.
RUN IF YOU CAN
Jean Even
Run, if you can, from God above in
heaven.
Hide, if you will, from the King of Kings.
Be secure, if you're able, in your hiding place.
He knows where you are in your
underground.
He sees what you do even cloaked in secret.
Make yourself ready to meet His Holy Ghost.
Stand up like a man to meet the Savior.
Ask pardon and partake of His bread of life.
Drink the wine from His cup; it's full of mercy.
Run, if you can, into God's loving grace.
You can't hide from His bright light.
His light, if you're willing, will shine through you.
WAGONS TO SPARE
Harding Stedler
I am sending you
some Conestoga wagons
through the mail today,
though some will need refurbishing
before going on the road again.
That trip to Oregon
you've talked about for years
can happen now,
but go before the snow flies.
And fatten the oxen
before you leave
because the trip
will take many weeks.
I've licked the wagons well
so you can cancel your way
across state borders
between here and there.
STORM WARNING
Velvet Fackeldey
You left a path of destruction
in my life that once was calm.
Your unexpected appearance
gave no warning of what was to come.
I was fooled by your pretense
and the discovery
left my heart tossed and torn.
You breezed in and out of my life
like a tornado leaving tears behind.
No time to catch my breath
until you were on your way
searching for another innocent target.
WHAT NOT TO DO YOUR LAST DAY IN CHINA
Tom Padgett
We had seen the panda at the zoo
and sympathized with that big furry
creature suffering in the heat--until
our Chinese guide tore us away, walked
quickly on to speed us through the day
he planned for us. The English slogan
on his shirt should have warned us what
was just ahead: NO PAIN, NO GAIN, it said.
As leader of ten American teachers, I
occupied a middle ground, trying to slow
the guide a bit for those always late
wherever we had gone, wherever we would go
on our contract to see the city's sights,
clambering in and out of a hired van
for one more day, then if we were still
alive, catch the Hong Kong train at five.
Two stragglers photographed a bear
from every possible angle. Our guide
kept tapping at his watch. I shrugged,
sent several with him to the van, turned
to stumble over a wall, caught my camera
as I fell, crushed into the rock, and broke
my arm, adding a hospital in Guangzhou
to our list of sights not to be missed.
The "expert" doctor pressed and pulled
and said there was no break, still we should
take x-rays. A helper led me blocks, I swear,
to a dingy room run by someone rousted out,
where sharp intakes of breath informed me he
was wrong, the "expert" who referred me next
to still more medical men to wrap my arm
in a plaster cast and let me go at last.
All this, of course, witnessed by whole halls
of ambulatory patients who wanted me to stay.
The sulky guide was pacified when
I rejoined the group, climbed tall pagodas,
shot many pictures of the goat statue,
paid due respect to schools and auditoriums
honoring Chairman Mao, then caught the train,
quite sure of the pain--not so sure of the gain.
VISIT WORKSHOP FOR AN ASSIGNMENT.
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