Thirty-Seven Cents

SUMMER IS
Bev Conklin

...waking to bright sunshine
already streaming through
the bedroom window;

...experiencing the aroma, taste and feel
of the sticky juice as I eat
a fresh pear for breakfast;

...watching their flying dance
and listening to the soft twitter
of humming birds playing tag;

...finding pink "Magic Lilies"
that have appeared overnight,
two feet tall and full of buds;

...breaking away from the routine
to drive over back roads
meeting fellow "gypsies";

...returning to enjoy the antics
of fledgling birds,
still scruffy and klutzy,
testing their landing abilities;

...being lulled into sleep at night
by the chant of katydids and peepers
beyond the open window;

...slipping into another reality
where I become one tiny piece
of a perfect universe.

SEEDING
Gwen Eisenmann

Words weigh more today,
everything I say falls
from my lips instead of flying.

Weighty words falling
haphazardly seeding
whatever they touch
sprout misunderstanding.

I love you.
That's all I'll say today
planting light
hoping for a flower.

THE DECLINE OF THE SISTERS
OF PERPETUAL SUPPLICATION
Mark Tappmeyer

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

I watch the corpulent
bring surplus pounds
each day
and melt away in sand.
Like Thanksgiving turkeys,
they surrender fat
and leave "all meat"
when they are roasted brown.
Summer's ovens
cook them to perfection
and render them edible
for starving cannibals.

A TWINKLE IN MY EYE

Jean Even

One dark day I walk in a mist of my tears.
Within me I see evil that lurks and sores that tear.
I see all the undesirable bundled in a bag--
The time has come to dispose of such things.

My journey takes me up a hill to a place of cruel hate
Where there's a man upon a beam, His head bowed low,
His blood running onto the ground. Then I feel
I cannot do this thing I need to do, this burden bear.

I deserve the pain He feels, but He takes my burden on.
My heart aches. Through my tears I hear Him say,
"Forgive her. She knows not what she does."

My tears mingle with His blood to form a stream.

It flows into a river. My heart, pulse, and blood
Jump in, merge, and mesh with the rhythm's flow.
Out of the River of Life I come into a garden fair.
I see within the center square a statue, white and pure.

Looking up to Him, I see the face, my face.
How cruel, I thought, my ugly face on art.

"Not so, my child," he says. "I formed you

Into who you are--a twinkle in your eye."

BIRTHDAYS
Phyllis Moutray

are annual markers
along life's path.

defining where we are,
and have been.

God willing, and
with man's ingenuity,

they also define
where we yet may hope to go.

CRIMINAL INTRUSION
Todd Sukany

While I was dining in Simon B’s,

The incense of your habit joined my feast.

What if I had seasoned your burger in sneeze,

and acted like my world is naive?