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Christmas In The Country

We cut down a Christmas tree,
Brought it in last night.
Tis the centre of attention,
The trimming must be just right.

We strung up the strands of popcorn,
Then we put on the lights.
The presents will soon be under,
To everyone’s delight.

The turkey is in the oven,
The veggies in their pot.
Cranberries are a poppin’,
Oh! What have I forgot?

The table is all laid,
With our very best.
Candles are all aglow,
Will my cooking stand the test?

Oh, I hear the bells a-ringing,
On the horses with a sleigh.
That means company is a-coming,
To help celebrate the day.

The snow is deep and crunchy,
Which makes our cheeks aglow.
But that’s “Christmas in the country”,
Where it’s 50 degrees below.

~ Marie Ambridge

The Dragonfly

Dragonfly, Dragonfly why are you so shy
your trembling long blue body
and quiv’ring wings so lacy, transparent,
so sheer,

Because of those nasty, hungry swallows
they have me for dinner, and cheer
when I fly high in the sky,
that’s why I’m here lowly and shy.

~ Reina Amsterdam

Man on Wheels

Dedicated to Dan

He faces each day, this man on wheels,
with zest and courage, and plenty of zeal

A smile for all he meets each day
just stop for a minute he has plenty to say

He takes life in stride, this man on wheels,
you never know just how he feels

His smile infectious to all he greets
he carries his burden without defeat

He loves to sing, this man on wheels,
he sings with his heart and makes you feel

Never gives quarter nor asks for help
A friend to all he’d rather help

This man on wheels we all admire
was put on earth to inspire

If love and faith were all he had
to share with all would make him glad

This man on wheels

~Robert E Barbero

At Ninety-four

Since I have reached age ninety-four
It’s time I knocked upon death’s door.

When I approached the pearly gate
St. Peter was on a coffee break.

With no one there to hear my call
I felt deflated by it all.

Not being looked for, up above,
Now leaves more time for those I love.

Should I be called, I’ll gladly go.
Meanwhile, let’s bask in friendship’s glow.

~ Lillian R Barends

Paradise

Please come with me to Paradise
We’ll live in a little house
beautified with your needlepoint
and my sculpture
We’ll take walks around the beautiful Pacific
We’ll dine in fine restaurants
and hear fine music
and enjoy drama and comedy
We’ll have two black cats
and feed them and pet them
and laugh at them
Our loving children will visit
and join us in celebrating our blessed togetherness
here in Paradise.

~ Robert W Beller

Dreams

We built a new house on the hill
but my dreams belong in the old one still.
The old one’s gray with wind and rain
the old oak door and high window pane.

There was never room for sorrow there
never too old for the joy we share.
We built a new house on the hill
but my dreams belong in the old one still.

The friendly trees seem to bend and talk
down the old, flowered, bordered walk.
The silver beams in the shadows gleam
and still the old one holds my dreams.

The old one’s shabby and gray with years
filled with memories of joy and tears.
I pass it by with lonely pain, love
and in my heart I live there again.
We built a new house on the hill,
but my dreams belong in the old one still.

~ Barbara Beyer

Being Thankful

Sometimes we forget to be thankful
for all the things that we have
for food, for clothing, and shelter,
for loved ones and friends that we’ve made.
Sometimes we must look to the future;
the past has all gone away.
Let us give thanks for good fortune
and wish for a new, brighter day.

~ Beatrice Blakney

The Toilet Wars

Hey Landlord,  Hey Super
the harassment you both provoked in me
the tables have turned, it’s my turn now.
So get the toilet fixed, don’t say it is my fault.
The service you are required by law is a fact
not a fairy tale you decided against me,
that it’s my fault and I should pay.
Do not play games that will work against you
Harassment is the point
Too bad, too late, flush you!
This’ll be fun
Housing Court, here I come.

~ Minerva Borack

What a Smile is Worth

Why does she make me smile?
She’s not funny looking.
I don’t know,
But as soon as I see her face,
Even from a distance,
I smile and my eyes brighten.
And, as old as I am,
I feel young again,
If only in that moment,
Young again in the presence
Of a lovely young lady who cannot, mmm,
Explain why I smile,
Even if she is not funny looking.

~ Thomas Brooks

The Humming Bird and the Butterfly

A pretty hummingbird one day
Met a butterfly wending its way.
“My dear friend,” said the gentle bird,
“With you, let me have a word.
See my wings so clear and soft,
Melodious sounds they make aloft.
Will you be my real close friend?
And you, always, I will defend.”

“No way,” responded the butterfly;
“I recall your insults in days gone by;
Nasty, crawling insect you called me,
When I was but a caterpillar, you see.
But as I soar on my merry way,
Let this be advice for you today.
Never be rude and unkind to the humble,
Because even the haughty, too, can stumble.”

“I beg forgiveness,” said the tiny bird, shyly.
“I have learned my lesson, to put it mildly.
We both have beautiful winged features,
We’re truly grateful to be God’s creatures.”

~ Eileen J Brow

Identity

How did I arrive at this place,
that defines who and what I am?

Has this journey allowed me to
become closer to God?
or
am I so immersed in the circumstances
surrounding me, that they are my grounds for living?

Have I become so proud of my pain, and burdens,
that they are my reasons for existence?

If I am to be a happy, fulfilled person,
then I must accept or reject everything that touches me,
wisely and with care.
For those pieces I choose to give validity to,
become who and what I am.

So I must select knowingly,
learn by my mistakes,
take responsibility with loving care,
for every thought and feeling
that I allow to enter into my world.
For this will determine if my journey
will be filled with happiness or sorrow.

~ Mina Riggs Brown

Creation Refreshed

They’re falling – finally falling
making shiny droplets on the pane.
We’ve prayed in many quiet moments
for elusive, satisfying – rain.

Greens are greener, flowers brighter,
fed with raindrops which abound.
Earth’s creations drink the goodness;
more relief cannot be found.

While the skies are steely gray,
one can fashion thoughts of thunder.
We must never lose the moments
when our world is filled with wonder.

Wonder of the brilliant sunshine,
raising seeds from earth to air;
thus creating worlds of beauty –
leaves and blossoms everywhere.

Stopping on our journey’s path,
let us draw in pictures clearly,
holding them within our memories
to be saved and cherished dearly.

~ Betty May Canham

The Sounds of Summer

Did you ever stop to listen to the sounds of summer coming once more?
To the beautiful hymn Mom is singing as she works at some chore?
Or the sound of children’s laughter? It’s vacation time from school!
who with friends and neighbours are having fun in the backyard pool.

A summer breeze makes the leaves flutter as we sit under the tree for shade.
We can hear the birds feeding their young in nests newly made.
Now and again we hear a tractor. A busy farmer gets little rest.
From dawn to dusk his work goes on and he thanks God for being so blessed.

A nostalgic sound is the squeak in the swing. (Dad will oil it some day!)
But that squeak has lulled many a child to sleep, tired out from their play.
The swing never did get oiled. God called my love to His home above
But I know every time we sit in the swing he smiles down on us with love.

Someone is mowing the lawn now the heat of the day is past,
And Mom sits stringing beans for our evening repast!
The aromas from the barbeque are a delight to the senses,
And soon plates are filled with mouth-watering food, and blessings the cook dispenses.

The sound of crickets and croaking of frogs as daylight starts to wane
Are a fitting echo to counting our blessings (like the old refrain!)
With a brief summer shower to cool the air and a beautiful rainbow forming an arc
What a wonderful way to end your day, with the sounds that echo in your heart.

~ Lucy Chalmers

God

God is my ally
He is with me each day
God keeps me from trouble
He helps me on my way
I pray for his guidance
He fills me with joy
He’s there when I need him
Each day my employ
All I need do is pray
He rids me of strife
He leads me with love
Each day of my life

~ Frances Richard Charlebois

Dreams

The house is quiet
As the fragmentary ghosts of dreams
Drift forth to take their place,
Waiting in patient silence to be called upon,

Waiting in the dark,
Not afraid or restless,
Just waiting.

And the troubled mind
Calls upon the dreams one by one.
It rests awhile by quiet streams
Or wanders down a country lane,

Walking in the dark,
Not afraid or restless,
Just walking.

The house is quiet
As a dream called peace drifts forth,
Offering moments free from care,
Wrapping in its folds the weary traveler,

Waiting in the dark,
Not afraid or restless,
Just waiting.

~ Carroll Chase

The Lament of a Sleep-deprived Driver

It’s almost eleven, time to sleep.
Need rest, a long trip ahead of me,
eight hour drive to Sudbury.
Hope that there is no rain, fog or sleet.
A long trip ahead of me
A long trip ahead of me

It’s twelve o’clock and I can’t sleep,
eight hours of sleep I will need.
Maybe I should get something to eat,
warm cocoa and a sandwich of hot smoked meat.
Will that help me to go to sleep?
A long trip ahead of me

One o’clock and I can’t sleep,
try to relax my muscles to induce sleep
starting from my head right down to my feet.
Oh why can’t I just fall asleep ?
A long day of driving ahead for me
a long day of driving ahead for me

Two o’clock and I can’t sleep,
try relaxing by using imagery:
flying down a snowy slope on my skis
under the sunshine and blue sky of BC.
At the bottom I fell in a great heap,
bruising my shoulder and hurting my knee.

It’s now three o’clock and I can’t sleep.
One more try at imagery:
lying in a hammock by the deep blue sea,
my hair blowing in the ocean breeze
scratching bug bites until I bleed,
on the white sand beaches of Hawaii

It’s five o’clock and I can’t sleep.
Took two Nytols at quarter to three,
by now I should sound asleep be.
Try the old method of counting sheep:
one o one, one o two and one o three
I am still awake and I am all out of sheep

It’s seven o’clock and I had no sleep:
started to drive after three black coffee
my eyes are so tired that I can’t see
I just hope that I won’t hit a tree.
That will be the end of me,
on the way to Sudbury

My wife at the wheel instead of me.
An accident today is not what we need
I am snoring under a blanket in the back seat
I finally can relax and go to sleep
all the way to Sudbury
all the way to Sudbury.

~ Sherman Chow

Dancing Trees

Have you ever seen trees that dance?
I have; it happened by chance.

As I sat on my deck enjoying the breeze
don’t know why, I glanced at the trees.

My yard is surrounded by trees of all kinds
there are elm, maple, poplars and pines.

As the breeze moved among them the old trees gently would sway
and the smaller trees moved like children at play.

Others, as the breeze passed through their leafy branches
seemed to be practicing stately old dances.

No music, but clearly a song
as that breeze moved along.

How happy for me that I happened to glance
and see all those trees as they gracefully dance!

~ Don Clarke

Thanksgiving Day

For all things great and small,
We are Thankful
For birds and bees, cats and dogs, animals wild and tamed,
We are Thankful
For flowers, shady trees, fruit bearing trees,
We are Thankful
Especially for the harvest of all our food,
Corn, wheat, fruit and vegetables,
We are Thankful
For mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children,
We are Thankful
For friends and acquaintances,
We are Thankful
For the sun, the moon and the stars,
We are Thankful
For all pleasures and good things in our life,
We are Thankful
For our caregivers at S.E.N.A.C.A. and other care places,
We are Thankful
For musicians, artists, painters and poets,
We are Thankful
For everything in this world that makes our lives worth living,
We are Thankful
And let us show our gratitude
for all these beautiful mercies by being mindful of the unfortunate people,
Who lack all these benefits.

~ Conrad

A Poem

I so much do remember
my birthday is in December.
It is on December eight
Evil and dirt I do hate.
My dad’s name was Lon,
My first name is John.
I am glad the mother I had,
very glad I did not do as dad.
In December I’ll be eighty-seven.
I want a home in Heaven.
Christmas is the time to give.
I love God’s way to live.
I’m Irish and very clean
as my favorite color is green.
I was born by a tiny town,
never did become a clown.
I am now gettin’ old
I’m glad the Bible was told.
In me is no pride,
nothing from God can I hide.
As Jesus is the King
I love His praises to sing.
I am now an old man.
I’m livin’ the best I can.
I am also tall and very big,
I’m glad I was not a pig.
As Jesus took me in,
I can not do no sin.

~ John Cook

Unidentified War Photo

A man kneels over another man’s body
two fingers on the other’s pulse
while two right hand fingers point heavenward;
This chaplain in proud officer’s epaulettes
checks for signs of life, yet gestures above.
What choice downed youth, if choice you ever had?
Sprawled on ravaged earth, head flopped aside,
mouth agape, arm flung from dropped rifle,
your blood red-staining the surrounding soil,
soil where flowers might bloom for your bride,
blooms fed not only by blood but rusting weaponry,
your requiem the sound of relentless shellfire,
your grave a hastily dug unceremonious ditch.

What old men safe from the killing fields,
deserving hellfire, sent these innocents here?
This too obedient soldier, this deluded priest.
Which war of endless wars is this a photo?
Who the cameraman standing by recorded the scene?
Consumption for a sentimental home-front,
collectively immune, waiting only a victory parade.

Silenced sons betrayed, not raised to falsely promised heaven,
only by weary Earth received, who in Her faithful seasons
raises blood red blooms, Her gentle retribution
garlands for thousands more hopeful brides
whose resurrected sons, in turn soldiers, priests
Pray :     Oh Holy Mother Earth save us all from sin
That no man need kneel by fallen comrade
nor bride forsaken weep in field of bloody flowers.

~ Valeska Cotter

My Summer Window

The purple-pink blossoms adorn the thorn bushes,
as if giving thanks for the recent heavy rains.
The neighbour’s flowers are an array of beauty.
The morning sun and the cool breeze from the open window
give no sign of the oppressive heat the day will bring.
Thank God for air conditioning.

I like summer . . . not as much as I like Autumn.
But I like summer.
No matter how hot the day becomes,
We can look forward to:

– the cool of the night,
– the lush green of grass and trees after a rainstorm,
– the waving of tall prairie grass and grain in the breeze,
– the lull of the meetings and groups that keep other seasons busy.

Lazy summer days give time to do the things
for myself that I am always putting off:
. . . finishing that baby quilt,
. . . sitting with a good book in lap – sometimes reading
– sometimes dozing,
. . . a short summer trip to visit family.
. . . and I mustn’t forget the Festival of Words.

My summer window reminds me that summer is
A GIFT FROM GOD.
. . . a gift full of beauty, quiet, reflection and renewal.
I thank God for summer.

~ Elinor Cox

The Price of a Smile!

I walked upon the street one day
with a smile upon my face.
Jack Frost bit hard upon my nose,
and so I quickened pace.

A man looked up from shoveling snow,
his strained face gazed at me.
Suddenly the strain changed to a glow
for a smile is contagious as can be.

I passed a mother pushing her child
all wan and tired was she.
She saw my smile, her thoughts did change:
life wasn’t so bad, was plainly seen.

I met an old lady crossing the street,
she was frail and her gait was not free
I continued to smile as I helped her across,
and she smiled right back at me.

I walked upon the street one day
and sorrow filled my soul.
My smile was gone, my face did say,
“Help me! Take away this scowl.”

A prancing youth came whistling by
his thoughts on joy did bend.
Before he passed, he looked at me
and a broad smile did he send.

A deep calm grew within me,
and tension left my mind.
I knew ’twas God’s power from above,
had sent youth to be kind.

To one and all, this would I say,
when on life’s journey bent,
please, smile at others on your way.
It will not cost you a cent!

~ Dorothy Cox-Scruton

Hazy Memories

I was in church with my mother
The holy sacrifice of the Mass was not yet over
when I saw the people were in frantic whispers
I just wondered what was the matter.

With my mother we went home in a hurry
I sensed she was in deep worry
The statue of the infant Jesus she placed on the table
then gave me instructions, stay home and be careful.

Hurriedly she took the bus to the city
to pick up a younger sister from school
but reaching there, it was unusually quiet and empty
no teachers or children at all
My sister’s name was on the blackboard by the corridor
she was with the principal of the school.

Back home my parents were like their neighbors
On their faces I saw that sudden overpowering terror
Men were huddled here and there
Then I learned . . . the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor
also Camp John Hay, Philippines, near the school

It was December eight, nineteen forty one
the grim start of the second world war
Thanks to the Almighty God, our family has survived
left us no wretched scar
just hazy memories.

~ Rita V Cruz

An Uncertain Journey

Life is an uncertain journey,
a road with some bumps or a bend.
No matter how rough or uneven,
we never know when it will end.

It could be today or tomorrow,
next year, or, just any day.
There is one thing that is certain,
life will be taken away.

So, consider how your life has mattered,
to those that you must leave behind.
Will they remember someone uncaring?-
Or, someone who was gentle and kind?

A someone concerned for their future?-
to ensure all of their family needs?
Some day they too will be remembered,
for their thoughtfulness, and good deeds.

So you see, your life really has meaning,
to ensure children’s delights never cease.
We must show them the path to be taken,
let our life help lead them – to peace.

~ Charles F Cutler

When I was a youngster

When I was a youngster, still short of my prime
I played all the sports, pretty good at that time.
I won some, I lost some as everyone does,
but the older I got, the better I was.

In school I was bright, never studied a lot
my folks always thankful for grades that I got.
Somewhat above average my marks I would say
but the older I got, the better were they.

All the girls that I kissed, not brotherly wise,
nay never have captured a beauty first-prize.
Each kiss they returned, how my young heart did stir
and the older I got, the cuter they were.

I had a career; undistinguished I guess,
made some mistakes, I have to confess.
Errors forgotten, let sleeping dogs lie
and the older I got, more better was I.

So if you are worried, your record not great
take heed to my story, it’s never too late –
Forget where you stumbled, who’ll ever know?
Let the good things you did, in your memory grow.

~ Eugene Devereaux

I am caught

I am caught, I’m hooked
I’m booked, I’m cooked

I am terribly afflicted
And hopelessly addicted

My piano is gathering dust
The car is showing rust
The grandchildren are affected
Their birthdays undetected
Books are not being read
The cat does not get fed

I am barely eating
My brain is overheating
I am terribly afflicted
And hopelessly addicted

I have to get my daily fix
Got to get my dose of clicks
I have to go and boot her . . .
My wonderful computer

The joys of clicking
Beeping, ticking
Flashing, crashing
Tooting, hooting
Computing, computing
Executing
Error, terror

Ooooh . . .

THIS PROGRAM HAS PERFORMED
AN ILLEGAL OPERATION AND WILL
BE SHUT DOWN.

~ Louise Drieman

Tall Trees

Renga in memory of Constance Vivian Taylor Mungall, writer, who called herself “Tree.”  Written at Purdyfest, July 30-31, 2009.
The first stanza came from Jeff Sefinga, who supplied the hokku.

tall trees, tall trees
through it
a river runs

larger than life you were
we heard the wind from far away

mice overran the shack
both floors
even the smoky mezzanine

small life running scared
finds a home

tree tracery before the moon
silver, ghostly light
black twigged fingers sway

seasons end prematurely
in the whine of chainsaws

how can I pray to a distant god?
tree stumps burned over to charcoal
no leaf to fall

I am the scorched earth, mother,
but look, green pushes through

we wore funny hats with flowers and laurel wreaths
we walked on stilts
nothing was the same

it’s not hard to die
you proved it Monday night

you grew thinner then more thin yet
brittle stiffened bones
you called yourself “Tree”

your lover sifts photographs on your wooden deck
behind your silent house

through the window in your secret room
moonlight reflects from snow
warm has fled

the woodstove crackles hot
you made linden tea

freckles grown cold
hooded eyes closed
listeners hear no returning breath

breathing in
breathing . . . out

cherry blossoms swell
pink drift of petals in the garden
you climbed on the roof

opening the cabin door
you shoo away the mice

I will walk the road one more time
pick the early marguerite
buds burst this final spring

stroking your broken son’s cheek
you found a word

found words in wordlessness
in your long refusal to take in food
the smile back there, behind your eyes

“Are you tired?”  “It was nice,”
he told me. “You know, it was nice!”

temperatures soar
dust in the blue air
a feather, flown

wet gull feather, floating
dries to white fluff

head bent at your kitchen table
doing your accounts
I dropped a kiss on soft white curls

I mean, that was my goodbye
and the smell of cinnamon

on foot you plunged down the dark
opened doors
in an abandoned motel

a transport truck bore down on us
you crossed in your little red car – fast

earth’s shadow slides to cover
an autumn-like moon
sky coin rusting red

evergreen, its lower limbs, long ago, cut off
head in the scudding clouds

do you remember
we skinnydipped
yellow leaves clung to your breasts

you lost the words
did you also lose the memories?

soft recall of morning ritual
visit the four corners of your yard
greeting each tree

cherry blossom time, there will be no
baskets readied for the cherries

Connie, I send this dandelion
its bright cheeky flash
and tender new leaves

white fluff blows away
seeds a deep healing root

~ Margaret Slavin Dyment

Rain Relished

He couldn’t have been more than five,
when the summer heat had left little alive.
Around our place and within our minds
if only moisture’s respite could we find.

My dear husband had cautioned our joy:
“No playin’ in the creek, Sonny Boy!”
He trudged back to his many chores,
while I resumed my list for the store.

Dripping off the roof drowned the sounds,
yet there was a familiar shriek I found
in my ears and tugging for my attention.
Was that the neighbor’s dog? Muddy?

Looks to be small human legs in wet jeans
not the furry coat of beast could be seen,
It was our boy amid the soil and grit
his smile bright with delight of water spilt.

Poppa scooped him up, holding near his dampness
muttering mostly to himself, “What am I to do with ya?
when my orders have meant so little, don’t ya know!”
The child replied, “Why you’ll just love me more so!”
And so we did!

~ Ruby Edge

I’ll Find A Dream

Somewhere, somehow
I’ll find a dream
that carries me far.
Across the wide oceans,
across the calm seas
I’ll find a dream,
a dream that is meant for me.
Over the high mountain tops,
wide rivers and rippling streams
beyond the huge forests and wide plains
I’ll find a dream
a dream that is meant for me.

~ Robert A Einhart

Autoship

The last ride we all will take
Is in a great big hearse
I cannot think of another ride that really could be worse

To travel down the road
The road you’ve never been
Puts goose bumps down your back and gives you crawly skin

~ John Eisele

Peculiar Creatures

I can’t fathom their thoughts, twisted, distorted
No keenness for sports though their interest is courted
They shop all the time, buying items on credit
They claim to save money, the bank shows a debit
Hours on the phone but no news to share
Appointments in salons for nails, skin and hair
Mirrors checked frequently to see how they look
If they only spent time learning to cook
Rational disagreements turn into fights
They list all your failings long into the night
Your statements reversed, scorned and reviled
You’ll never be fit to father her child
Time is a concept they know nothing about
Until you are late, then you’d better look out
Their bodies are different, and that’s where they shine
You go exploring and reach moments divine
You think in the household that you’re number one
You’ll quickly discover it’s so sad to be wrong
I’m resigned just to cope with she I adore
I do what she asks, I complete every chore
I spoil her with kindness, beguile her with flowers
Then she leaves me in peace, at least a few hours
But they’re so darned entrancing, seductive and sweet
You find you’re in love, life feels so complete
You haven’t a chance, resolves speedily melt
When Valentine strikes it’s like nothing you’ve felt
With curvaceous bodies and come-hither smile
Overcome with desire you’ll walk right down the aisle

~ Ernie Enola

My Father’s Cane

Beside my chair against the wall
There stands my father’s cane.
The wood has aged as it’s quite old,
Yet to me it looks the same.

Just a simple fashioned walking stick,
No silver can be seen.
Its tip is worn, the handle slick,
But it’s all it’s ever been.

I see Dad yet, in my mind’s eye,
Walking slowly with that staff,
Showing the pain from years gone by,
But still a smile, a laugh.

It steadied him, made footsteps sure,
On his walks those final years.
Never far from reach, a magic cure
To put aside his falling fears.

Now time has passed. He has gone
Where all good fathers go.
He’ll not need his cane at last,
And his walk will not be slow.

Hence now that I have grown quite old,
Things change yet stay the same.
But my memories are as bright as gold,
And I have my father’s cane.

~ Bobbie Dean Foster

Three Score & Ten

An ambulance of time and space
Came down my way
Choking and coughing
And breaching the curb . . .
Stopped dead
An ambulatory gal got out . . .
Broke out . . .
Shouted out . . .
Hey! . . . You seventy?
Seventy?. . . Seventy?. . .
Seventy today?
Hey! . . . Birthday boy . . .
You seventy?
“Well yes . . . maybe,” I said
[ I fought a convulsive cookie toss up ]
It was her!
She grabbed!
Smiled!
It hurt a little
It hurt a friendly hit-gal smile
She smiled a friendly hit-man smile
And said
“Get in”

My son threw a surprise party for me
On my big seven-0
I never thought of my age until then
I guess I’m on bonus time now

~ Jerry Foster

The Cat

On silent pads the cat walks out.
She carefully looks all about
Then sniffs the air with studied care
For any danger lurking there,
And scenting nothing threatening
With joy she makes an artful spring
Upon a twig, with agile paws
A leafy flutter torn by claws.
With great disdain she walks away
in search of somewhere else to play.
A cardboard box upon its side
Becomes a place where she may hide
And lurk until some toothsome prey
With great abandon comes her way.
But soon predacious interest flags,
Her furry tail frustrated wags.
New hunger pangs soon dominate
So long ago since last she ate,
With passage through the kitty door
Transformed to kitten as before
Into the kitchen seeks with speed
To rub an ankle, mew her need.

~ Alf Foxgord

The Last Post

1913 – 1984

A contagious smile frames your life –
an engaging habit,
like a jockey in the winner’s circle.
The dark green & brown
reveals this to my soul –
a constant memoire always looking back.
A white porcelain tub and wooden checkers,
simple things for a simple man,
like the train that put you
on the road.
How can this cold, heartless
frozen ground be your last post?

~ Gary R Gaines

The Children Suffer

This poem was written after viewing a television short
about the impact on children of the AIDS epidemic in Africa.

Their weight: a feather of warm air,
Warm air filled with sweet aroma,
Ecstasy to parents’ noses.

Am I ready for what this means?
Is anyone ever ready?

When I arrived so long ago,
Was yet another moved the same?

My cries were always answered,
Tiredness, a proud parent badge;
Happy reprise – to come later
When holding the next go around.

We, the average fortunate
Whose finger is softly grabbed
By newborn infant’s tiny hand
By newborn grandchild’s tiny grasp.

But, when grand- and parents are gone,
And dozens cry “I need some care,”
Who is there to shepherd those that
Are children tending to babies?

~ Norman R Gevirtz

Little Miss Muffett

Little Miss Muffett
Sat on a tuffett
Eating her
Curds and Whey

When along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffett
Away

Epilogue
Then Miss Muffett turned
As she inwardly burned
And to that bold spider
Did say

“You may think I’m scared of you fully,
And frightened of you every day
But I know that you’re only a bully”
And with her spoon
Whisked him away

Then little Miss Muffett
Returned to her tuffett
And finished
Her curds and whey

This rhyme has a moral
‘Cause if you should quarrel,
As that spider did with Miss Muffett
It may be quite a surprise
When she blacks
Both your eyes
And you find Miss Muffett
Can rough it
And tough it

~ John Gillespie

Unsaid Words

There are so many words left that were unsaid
Thoughts, feelings of the eternal Journey ahead
Now I anguish, at the shield I let surround you
My forlorn shelter, though you, by then, knew

What I could not, would not see, or then accept
Those hands of time in which mortal life is kept
Loosening their grasp, letting you go ever more
Far beyond my reach with no way back to shore

Should I have spoken softly of what was to be?
Or stayed on wisps of hope, my wishful fantasy
Engulfed within your loving arms for all eternity
I could not whisper, what I did not want to see

Time moving more swiftly now, toward finality
With blinded eyes I looked away from destiny
Caressing your soul with words of immortality
The words left unsaid do not matter now or then
Words of love were spoken, that I would say again

~ Shelly Glazier

Writing poems as one

Writing poems as one –
Rhyming, timing, playing words,
Having so much fun!

Dreams
Fleeting moments
Morning, noon, night
reliving our old memories.
Peaceful

Home
Peaceful house
The children play.
Happiness, loving, beautiful, comfortable.
Home (sweet home)

Songs
Beautiful music
Singing sweet sounds.
Making a joyful noise!
Melodies.

~ Residents of Good Neighbor Nursing Home

Missing You

I miss the phone calls we used to have –
maybe not regularly – but often enough that we could pick up
from our last conversation and ramble on as though no time had passed.
I miss sending you cards for your birthday, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day,
and occasionally just to say “Hi” – no answer expected –
but without fail you would phone soon after,
thanking me for the remembrance and I would scold you for wasting money.
Distance was my excuse for not visiting – and you said you understood.
But, I should have made the effort.
Now a visit would only be a formality – a duty-call from a stranger –
with vain attempts to fan some spark of recognition
by mouthing false encouragements and sickly platitudes
and all the time wondering why – why –
why has she forgotten me?
So, I won’t visit now.

~ Ken Gough

The Red Tree

My tree, a Maple outside my window
on Landsdowne
waves its red wings noisily in the wind today
It’s a way of saying to me, goodbye
for a while.
I’ll rest for a while.
Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.
When the time
comes around
we’ll march down Landsdowne again
and watch with you the adults hurrying by.

~ Margaret Griffin

My Love

Lying waiting, I went off to sleep,
Woken by the sun light bright,
Wounded, sad I walked back home.
Never will I meet thee again.
Your promise did not last, dear.
You never cared to share my love,
Though it was going to be goodbye;
But dear, you should not have lied.

~ Shakuntala Lois Hakim

The Old Ice Chest

The old ice chest
stands in the back hall
waiting for the ice man
to make his call
The ice card is
up in the window
25 cents piece of ice
to be delivered tomorrow
We mustn’t forget
to put the ice pan
on the floor
so we won’t have a flood going out
the back door
Our perishables will be frozen as
hard as can be
til the next cake of ice
is a necessity

~ Alice Hall

The Empty Chair

The old man sat alone in the kitchen
with sort of a vacant stare
On the other side of the table
there stood an empty chair.

As memories floated through his head
about things that used to be
he could see his wife still sitting there
as he drank his evening tea.

He remembered things from years ago
and all the things they used to do
He thought how much he loved her
and how she had loved him too.

Then his gaze fell on a picture
that hung on the kitchen wall
He remembered her perfect beauty
as she stood there straight and tall.

He remembered all their times together
and how happy they had been
and having her to be his wife
made him the luckiest of men.

The old man sat alone in the kitchen
with sort of a vacant stare
On the other side of the table
there stood an empty chair.

~ Warren Hedden

Amy

I was on the beach at Cordova Bay
It was afternoon, a little late in the day
I sat alone on a log, watching the sea,
time was about a quarter to three.
Four-year old granddaughter Amy, who I’d brought along
was skipping and jumping and humming a song.

The tide was on the ebb and barely a ripple in sight
A lone heron in the water stood still, ready for flight
The long legs moved slowly, the head remained still
but the sharp eyes searched sharply for signs of a meal
The peaceful motion of small waves did abound
as they approached the shore with a soft lapping sound.

The gulls were there but strangely so quiet,
they seemed only concerned with obtaining their diet.
Not a breath of wind stirred in the nearby trees
Clouds, sea and sand appeared only to please
I watch Amy playing on the flat, wet sand
as she busily digs and then waves her hand

to let me know that she is happy and fine
and really enjoying the beach at this time
There is a haze that softens the scene.
and boat engines growl abaft my beam
I go for a stroll and in the sand leave the marks
of the soles of my shoes and a dog barks

The tide is now flowing quite swiftly toward land
and the driftwood logs that lie in the sand,
high and dry, so still as if in stone cast
the sea will soon reach them and then sweep past
I call to Amy, “Five minutes, then we must go,”
She answers, “Coming Grandad” as she turns to throw

a last rock in the sea, and then put some more in her pail
to take home to Grandma, always without fail
Then speedily she runs and grabs hold of my hand
We leave, but look back, at the clean, washed sand.
She looks to the West and into the sun,
takes my hand, and says, “Grandad wasn’t that fun?”

(Many years have passed since this pleasant time
hard it is to realize that Amy has now passed age 9)
~ E Hipsey

Living in the Lodge

If I live in this Lodge much longer
I know I will lose my mind.
To Creek view I will ponder,
to be among my own kind.

Mental abuse by the staff,
an elderly man hollering continually,
over his head, I will break my staff –
I don’t like being called sissy names,

If they would take my place – what a laugh!
Losing my temper with a name, so called,
Sweet pea, honey bun and all that raff.

Out West to British Columbia,
My Prayer Partner beckons me.
An answer to prayer, can that be?

~ Raymond Hogue

Ode to Erin Meadows

Here at Erin Meadows caring for the elders,
Breakfast, lunch and dinner, always serve it hot.
Nurses do their utmost and with pleasant manners.
Most of us are happy, some of us are not.

Bringing in the pills, easing all our ills,
Early in the morning, exercising skills.
Even late at night time, bringing in the pills.
Here at Erin Meadows, easing all our ills,

Here in Erin Meadows, every one is welcome.
Physically disabled, yellow, black or white.
Take part in a program, do the best you can
And you’ll be rewarded with a sweet delight.

Bringing in the pills, sharing all our skills,
Early in the morning, even late at night.
Live our lives the fullest, always pay your bills
And the Lord will take us in His Holy Might.

When the good Lord calls us, we shall answer to Him
For the lives that we lived to the One Above.
We like Erin Meadows, Erin Meadows likes us,
And the Lord will take us in Eternal Love.

Late at night we listen when the air is still
We can hear our Master say we’re in His Will.
So, each morning get up and gladly take your pill
For we know that one day we’ll dwell on that Hill.

~ John Husiak

What’s a Rainbow for?

I wonder what a rainbow’s for.  It can’t be just for viewing.
And why do birds above me soar while I’m stuck here a-stewing?
Perhaps the rainbow’s view of me is equally unfounded.
And birds no doubt are glad that I am, like the trees, just grounded.

Now is Aurora’s quivering dance
With Borealis just by chance?
Those Northern Lights: I’m quite content
To greet in awe their dazzlement.

~ Harvie Johnstone

My Childhood Friend

I sit and wonder day by day
As years go by, my hair turns gray
When as children we used to say
We’ll be forever close this way

We hiked the hills and climbed the trees
We bruised our feet and skinned our knees
And when our fancy it did please
We created some catastrophes

But then you moved away somewhere
I cried for days beneath the stair
My grief so very great to bear
Your swift return, my constant prayer

We kept in touch as years went by
With flowing lines, a call, a sigh
But never was my heart so high
As we ran barefoot ‘neath the sky.

Don Keefauver

the father dies

I talked to the air
in the room as if
no one was there no one
at all

go to hold the day
it slips off
before
you see it
go

a photo
the reminder
some green hill
you cannot for the life
of you see

that day we passed through
as if it were life
some green hill
some raspberry bush
some still life

talked to air
the dead having lost
all memory

still life in a box
I talk to air

you there I swear
I will at last
make something
of myself

you in mind
now and then
on the gravel
highway
in one car or another

I talk to air
some green hill
I will I swear
be some sort
of memory

~ Don Kerr

Metamorphose

washed out faces on shrivelled cardboard
black and white images stuck on an album page
increasingly faded from memory
revive nostalgias in purple clothing

a long sight glides over a picture
deformed fingers shadow caress
a child smiling, hopeful, face
not more resembling the mirror reflection
painfully changed in time’s unpredictable
metamorphosis.

a smile sunk in sadness
a tear oozed down the creased cheek
a never answered question
succumbs in a slow head swing
reflecting about the dark future
now when the diagnostic reads
Alzheimer.

~ David Kimel

Joy without Rhymes

Joy is a small child,
balloons, candy, toy soldiers and dolls.
Joy is a clown, baseball, hopscotch,
a new bike and your mother’s lap.
Joy is Christmas with the lights,
trees, gifts and Christ’s coming.
Joy is a prom dress, first shave,
the kiss of a friend and the car keys.
Joy is new knowledge, new friends,
new challenges and the future.
Joy is striving and achieving
and knowing that you know.
Joy is a friend’s smile, a lover’s touch,
a caring home and the family.
Joy is a quiet time, bright sun,
white sand and the sea.
Joy is achievement, lasting friends,
remembered times and faith.
Joy is learning and teaching,
giving of yourself and sharing.
Joy is the touch of hands, of cheeks,
of lips and of hearts.
Joy, dear friend, is knowing you.

~ Charles Knecht

In the Little Town of Bethlehem

Close to old Jerusalem
A baby boy was born one night
When shepherds saw a star so bright.

Three wise men came from countries far
Guided by this strange new star.
Hosts of angels came down from the sky
And sang to praise our God up high.

When this Child became a Man
He could do things no one can
He healed the lame and made blind men see
As he preached through Galilee.

He taught us how to live and love
Our neighbor and the Lord above.
Though they killed Him yet He rose again
And built a kingdom without end.

~ Him Gan Kwee

Ten years have passed

Ten years have passed
and the memory of you has softened and dimmed.
I am free to go on with my life,
and not many years remain.
I never thought that at this point of the game
there would be another who would come into my life.
But it happened, and I feel whole once more,
like a love-sick schoolgirl, I fear.
Now that I have a new “friend”,
what do I do to keep the relationship light?
So that we both have our own
space from each other,
yet my heart tugs when we’re apart,
and I blush like a young girl
when we meet.
No demands on each other
that is the key –
just accept what is there –
and be happy.

~ Alice LaBelle

Eyes

Eyes are a reflection
Of thought we hold inside
They have power of saying
Feelings we can’t hide

Eyes can tell of wisdom
Or happiness will show
Revealing all our secrets
For everyone to know

So when your lover kisses you
Be sure to look into his eyes
His eyes will be the answer
To the question on your mind

Eyes are so betraying
No matter how we try
Take a look and you will see
They never tell a lie

~ Doreen M (Bailey) Lacelle

Beginnings

What are you hoping for?

There will always be the
Unknown.
There will always be the unprovable.
What is the purpose of
Life anyway?
You are the only creature
That has the
‘Creative imagination’.
To have goals you like to reach,
Projects you hope to achieve,
There must be a beginning,
A dream, an inspiration!
It is normal to have faith.
Faith is your beginning!

~ Ruth Elaine Halstead Lemke

Autumn

I’ve heard some people say they think Fall makes them feel like crying
That winter cold is coming on and everything is dying.
To me it’s quite the opposite, I see trees in their glory
And as I gaze in wonderment they tell a different story.

I see young trees bear precious fruits which ripen in their season
And now have reached maturity which shows to us the reason
They went through all those summer storms and hot winds o’er them blowing
That in the end they’d give to us their fruit, red, ripe and glowing.

And then I think how like we are to fruit trees in their bearing
Our lives should reproduce the fruits of giving and of sharing
That when the “Fall” of our life comes it will be seen that we
Have borne fruit to bless others as we reach maturity.

And then there is the beauty of all the other trees
Whose glorious foliage fills our woods and brings us to our knees
In awe and admiration and when the leaves are gone
We know the trees aren’t really dead, their life will carry on.

So as I gaze in wonder at the beauty all around
I think there is a parallel that in our lives is found
That into our Fall season there should come a glorious blend
Of beauty and maturity when we reach our journey’s end.

So Fall is not the end of all but just a resting hour
Before the Spring will come again and trees burst into flower
And we have this assurance that as the trees aren’t dead
We too shall waken and shall rise to a new life instead.

~ Elsie Lewis

Whispers

Sometimes it comes quite unaware,
with whispers in the night of deep despair.
The distant plaintive whistle of a train will recall to the heart
a deep dark pain of a lost love
and a sad refrain.
Then pain grips the heart and will not let go
as memories are tossed like a wind to and fro
as darkness gives way to twilight I see
another sleepless night has passed over me,
Sometimes a face I see or a song I hear
will bring back memories of one so dear
then the tears start to flow but they don’t show,
I’m crying inside so no one will know.
I’ve come to realize, I finally know
that loneliness will follow me
wherever I go.
I then ask a question so soft and low
“Where did all my bright dreams go
that I dared to dream so long ago?”

~ Alberta Logan

The Trouble with Pills

I do have trouble with my pills,
I just can’t remember which
is for my halitosis or
for that private itch.

Is the green one to help with my breathing
or is the purple one for that?
But whichever it is, then, will the other
help eliminate the fat?

Do I take two pink ones at lunch time
to help my digestion to work?
Or are they the ones that keep my leg
from straightening with a jerk?

I bought a container with seven spaces
one for each day of the week,
but flipping up those flipping lids
soon made my thumbs grow weak.

So then I made a list of what
I have to take each day,
and taped it to the bathroom mirror
twice around to make it stay.

Then after I had a nice shower
I saw just what I had done –
The moisture on the glass had made
my soluble ink all run!

So now I’m back to my memory,
which is how I started out . . .
Now . . . is the blue one for my flatulence
or for my gosh-darn gout?

~ Raymond Long

Casino

It’s Thursday morning and I’m on my way
To Atlantic City on a sun-filled day
With the Wayne Seniors, headed for the shore
Hoping to return with riches galore.

I close my eyes and picture the scene.
Bright shiny slots beckoning to me.
“Play me. Play me, I’ll treat you right
Give you riches the like you have not seen.”

Alas and alack, oh woe is me
I’m returning back home in misery.
The riches promised or pictured at least
Are still contained in that coin-eating beast.

Now here we all are, back on the bus
The day at the casino a total bust.
My dreams of riches a burst balloon
I counted my chickens much too soon.

~ Thomas J Loughran, Jr

Wearing Red

Excites my life
Pours me through a change of time,
Into orbit, round the stars,
Irons my blood, speeds my mind,
Wearing Red.

Ah – donning Purple; major love – royal, too
Not for me the pallid hues
Of mauve and lilac, nice they be
Or nature’s own, the blues, or green.
Give me purple, sweater, scarf – wrap me in that tint sublime
Wondrous, liquid, colour fine
My purple life.

Magenta almost stops my heart.
Gorgeous fuchsias; purples, reds with hint of blue
Yet only slight, I’d disappear if I wore blue.
But ’genta; Oh, I love it so. I come alive. I love the part
Where people say, “That is your best, you wear it true.”

~ Pat Irwin Lycett

Just What the Doctor Ordered

“And where are you off to this morning?” my neighbour called from her door.
“Oh, I’m heading down to the meeting place – where I’ve been many times before.”
“I hear you like to exercise. Do you go there once a week?”
“Oh, yes, and sometimes oftener,” I answered (with tongue in cheek).

“Is this something the doctor ordered? I’ve noticed you’re looking so well.
Well, thank you, friend, was my comment.  “I’ve not been ill for a spell.”
“Are there many there – at this meeting place?” the curious neighbour inquired.
“Oh, sometimes there’s quite a line-up but that’s where I get inspired.”

“It’s the place I renew acquaintances – meet many friends of old,”
“Yes,” she tactfully responded, “no doubt – they’re precious as gold.”
“You’ve got that right,” I answered.  “That’s what makes it quality time
And, thanks to the doctor’s orders, we’re existing past our time.”

“Just what do you do at this meeting place?” (My neighbour was getting enthused.)
“Well, we walk, we swap some stories or a friendly hug,” I mused.
“We sometimes carry weights around and our heart rates we record
By using the blood pressure machine. I’d say – we’re never bored.”

“That sounds like fun. Could anyone join? Just where is this gym of thrills?”
“Not a gym,” I laughed, “It’s the pharmacy where we line up for our pills.”

~ Gladys MacDonald

Gifts

Dewdrops look like crystals shining in the sun,
This morning every blade of grass is proudly wearing one.
I’ll enjoy them while I can, for soon they’ll disappear.

The sun is rising fast: heat of day will soon be here,
Like a mother wipes a baby’s tears, that’s what the sun will do,
The crystals then will slowly fade, and so I say adieu,

The days have changed and now we see the ground is white with frost
Until another season, our crystals have been lost,
Replaced by looks of diamonds shining in the night
Dew and frost from God above, gifts for our delight.

~ Verna Mann

The Man in the Earth

We see you, man in the earth,
We see your grotesque face, your frown.
A reflection of your suffering millions.
We also hear you,
Debasing yourself before a variety of altars.
All the time declaring you were made in “god’s” image.

You were not, we were.
And when he had finished, he turned to you.
And left you to evolve.
He moved on to other things, ‘creating’ is a full-time job.
You have, in your self-centered way,
Imagined ‘his’ continued concern.

If you could see yourself, from a distance, as we can,
You would know you are on your own – Man on the Earth.
Each responsible for the other, free to build or destroy.
Up to now, no lessons have been learned.
Each event, you say, was “god’s will”.

You should give ‘him’ more credit.
We hear you even pay men to teach you to pray,
So you may win your wars: Gott mit uns /God is with us.
Confusion to your celestial referee !

Hurry and fly far from your planet – turn around –
There ! you see….. it is as we have said, Man on the Earth,
You are master of your own condition.
‘God’ is too busy with us……who are we ? : The Elements.
We – not you, occupy ‘him’.
So do ‘him’ justice – he has enough trouble with us.
signed; Epsilon Aurigae B. (at 2,500 million miles).

~ Stan Marsden

Sale

The street is like on any other day
the usual homeless sitting
on the Macy’s stairs
all her earthly belongings next to her
aroma of Starbucks coffee and pastry
percolating over parked cars and sidewalks
shoppers already carrying their pregnant plastic bags
looking for a café to sit down and relax
their new loot under the table at their feet
like a faithful dog
euphoria of huge red signs On Sale
and Clearance
intoxicating their mind,

but ‘the stuff’ they don’t need
will join other unopened bags and boxes
in their cluttered but otherwise empty home
nobody there to greet them
they will watch television while eating
frozen dinners from plastic containers
if the awareness hits them
it will be just after they lie down
in their cold single bed.

~ Mira N Mataric

Cheeky Chickadee

Our chickadee, his living makes
in northern clime of woods and lakes.
In manner acts precociously;
bold little one, our chickadee.

Through winter, fragile friend stays on,
though days be short, nights endless long;
bravely thrives in life’s deep freeze,
our cheeky little chickadee.

Small dynamo, with black cocked hat,
chatters on of this and that.
Just as perky as you please,
his cheeky chickadee, dee, dee’s.

Must lookout keep for hawk on high
who lazily patrols the sky.
Slightest movement he might see
from jaunty little chickadee.

Lock onto dinner with a glance,
our chickadee won’t stand a chance.
Puff of feathers signals end
of chickadee, our cheeky friend.

No witness to his tragic fate,
no mourner for our tasty mate.
Though one of countless more was he,
we’ll miss his chickadee- dee, dee.

~ Bob McCluskey

An Autumn Scene

Take a stroll
In the crisp autumn air
Down that winding road
That follows the river called Red
In Winnipeg’s North End.

Scotia Street they call it.
A route to Kildonan’s ski trail in winter
And a bicycle pathway in summer.

The creative beauty of this street
Rests in its ancient oaks and elms
That tower high
From the boulevards below.

As I walked that road
One sunny fall day
With bended head
And heavy heart, I looked up

Overhead
Branches and leaves touched
Forming an archway
Allowing the blue of the sky
To filter through
Its network of filigree leaves.

This place had been transformed.
Autumn’s fingers had painted
The leaves into burnished gold.

All was ablaze in yellow,
More brilliant than Solomon’s Temple.
Underneath this dome
I stood transfixed.
In awe, in admiration
I was standing in:
God’s temple of gold.

~ Anne McDonald

I Think That I Shall Just Be Me

I think that I shall never spy
A puppy so depressed as I.
All other dogs in my estate
Seem to have such joy innate.

I am a pup that likes to wander
Here and there and over yonder.
I like to run up every hill
Just like little Jack and Jill.

I think I’d like to be a hawk,
Or just a fish, if it could talk.
Or perhaps a flying gnat.
Or even a very well-fed cat.

This morning I saw a bumble bee,
That seemed to fly about with glee.
But then, while still upon the wing,
It gave me such a nasty sting.

I heard a lovely lark in song
And thought that’s just where I belong.
But when I finished just one note,
The animals ran to the undergrowth.

Then I spied a gorgeous trout
In a pond just swimming all about.
When I was drawn to that type of life,
I suddenly thought of my own chef’s knife.

Then, by chance, I saw a snake,
Resting in the sun, beside a lake.
But when I heard his awful hiss,
I knew he was my nemesis.

Near a tree was a waddling duck,
And with his life I was greatly struck.
But duck à la king is a horrible thought.
Such a life is with danger fraught.

I think I will saunter home,
And since I am a gastronome,
I’ll eat a very hearty meal,
And very good it will make me feel.

And now upon my silk I lie,
In vacant and in pensive mood,
Surrounded by the best of food,
To other lives I say “bye-bye”.

*****************************************
Dear Members of the Human Race;
I think that all of you agree,
I know that all of you can see,
I’ve got a pretty good esprit,
And I’m a pup happy as can be.

by Joyce Kilmer’s Dog
with the collaboration of Cornelius McDonnell

Hats

Some hats are soft,
some hats are small.
Some hats are stiff,
some hats are tall.

Some hats have feathers,
some have a veil.
Some hats have visors,
some have a tail.

Some hats protect our
face from the sun.
Some hats are frivolous
and worn just for fun.

Some hats show rank,
some hats show rule.
A crown for a king,
a dunce for a fool.

But for really smart fashion,
it has always been said,
If you’re wearing a hat,
you’re using your head!

~ Patricia G McOsker

Our Jeanne with the Lite Blonde Hair

She came to us out of
Aladdin’s mystical jar
She popped into our senior living headquarters
for a spell –
greatly needed
She’s a gem with a smile
can do any / all tasks
we lack at our age
She’s on time, on the computer
securing info for her flock
She’s smart, warm, friendly
covering all with her
helping hands
She’s our ‘angel’ on earth
that comes along once in
a lifetime
She’s our very own Jeanne T.
(Service Coordinator)
in St. Justin Plaza
in Pittsburgh, PA.
She’s wished a prayer
of long life in good health,
growing old here right now
with our gang.
She’s our Jeanne with the lite blonde hair.

~ Marie Merana-Hancock

Harmony of Two Hearts

The harmony of our two hearts
Is a precious gift to behold
Tho’ we’ve travelled different ways
Our loving bond is strong and bold.

Our voices trilled in days of yore
In many soulful melodies
Creating memories of joy
Blending songs in harmony.

Familiar songs with sad refrains
Plucked the heart strings of many a soul
Bringing back tearful memories
Reliving stories of long ago.

Life has shown us distant dawns
Making footsteps in different ways
Writing our stories as life unfolds
Bonding tales as they are told.

Our golden years are here to stay
Time to replay those songs of old
Revisit those moments of youthful joy
Forever to cherish, forever to hold.

~ Kari Moore & Natalie Milligan

Politicians

I think that I shall never see
Two politicians who agree.
Instead of doing what is best
For their supporters and the rest,
Whenever controversies come,
Each one looks out for number one.

Instead of being firm and true,
And doing what they ought to do,
They pander to the Left and Right
Not caring if they cause a fight.
I hope that someday they’ll agree
They must look out for you and me!

(May be sung to tune of Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees”)

~ Julia Morgan

Stretchinggggggggg It

Attended a funeral today
For a dear old friend of mine
The service was going well
Until it came the time
For folks to step up to the mic
To offer words of praise
Ohhhhh by time they all were finished
My head was in a daze

One by one they lifted him
To lofty realms on high
Then I began to ponder – hmmmm
Did I even know this guy?
Things that were said of him that day
Some true and some that ain’t
This ordinary human being
Somehow became a Saint

~ Joseph G Mrak

Throwaway Kids

While sitting in a coffee shop contemplating life,
My mind began to trouble me with thoughts of toil and strife;
The pain of disillusionment; the lack of self esteem;
The kids who wander lonely, lost in worlds unknown, unseen.
How far we’ve come technologically; computer chips galore
Tell us all we need to know and probably much more.
We see ourselves as so advanced; a human race supreme,
Yet kids are killing kids today at rates which are obscene.

“Atrocity, atrocity!”
Words of shame we taunt.
“Those kids have everything today!
What more do they want?”

NO

Kids have much, much less today
than kids of long ago.
No one to tell them what to do
or say or how to grow.

No guidelines, rules, responsibilities,
Parents too busy
with work and stress
to deal with such as these.

Stability, security, responsible care and concern,
no part of their fragile, tender, young lives;
No childhood of innocence,
no time to learn;

We give them life then step away
and say, “My work is done,”
Then question youth alienation when
They ease their pain with a gun.

~ Jean Murray

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Old dog sleeping in the sun
Dreaming of chasing rabbits on the run,
A master throwing sticks or a ball to catch.
His old legs are no match

For the days of yore when they romped and played.
He stretches, rolls over and finds some shade,
And he goes on dreaming.

His master, on the porch in a rocking chair,
Watches the old dog sleeping there.
Then he nods off and his dreams begin.
He sees himself as a young man again.

His youthful movements bring a sigh,
As he yearns for the strength of years gone by,
And he goes on dreaming.

On the porch swing sits a lady with hair of gray,
Her blue eyes straining to see the hills far away.
She, too, falls asleep and dreams of children at play
With a puppy in the midst of the fray.

Then a car door slams and awakens the three.
That signals the arrival of their family.
The old dog stretches and joins in the fun,
As they greet the family one by one.

Children and grandchildren scatter about,
And laugh and play, and sing and shout.
The old woman hurries to fill the table with food
As she gathers together their happy brood.

Each one of them finds his place.
They hold hands as the old man says grace.
The lively talk and laughter abound,
With the family all gathered around.

Soon the table is cleared and the dishes are done,
With the arrival of the setting sun.
Even though they hate to see them go,
It is time for the family to leave, they know.

Farewells are said as they pull away.
It’s the end of a perfect lazy day.
The old man and woman settle down in their chairs,
The old dog sleeps at the foot of the stairs,
And all three of them go on dreaming.

~ D Nally

The Sigh

There it goes again . . . that sigh . . . .
That release of ???

Escaping when I’m not looking
Escaping ~ when heart takes voice
It escapes ~ the heart weeps, cracks, aches

Where from does it come?
I never knew a sigh like this.

My soul is shrugging its shoulders?
Weeping over a very deep matter?
Perhaps a death,
The death of a love . . . perhaps?
Perhaps I’m dying to deep pain,
un-admitted.

There it is again . . .
In such unexpected places
I could be looking at a shoe store
Pondering the purchase of bread
or
The road ahead
Behind the “rone” of a motor
Over wheels that roll . . . on.

An expression of life force
Releasing in a quiet wheeze
Into surrounding ether
Following the one I grieve
The one lost

No sigh echoes
No comfort breathes itself back ~

Expiration squeezing self out.

Soul has a life of its own;
“Missing” a path of its own

after

A Dying . . . that had a death of its own.

~ I Nash

The Alphabet Prayer

Ample
Beauty
Comes
Down to
Earth
From
God in
Heaven,
Infusing
Joy, the
Key to
Life.
May
New
Options for
Peace,
Quality of Life,
Reconciliation,
Synergy, and
Unity
Tame
Vainglory and
War, and revive
Youthful
Zeal.

~ Hanna Newcombe

Friendships

Somewhere it is written that the better part of one’s life consists of her friendships, and I have
found that to be so…. Marilynn Newman

My first gang of girls was led by Leona,
A natural leader with size and smile, while
Carolyn and Marilynn were content to be
Intimates just trailing in her wake.

Our school was Hawthorne and by 5th grade
Jeanette had become my dearest chum, but
Alas, Dad’s business required our family run
Off to Memphis away from all familiar kith and kin.

The big muddy was everywhere but not a home,
We moved several times feeling so much alone.
The 1930s were a stressful time when folks did not
Condone outsiders or Okies or transients unknown.

Dorthea seemed more accepting, less sophisticated
Her soft accent seemed to soothe the adjustments for
This new kid on the block, this soon-to-be someone
Or just a little girl far from home hoping to fit in.

Junior high brought the first of three beaus:
All named George, by the way, tall, handsome
And intrigued by this small, smiley blond damsel.
He was a friend, but soon George II came into view.

From a fine old Memphis family, this young man lived
In a mansion of marble framed by live oaks with his
Genealogy framed in entry hall covering an entire wall.
Invited to dine there amid ancestors of blue-blood rare.

He pursued the relationship we had begun, but I declined
Though he had been an education and really loads of fun.
Another move for our family of three would soon arrive
And with it, George III, a Texan born and bred to thrive.

Ft. Worth was the site of my next school,
I was fourteen; his eyes were blue as waters cool.
His car was ready, and we went out and about, but
If I missed curfew my Dad would pace and shout.

Kansas City was our next move, a plaza apartment
With Dad home less and my association with an elite
Group of girls, esp. Janet kept me part of the social whirl.
Little did I know that boy was about to meet THE GIRL!

Ray was introduced on birthday number 21; he a UCLA grad,
I, sweet 16, and still in high school, yet able to date because of
Familial associations; our first date a downtown hotel for dinner,
Chances of dating younger guys grew slimmer and slimmer.

Dallas, Texas was our next abode where the ‘mother lode’ of
Sophisticated city gals reside. Long-term bonds resulted with Fran
And Marilyn; and Ray, training with GM in Michigan, became my
Main Man via correspondence, calls, and a quickening of the Plan.

~ Marilynn Newman

Tell Me Who You Are . . .

He said, “Look into your soul and tell me who you are?”
I cringed.
“But I don’t want to tell you who I am.”

For I have covered my emotions and buried them deep inside,
not wanting them to come to the surface and reveal my tears.
I remind myself that all have felt loss, been hurt, suffered pain.
Why do I need to burden those around me with mine?
Those memories are sleeping while I busy myself with other people’s lives,
encouraging their hopes and dreams.
Listening and relating to them, knowing full well how others feel,
I respond to their sadness, grief, and loss.
But on the outside, I choose to laugh and share their joy,
Seeking pleasure in nature, art and books,
in country drives and dining and other forms of learning,
But inside – have I forgotten me?
Where is that spark of hope?
Am I still alive?
It’s not because I’ve been unloved;
for in this I have been truly blessed.
Then, is it because I am growing old, fearing love is a thing of the past
because my body is no longer beautiful?
Is it because I fear rejection, disappointment, or sorrow?
Or am I just too lazy to make the effort – once more?
Could it be that my tastes and values are far too high?
Why have I shut myself off from opening myself to love,
living in my head and closing my heart’s door?
For with that closing all emotion seems to have died,
leaving me alone to muse – that I once felt.

~ Paula Niall

Dance with Me

Come!
Dance with me:
Move to the pulse
of our hearts;
Leap with the strength
of our love;
Turn with the spin
of our thoughts;
Sway with the tides
of our lives.

Bending, rising, swooping, swaying . . .
Inspired by our joy . . .
We dance . . .
Eternally, magically, joyfully . . .

Forever immune against the buffets and the strains.
You are my partner
in the Dance of Love;
The only dance
worth doing.

Come! . . . dance with me.

~ Harold Nightingale

My Rocking Chair

If my rocking chair could talk
it would probably play a tune
For when I rock my grandchild
I sing, sometimes I croon

For Grammas have a special “love”
which sometimes seems to ooze
Right to the heart of a child so dear
until it starts to snooze

The modern way that says “no rocking”
seems to us so very “shocking”
For rocking chairs were made to soothe
a child’s hurt or an angry mood

Now if my rocking chair could talk
and we would closely listen
We’d learn what bothers little kids
and our eyes with tears would glisten

If my rocking chair could talk
what secrets would be known
But here I sit, the rocker still
for my grandkids are all grown!

~ Gladys A Pacella

This Modern Art?

Of what use to mankind are Poets’ meaningless phrases
if readers can not understand?
Or Authors, who clothe all their characters’ feelings
in sentences far too grand?
Artists, who paint unfamiliar designs
in colours confusing our eyes?
Sculptors, whose metalized alien figures
no humans would recognize?
Potters, who mould unwilling cold clay
into vessels that hold only air?
Designers, who fashion ridiculous garments
that none but the boldest dare wear?
Architects, spinning their dream towers of glass
that expose all the people inside?
Woodcarvers, who richly embellish oak coffins
that none can afford when they’ve died?
Musicians and Singers, in beats electronic
playing rhythms to which we can’t dance?
Or Dancers, who sweat in contortions and motions
no music could ever enhance?
Performers in celluloid, mouthing obscenities,
transforming truths into lies?
Photographers, distorting, reshaping Nature
as seen through their cameras’ eyes?
Composers, whose music, too loud now, discordant,
lost its melody somewhere in space?
All those Spinners and Weavers of synthetic fibres
that wrap us in comfortless grace?
Instead, let me study such artistry pure
as the lace of a dragonfly’s wing;
Touch a new baby’s face; breathe the scent of a rose;
hear the songs that the wild birds sing.

Valerie Jeanne Palmer

Message from an Elder

I am your elder citizen.
Respect me.
I built the nation’s highways, bridges and freeways.
Value me.
I exchanged horse-driven buggies for high-powered cars.
Appreciate me.
I turned one-room schoolhouses into colleges and universities.
Esteem me.
I replaced the victrola with radio, stereo and TV,
Applaud me.
I have lived through six wars and eleven presidents.
Honor me.
I watched atrocities: the Holocaust, Hiroshima, Bloody Sunday and Mai Lai.
Promise me.
I walked on the moon, and dared to transplant a human heart.
Revere me.
I found a cure for tuberculosis and a myriad of other diseases.
Venerate me.
I shed tears for John, Martin and Robert.
Cherish me.
I am a fountain of wisdom, a reservoir of knowledge.
Treasure me.
I am the sculptor of your future, the author of your past.
Ennoble me.

~ Gloria Parker

Free to Soar

Not just the bee, or bird that sings
Nor any creature that has wings;
Not only planes can lift you high
Above the clouds in summer sky;
But you and I with spirit free
Can rise above monotony,
Transport ourselves within a book
Into strange lands we wish to look.
The mind is but an open door
For anyone who wants to soar.

~ Vesta A Pickel

Now That I Am Seventy

Ten years from now, when I am old
I will no longer have to fuss and bother
With anything I don’t want to do.
Then, I’ll put on a turban
Instead of combing my hair
And wear purple slippers
The livelong day.

Ten years from now, I’ll sleep late
Snoring loudly each morning.
And once I finally wake
I’ll fly about, elegant as a butterfly
Accomplishing all I meant to do before.

First, I’ll write a book, inspiring others
Then I’ll sell my house to someone
who needs a cozy place.
Finally, I’ll be completely nice
Helping other people remember
All they have forgotten
For, of course, I will still remember everything.

Ten years from now
My nights will be peaceful dreams
My days, nothing but laughter.

~ Sandra Redding

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam updated

Here with a BLT beneath a bough
A pint of ale, a Sudoku and thou
Beside me on the patio
And patio were paradise enow.

Awake, for NASA in the morning light
Launched a shuttle – to take us home tonight
And look – the camera facing out
Caught that comet shining bright

~ Ken Redish

City Morning Smiles

Sitting alone
With many around
Smiles and sound
Warm friendly smiles
Away from home,
Many miles.
No one near,
My coffee gives cheer,
A smile, a sun smile

Sun’s warmth is here.
Alone with many
Walking, talking, sitting, looking,
Ignoring, smiling,
Many.

A foamy brown coffee
Soothing, mild, warm, foamy,
Brown swirled comfort
My companion,
Smiles inside me:
A latte in the city.

~ Connie Rehmann

Punished

At eighty nine
I still have the capacity
to greatly enjoy my life.

But the age factor
causes forgetting names,
forever searching for
mislaid papers and pills.

I am being punished,
punishing myself,
feeling guilty for
not being what I was
only a short while ago.

On top of it all
I am punished by my loving,
most beloved ones,
unable to accept reality,
that I ceased to be so perfect.

~ Shula Robin

Men of Charm and Distinction

A Cautionary “Valentine” for the Married Man

Men from Mars? Women, Venus?
Heed the wisdom of this genus:
Men of charm and of distinction
Are surely destined for extinction!

You are sports! You are handsome!
You are clever, smooth and then some.
Yet while it’s true you may be dashing,
We oft times find our genders clashing.

Femmes have style! Femmes have talent!
When first we met you were so gallant.
But men of charm and of distinction
Seem fated, sadly, to extinction.

To prove your good and true intentions,
Bestow on us your fond attentions.
You’re fair and just and never biased
So praise our virtues to the highest!

We must insist, our hands be kissed,
Our many whims be humored.
You men of charms and of distinctions
Should be not just a rumor.

Purchase Gucci bags and jewels,
And throw your coats on muddy pools.
Do not botch or flub or bungle,
We’re not some famous football fumble!

Take a blind eye to our flaws,
Avoid a stare at our slack jaws.
If our hips now fit plus sizes
Your big, fat stomachs are no prizes!

Never gape at other babes.
That poor behavior won’t get raves.
If you’re so inclined for avarice
Beware; you may become cadaverous!

Middle Eastern torture tactics
Will be applied for tacky antics.
A bed of nails or shackled wrists
Are not beyond our bag of tricks!

Do not belch or bleat or bloat.
We did not marry some old goat!
if you cheat you just must stop it!
Do you remember Mrs. Bobbit?

So, prove you’re worthy of our choices
Or you will hear shrill female voices.
Promise that you’ll woo us well,
And place us on a pedestal!

Keep your sense of humor sharp
Amusing us is very smart.
Flirty conversation’s quite a delight,
Look! Flowers, dinner rule the night.

Our men of charm and of distinction
Have not yet plunged into extinction.
Where’s our hero? Why the fuss?
You’re right here . . . making eyes at us!

~ Selma Savitz

A Reverie

Why do I have so few visitors?
My oldest comes four times a year, but showers down clothes.
My youngest calls once annually.
My ex remarried: lasting over twenty years.
I won’t stoop to watching TV’s clamour.
Old friends watch a little TV and recommend watching often.
My radio is my priceless nighttime gift.
Well, in my seventy-second year, should I wildly seek the
opposite sex and risk being labeled a “dirty old man”?
But these bones have known a marriage of almost twenty
years, quite a bit of education, love again on the rebound,
children, travel, and a lengthy work history and knowing that
marriage for solely companionship is long gone in our day.
So I’m left with music and writing as my main endeavors, and
physical pain, varying each day, is included in my experience.
But all in all, I’m safe here. That’s about all one can ask in this
earthly sphere. I consider I am as ready for what comes
hereafter as I ever will be.

~ Julian K Schellkopf

At the Edge of the Field

On Thursday
at the edge of the field
where I watched long
as I have always done
with the land in me
more than I in it,
At the edge of the field under snow
and glittering shards of a frozen pond,
the distance captured
in an eddy of snow
what soul I had,
took it over the rough
and lost it.
I did not die
because I had rather not leave
this beautiful world.
But perhaps I had
and the shell watching
at the edge of the field
is but a memory
that would not be forgotten.

~ Wayne Schlepp

I Like

I like
John Wayne movies,
Fried okra and ice cream,
Little kids on a carousel,
New born pups nursing at their mother’s breast,
Young lovers stealing their first kiss,
A drought breaking rain’s smell.
These are some things
I like.

~ Lawrence Seeger

In My Golden Years

In my golden years
I found the luxury
To immerse myself in song
And dance and poetry.
1 found the joy of having time
To write a poem
And also work
For justice and peace.

But I know that across the seas
The bombs are blasting
And everywhere
Kids are starving
Our planet is dying
And nuclear arms are poised
To bring about our final days.
How can I reconcile my golden years
With these realities?
If I join my small efforts
With those around me,
Can we create
A new world of peace?

~ Ruth Shapin

I dress for you in . . .

I dress for you in shades of blue
Although it is a saddening hue
It pleased me as our young love grew
To do anything that pleased you too
And I dressed for you in shades of blue.

I dress for you in shades of gray
It matched your eyes you liked to say
But now you’ve gone your separate way
And I long for you throughout the day
So I dress for you in shades of gray.

I dressed for you in shades of red
And tried to lure you to my bed.
You need more time is what you said
Before my longing lust you fed
As I dressed for you in shades of red.

I dress for you in shades of black
In hopes somehow I’d win you back
To reconcile I have no knack
It’s just another skill I lack
Yet I dress for you in shades of black.

Hear me! I’ll never dress for you in orange!

~ Robert Shinberg

Double Trouble

Now Pa and me, we’ve been a pair for fifty years come calvin’.
We made our nest and had our kids, and they’re both sure worth havin’,
But them ol’ cows, they’re ALWAYS first when they start havin’ babies.
Through snow and chills, they pay the bills. No if’s, and’s, but’s or maybe’s.

It’s always been a pile of work, but somehow we wade through it.
No use puttin’ off the task ’cause no one else will do it.
Slippery, slimy, bawlin’ calves; feedin’, beddin’, spyin’,
An’ all to keep them little souls from curlin’ up an dyin’.

But times have changed. We’re slowin’ down, and so is our old collie.
She limps along beside us now, and she’s gettin’ roly-poly.
She likes to ride (on the passenger side) of our old green chore truck.
But she needs a boost to reach her roost. If she jumps she runs amuck.

One mornin’ light when the sun rose bright, Pa went to do the checkin’.
I stayed home to hear the phone, and keep our meal from wreckin’.
In minutes flat my man was back. His jaw was just a flappin’.
“Get the dog. Ya know that draw? You’ll never guess what happened!”

That ol’ cow, wide horns o’er brow, stood head up, oh so regal.
Such a queenly stance could only enhance her eyes that looked like an eagle.
For on the ground was easily found, the cause of all this disorder.
Not one, but two; Oh yes it was true. There was one extra boarder!

What to do next? Well, Pa was vexed, ’cause one calf he ain’t been suckin’.
To carry ’im home, just us ’ns alone we couldn’t be doin’ it truckin’.
The hill was too steep, too slippery an’ sleek, the pick-up would just be slidin’.
Well, let’s get wise. Let’s improvise. A new way we’ll find to be ridin’.

Now I said before, life is a chore for us both now we’re nigh on pension,
To jump out of bed, makes our bones tell our heads, that our nerves are under some tension.
And you can be sure that our own special cure for the problem at hand was a dilly.
To risk bein’ seen by a neighbor so keen, would at least make us look pretty silly.

So the dog on the limp, and Pa on the gimp, and me with one shoulder a hangin’,
With the cow in tow, away we did go! The twins were both bumpin’ an’ bangin’.
The transport we chose had ended our woes, though it shook the poor calves to the marrow.
The decision we made for the plans that we laid was to get out the garden wheelbarrow!

~ Kathleen Smith

Whimsical Angels

Whimsical Angels
playing by the shore
I think I see three
no maybe four
Wonder why they’re
here today
Just like children
out to play
Building castles
in the sand
I’ll keep a watch
as long as I can
Squint my eyes
sun’s hot
Are they still there
maybe not.

~ Dolores Souza

I was ill and went to bed

I was ill and went to bed,
The ancient cat came by my head.
She placed frail bones upon my chest,
Said, “rest and I will guard ’gainst death  this night.
I have a life or two to spare and I am glad with you to share.”

~ Sara Staats

Waiting

This used to be my “waiting room.”
Each doctor had one, in my day –
An annex, often, of his home.
“Health care providers” now hold sway

And may use another term,
Such as the “debriefing den.”
At any rate, one waits and squirms
And thinks he’s in a holding pen,

Regardless of amenities,
Like soft chairs and aquarium.
A girl says, “Fill these forms out please.”
(About ten pages is the sum.)

Your health insurance information
Is, of course, what’s asked for first.
Page two’s about your occupation.
Page three through five may be the worst:

List allergies and vaccinations;
Past and present health events;
How often do you take vacations?
Have you traveled? Whither? Whence?

Family history; social life;
Have you had an STD?
Have you been subject to the knife?
Which other doctors do you see?

Once, the doctor did this job –
Or, at least, so we were taught.
Now it’s just a chore to fob
Off – it takes some time and thought

And subtracts from bottom line.
It’s labor – let the patient man it.
As long as blanks are filled, that’s fine
(Some day the doc may actually scan it).

Next, to matters legalistic:
Privacy, informed consent.
Medical law suit statistics –
Show why great effort must be bent

To keep abreast with or surpass
The horde of lawyer bottom feeders.
The need for docs to “cover ass.”
Explains page six, which asks the readers

Just what results doc may disclose –
And to whom. Should wife be called
If hubby has to lose some toes?
What if he’s simply going bald?

Divulge results to a machine?
To family members? In what order?
Will answerer know what they mean?
Please list IQs of son and daughter.

Next: “Note that in the health care milieu
There are always perils that lurk.
There is a chance some acts could kill you –
Or keep you from your usual work.”

Lastly you’ll evaluate
The office staffs efficiency:
Q. How long did you have to wait?
A. It seemed like an eternity.

Q. Now, please rate the atmosphere.
A. Two fish perished as I waited.
Q. Your best and worst experience here?
A. Finger in, X- rated; finger out, elated.

It was much simpler in my day,
Doc brushed off questions, patted backs,
Dismissed you with, “Do as I say.”
His pronouncements were the facts!

Old “waiting room” is now my lair.
It’s my turn, now, to sit and wait.
For waiting I now have a flair.
Not much, though, to anticipate.

The sales rep will no longer come
With his latest wonder drug
And his jokes, some good, some dumb,
His “Lilly” labeled coffee mug.

And Minnie, with her timid grin,
Won’t show up, confused about
Her next appointment.  “Fit her in.”
And I won’t be forced to shout

In Elmer’s ear, to make him hear
That his prostate feels the same
As it did this time last year.
Yes, I’ll play the waiting game.

No perineum, now, to view,
Propped up for the yearly Pap.
No wound that needs a stitch or two.
I might as well just take a nap.

Rose won’t bring in her drunken mate;
Anxious Paula won’t appear;
I won’t take wens off Bud’s bald pate;
Jane won’t say, “I’ll pay next year.”

I won’t be warned by some multip
That contractions have begun;
I won’t have to quickly slip
Out the door for OB run.

Idleness is now the norm.
Feeling worthless is my fate.
I’ll try to practice some decorum.
With outward calm I’ll sit – and wait.

~ Stanton H Sykes

Autumn

In the morning, over the fog covered field,
The sun rises like an orange moon.
It’s Fall.

Geese flying above in flocks, their loud chattering
Fills the sky, escaping to south.
It’s Fall.

Rain falls outside my window, can’t see the world beyond,
Life ebbing away, drop, by drop.
It’s Fall.

I am looking into myself, in the dark corners of my life.
Nothing stirs, nothing there, only
It’s Fall.

A wind-chime, like silver bells, keeps me awake at night.
A storm screams, rattling my doors.
It’s Fall.

Clouds rushing across the sky, an owl calling in the dark.
Is it time? Not yet.
It’s Fall.

~ Gemma Tamas

Soul Food for Thought

Now let me try to get this right. I’m said to have a soul,
A “something” which survives me when I’m in that six foot hole.

This “animating principle”, if I have got it straight,
Departs my body when I die and then pursues its fate.

Most Christians and Mohammedans believe this soul survives
In heaven or the other place depending on their lives.

That’s quaint enough but others have a comic fantasy,
The sort of scheme one might dream up while dropping LSD.

They hold when life has ended that this soul is free to roam,
To enter some new being, settle down in its new home,

Amoeba, snake or man or any living thing on earth.
Do they not know that such a theory engenders mirth?

I’d like to have an open mind but have no hesitation
To shout “There’s nothing quite as loony as reincarnation!”

I find these doctrines hard to grasp, it’s something of a strain.
What some call soul, to me is mind, the buzzing of the brain.

While many deem this soul to be a hallowed mystery,
I think it’s really nothing more than neurochemistry.

It’s clear the brain is functioning when one can plainly see
The ups and downs and waves and patterns in the EEG.

In the dying these will falter, in the dead they’re flat.
When brain is dead the mind is dead, and that, my friend, is that.

~ William M Tarnowski

A Sister

A sister is one you can share things with
She always has a lot to give.
You enjoy her company every day
She’s there with you in work and play.
Some days she calls you on the phone
To remind you that you’re not alone.
She doesn’t forget when birthdays come around
If she’s at home or out of town.
A sister is one you can’t forget
Though many years have passed since you first met.
There are times she’ll let you borrow her hat,
And days she’ll say “What do you think of that?”
I thank God for the sisters I’ve had
Life without them would have been very sad.
Dear One, if you have a sister today
Give her a call and for her please pray.

~ Lillian Taylor

Disappearing Sounds

I always liked the sounds of summer
When the locust would sing their own song
They’d fill the air with buzzing tones
And then others would join along

The crickets would also add their loud chirps
Of their own type of song they’d partake
And the katydids in their low tones
Did help keep the night awake

And over in the woods, you could also hear,
Down in the swampy bog,
The ones who sing with a mellow voice
There you’ll find the happy frogs

But where have they all disappeared and gone,
Country evenings are now very still
What I miss most of these, God’s creatures’ sounds,
Is the shrill song of the lone Whippoorwill
“Whippoorwill”  “Whippoorwill”  “Whippoorwill”

~ Viola Taylor

Til Eternity

In Heaven there must be a place
God has up there for me.
There my Saviour will be waiting,
Forever till eternity.

Someday when my Saviour calls me
I’ll be loosed from all my sins.
So Jesus keep me in your care,
until my life on earth has end.

~ Opal O Thornton

Summer and Chopin

A young boy on a farm, in the whispering shade
of an old cedar, on the buzzing green grass
of a manicured lawn in the crystalline sunlight
of a hot summer day, sat transfixed by the strains
of waltzes by Chopin, dancing softly for hours
from the parlor’s wide white-curtained windows.

And now, decades later, the cedar, the piano,
the lawn and the parlor are only remembrance.
The pianist, the source of his life and his nurture
lives on in a Chopin waltz on a hot afternoon.

~ JT Traxler

Waiting for Jesus

Loving the Lord is not enough.
We must do his will, and in God we must trust.
We know the Lord is good to us; He never leaves us alone.
We know the Lord is near us, we want to gather around the throne.
We have His love down in our hearts
and from His love we must not part.
And while we wait for Jesus, watching and waiting for that blessed day,
when we all will gather together, and with the Lord stay,
we must keep the good work up wherever we be,
in church enjoying ourselves while on bended knees.
Great is the Lord and He is worthy to be praised.
Let’s get in a hurry and praise Him every day.
We have the Lord on our side,
and with Him we shall abide.
While waiting for Jesus to come back again,
we will tell the story to both women and men.
I’m waiting for the Lord to appear in the sky,
and take us all back with Him on high.
I know we will be happy as can be,
knowing that we will live with him eternally
with the savior that died on Calvary for you and me.

~ Evang. Sarah Lee Trotter

My Farm

I live in the valley
at the end of the road
you’ll find happiness here
where you drive on our road
peace is here
it touches your heart
and the memories you leave with
that’s just a start

there’s gold in the sunset
diamonds in the dew
and the happiness you find
is up to you

there’s deer in the timber
turkey is there too
and in every Whippoorwill’s calling
you couldn’t be blue

so if you’re ever lonely
and need a friend
come to our valley
at the road’s end

~ Joreta Tugmon

Light

You cannot pick up a patch of light
From the bed or the wall or the floor.
You cannot alter its path to the dark door.
Light is a mystery.

Does the sun give birth to light,
Or as the ancient poet sensed,
Is light the context for all Creation?
Light is a mystery.

How is light related to the gentle moon,
Or to the far, far star points,
Or the sudden stroke of lightning?
Light is a mystery.

You ask about fire and warmth,
From your new fireplace, or my old lamp,
Or the clever microwave oven?
Light is a mystery.

Then I wonder about colour,
The beauty of the wide high rainbow arch,
Or the minute refraction on our breakfast table?
Light is a mystery.

How is light involved in my seeing,
Or in our thinking, feeling or doing,
Throughout all the ages, in all lands?
Light is a mystery.

What are scientists today discovering,
And artists, doctors, engineers
In this vast expanding universe?
Light is a mystery.

How does light affect the flight of the robin,
Or of planes small and huge,
Or of the spaceship, its life and return?
Light is a mystery.

Is light essential for growing the violet small?
Even more for the pine tree tall?
And yes, for young Tommy next door?
Light is a mystery.

Light – Darkness – Light
Is Light the Mystery of all Mysteries?

~ Lois A Tupper

What a Halloween Birthday Can Do to You

It’s Halloween
I shake and tremble
the cat comes out
it is a gamble

Will I return
to be myself
or always stay
to dig and delve

in yard and park
howl at the moon
exhaust my lungs
the morn’ comes soon

What will it bring
the fairer me
or black and furred
for all to see

that I’m a cat
roaming about?
The night is gone
the cat’s still out!

I have to prowl
until I find
a loving friend
who does not mind

my feline soul
and furry look
Bewitched am I
One night it took

I’m caught in here
my heart it breaks
a loving hand
is all it takes

Please rub my nose
or scratch my neck
tell me you care
and stroke my back

Oh thank you friend
you patted me
released my soul
and set me free

Next Halloween
I know for sure
I won’t go out
resist the lure

Inside I’ll stay
for now I know
it was the moon
who made me so

Yes I was born
October’s end
bewitching me
it put a brand

upon my mind
and on my skin
I’ll always have
the cat within

So if there is
a lesson here
Don’t have a child
when fall comes near

~ Jenny VandeWorp

Crisp and Crackling

Crisp and crackling
Logs of hickory and oak
Burning in the fireplace
Glowing, spewing sparks
Delighting eye and ear
Gently drawing from the mind
Memories of people, places, happenings
Calming, calming, calming the soul.

Crisp and crackling
The campers’ fire on a moon-lit night
Twigs extended, little white balls of fluff
At their tips
Toasting, roasting, promising
A little bit of pure delight.

Crisp and crackling
The sound of gunshot, a bullet
Whistling through the cold still air
Finding its target
An animal succumbing to its enemy
The hunter, a sportsman?
Or a human succumbing to its enemy
The hunter, an assassin?

Crisp and crackling
The sound of bacon frying in the pan
The wonderful aroma fills the air
It’s Saturday morning, the kids are up
Mom is sleeping. Dad’s the cook.

~ Audrey Wall

A Well-traveled Life

My family began in a dugout in farm country
I was the eighth of thirteen to become a Widney.
Fleda, my nearest sister, did not survive 1918,
For the flu struck in a way we had never seen.

I recall a fondness for my teacher who lived near
A horse took me to help with baby Anna, deary.
Only fourteen or so, my nursing skill
Fell far short and we lost her to dread “dipthery”.

Graduation from high school came in 1929 with a class of nine,
My college plans to become a teacher pleased all,
although there would be trying times that first fall,
Fording a swollen river or traversing the miles by foot.

One summer while attending classes, a tall young man
Entered my life by throwing firecrackers at my feet.
It was the Fourth of July and though this was unkind,
I soon discovered that he had a very good mind.

His teaching experiences mirrored my own,
And over time, our lives became eternally intertwined.
A Christmas wedding at the home of my folks, his dad entoned,
A brief trip for we slept in the Ford roadster that time.

The chivaree at Stecker was fun, they said;
I, in a wheelbarrow, and cracker crumbs in our bed.
My teaching high school English and music there
Led to a job for my new husband, twas only fair.

In 1938 our home was a couple of rooms in the home of another,
Using a wind charger, my husband provided us with electricity.
It was a first for this small, rural town, though the wind blew it down.
Young and energetic, our lives were full and sometimes frenetic.

In summer, 1940, we moved to Washington DC to do the census.
He was to record while I learned to type on my first Royal.
A music job in Maryland was only seven and one half miles away;
However, at thirty mph with twenty-five signal lights, it became toil.

There were cultural adjustments, the dialect was one.
We took a moonlight cruise on the Potomac and “Carmen,”
the opera, was an experience in French; strawberries were
a dime a quart, free books from public and school libraries.

The highlight of our stay was the inauguration of FDR,
A grand affair with multitudes from near and far.
Leon set me on his shoulder so I could take photos,
Of the hour-long parade of FDR and the Ford motor car.

In 1941 the census job ended and Leon was hired by the BIA;
Off to North Dakota we bounded to a modern boarding school.
Little else was there; the Missouri River was one mile, but a town?
Minot, the birthplace of our firstborn, Jerry, was fifty miles, we found.

My son’s arrival was joyous, though dad was pheasant hunting.
I was on bed rest for at least a fortnight and made bunting
Wondering at world news of war and death abounding and if
We were wise to bring a son into such a time as this . . .

Gas and food were rationed so we supplemented by fishing,
Gardening, canning, and praying for the Good Lord’s provision.
July, 1944 found us at Camp Barkley where Leon was training
For foreign service on a Marine hospital ship named the Raven,
And I took our son and headed north to Fay, a familiar haven.

Our daughter Joan was born there; Leon was discharged
And we began our most memorable time as a family.
I traveled to Kansas to teach while the children were at
Newkirk, and Leon led Chilocco School in northern Oklahoma.

Oklahoma is known for its wild weather; in 1962
Golf-ball sized hail fell on Memorial Day when we were
Gone fishing! And missing the 200 school windows broken
Our garden destroyed, except for ten pints of beets, small token!

Our final assignment took us south: Indian City, USA.
After 32 years of teaching, I began a different phase.
With research becoming a long-time craze and volunteering
To supplement and to cheer the retirement years.

~ Beulah Wall

Eleanore, A Friend

A friend may not be always there
but when trouble strikes, you know I care.
Although we live so far apart
our memories keep us close at heart.

Many summers ago, to our farm you came.
We laughed and played our childish games.
Do you remember the swing in the apple trees?
It was there we dreamed, in the summer breeze.

We ran through the meadow, down to the creek,
where we swam, made castles, and played hide-and-seek.
Our sand castles we built so they would stay,
but when we returned, they had washed away.

We went bare-foot, for many walks
and gathered bright and shiny rocks,
that were sugar or spice, when we played store.
We played house, we played ball, hop-scotch and more.

We went to bed, by a kerosene light,
and we often tried to talk all night
but soon we’d get tired, and fall asleep.
These cherished thoughts, I’ll always keep.

Too soon September came, and you went home.
I was sad that day, for I was alone.
But I always looked forward to another year,
more adventures and memories, to hold so dear.

Your friend,
~ Doris Whitbread

How is it called . . . . . . . . . .

When the brilliance of new mornings
chases the constellations away
and never seen more splendid dawn
radiant, magical
every day Summer – new born
precious, cherished
rare
Very soon
darkness finds us there
following with grotesque intent
invades us in our happy places
intersperses gloom in our joyous spaces
How is it called?
Depression

~ Geneva J Wiggins

One Hundred and Fifty Bars Rest

Tony was a tubby lad,
Structured somewhat like his dad,
With sausage fingers on each hand.
He played the tuba in the band.
The notes that tubas play are few,
Their players don’t have much to do.
Prolonged inaction is their fate;
Their contribution is to wait.
The boy chewed toffee as he sat,
Which served to make him very fat.
He was addicted to the flavour,
Though the music, too, he’d savour
As he waited for his cue
To contribute a note or two.
The scheme worked well until the day
They had some symphony to play.

The cornets had the largest part,
But others, too, displayed their art,
Until they reached a haunting section;
Contemplative, sad reflection.
With eighty notes the horns would soar
The tuba, then would play……. just four.
This was Tony’s chance to shine,
And he could play those notes, just fine.
On concert day he dressed with care,
He even brilliantined his hair.
In dinner suit and black bow tie,
His tuba ’neath his arm, did try
To climb aboard the local bus,
My dear you should have heard the fuss
The driver made about that horn,
You’d think Doomsday about to dawn.

He took his place upon the stage
And turned his music to the page
Where his four notes were written, clear.
He played them to adjust his ear,
Then set his tuba upside down
Because he’d noted with a frown
The many bars that he must rest
Before the time came for his test.
To launch the work, the baton fell,
And Tony thought, ‘Oh what the hell?
It’s ages till we reach my part,
On this new toffee slab I’ll start.’
The symphony progressed apace,
And Tony chewed, as in a race.
This batch of candy, though, was tricky
For as he chewed it grew more sticky.

The cornet solo went quite fast
Oh, how he wished that it would last
A little longer. Time to eat
The rest of this accursed sweetmeat.
The horn section, with greatest care,
Embarked upon their plaintive air,
And Tony then, with great alarm
Took up his tuba in his arms.
As his four notes loomed ever near,
Poor Tony quaked with gathering fear.
He thought, ‘Oh no, what rotten luck
My jaw is now quite firmly stuck.’
But close beside him, Tony’s mate
Could see his problem, guess his fate,
And to avert the shame to come
Played Tony’s notes on his euphonium.

As Tony had a kindly friend
This story has a happy end.

~  Alan Willson

Butterfly Wings

Do butterflies always soar, Lord,
Do butterflies always soar?
Does the Spirit’s power always carry them high
And their faith always lift them to more?
Or do butterflies sometimes get weary, Lord,
Do their skypaths sometimes have clouds?
Do they sometimes flutter all tattered and torn
And crawl broken away from the crowds?

‘Cause if butterflies always must soar, Lord,
Must always show beauty and peace,
Then I guess my cocoon’s still my shroud, Lord,
And waits for your touch of release.

Never doubt you’re a butterfly now, child,
Remember the days you first flew?
How I filled you with love and with laughter and song
And began making everything new.
But remnants still cling to your wings, child,
And will ’til that moment you’ll see
When I lift you from everything earthbound,
Released and made perfect in me.

~ Ruth Wilton

Why Do We Think Eternal Life Is Ours

Why do we think eternal life is ours
When by accident of sex we made our arrival?
The clues have been close at hand since we could read –
All life has life and all life must lead lives
Of determinate lengths after which all life fades.
How better than that of a flower or a worm we believe our lives to be,
And how greater than our most cherished companions
Is our life after the heart stops.
What is it in the human brain that makes us yearn
For more than we have been given,
And more than we could imagine for those lesser beings
That devote their brief lives to us
Without reservations
Without conditions
Without expectations
Without contracts
While we who have such a great need of wealth
Become stingy with our own kin
As if we did not believe in heaven after all.

(poem on the birthday of a dead son)

~ Laura Waterman Wittstock

Time

What is time?
It is moment here and there
That can be wasted anywhere
So it behooves us to take care

What is time?
But sixty minutes in an hour
That holding grudges can turn sour
And steal from us our youthful flower

What is time?
A day, a month, maybe a year
Much too long to live in fear
For all of us while living here

What is time?
For most they say three score and ten
When that is gone tell me, what then?
Yes what, where, and also when?

What is time?
It is eternity, time without end
That somewhere you and I will spend
So work and play, worship and pray
Yourselves rejuvenate each day
It is a gift given us by God
So redeem your time, lest it come to naught

~ Nelson Yantzi

A Painter’s Poetry

A winter forest is a
Dreary place,
With the winds going through
The undressed trees
Giving us these eerie sounds

This soon changes
When spring peeks through the nearly closed door.
The trees are starting to dress up
For the year
It takes away most of the eerie sounds
Of the winds of winter

Best of all is when the door is fully
Opened
The trees dressed
In their best green furs
Hearing the rustle of leaves
And the beautiful songs of the returning
Birds searching the mossy floor of the
Forest for the red berries

Now the door starts
To close once again
As the trees start undressing
Leaving an exquisite color quilt on the earth’s floor
Colors of
Red, yellow, orange with some brown and green
Mixed in

We have now come full circle
The door is closing fast
And all we hear are the eerie sounds
Of the winter wind again.

~ Ellen Zeltserman

Sitting by the harbour’s edge

Sitting by the harbour’s edge,
looking at Infinity –
Hopes, dreams, taking me by the hand,
on a trip towards cosmic understanding.
Looking at the crystals of life –
questions of the wheel –
revolution, births, falling of the veils
– shutter at the sight – Eternity.

The time is now – as we understand,
looking at the smiling waters,
pigeons at my hand.
Boats are toying – like lovers in the sun,
waters lapping at the hulls, since time begun.
The soul fleeing its cage, so mingling with the wind.
I, and the Stars –  are one.

~ HH Zemmrich

When I was a youngster

When I was a youngster, still short of my prime
I played all the sports, pretty good at that time.
I won some, I lost some as everyone does,
but the older I got, the better I was.

In school I was bright, never studied a lot
my folks always thankful for grades that I got.
Somewhat above average my marks I would say
but the older I got, the better were they.

All the girls that I kissed, not brotherly wise,
nay never have captured a beauty first-prize.
Each kiss they returned, how my young heart did stir
and the older I got, the cuter they were.

I had a career; undistinguished I guess,
made some mistakes, I have to confess.
Errors forgotten, let sleeping dogs lie
and the older I got, more better was I.

So if you are worried, your record not great
take heed to my story, it’s never too late –
Forget where you stumbled, who’ll ever know?
Let the good things you did, in your memory grow.

~ Eugene Devereaux