joyful!

The Spider

by

Candice Geary

Gentle spider
elicits awareness
of the reality
we have woven
into this web
of life.


Interconnecting
past, present and future,
every silken strand
the geometry
of creation,
as we weave
our destiny.

BECOMING A POEM

by

Charlotte Ann Zuzak

It has been so long since I have written,
since inspiration has touched me,
but I have been moved by the rough beauty
of Eire, in spite of the cold and rain.
I returned to the land which moved me
in a way I cannot describe on paper.  I can
only stand and observe the raw allure.
of green hills imbedded with craggy stone.

The music and stories which entertain
at the end of a day of hard labor,
a sharing of talent handed down by the bards
in the pubs where the whistle, the bodrhán, the
bagpipes and fiddles combine to create
a setting of the past as the dancing begins.

I surrender to feelings of pain and joy,
of the  present emerging from
anger, war and death.
I retreat to my beginnings, the land that formed me,
becoming part of a poem.

Three From Cherryl E. Garner

Lullaby

When my heart beat engulfs
and wakes me, so I can't breathe
up from the insistent Buford
Street dream, I zen out
to a roman garden on the
lip of a flat green sea.

I think, Jesus lay an agate stone
in the still blue pool.
The columns calm me.
Some arrested garden
raped or strewn on limestone
- even broken - says this real

stuff is not real.
It's too new. Only eras,
tons of years filter the few truths.
It's the air around you,
other planes and branes, ether,
atmosphere, orbits and trajectory,

meteor-sheared deep cosmos,
black moving stars, like what he saw.
Every other hitch and block
of faith is a hard way, but
I rock, like a child in a chair
to this other time.

Sanctified

I used to wait for just this kind of wind,
the one that blows the left leaves off,
their bracing branches, gray and
stuck close to their moaning trunks.

I’d fling my arms like I had wings
along the limestone, perched like
hawks designed to fly.  I could
correct that science just to pierce

the atmosphere beside them, eye-to-eye.
It’s cut from icy floes, from the arctic
blue/white sheets, at once a recitifier, sanctifier
better than reluctant river uncommitted

to its running, muddy way to go.
It razes every pore.  It dimples every spot of skin.
It slices me until I breathe in knives,
until I’m dried to one young husk.

A Prayer for Even Slim Faith, Faint Hope

With the faith in nothing are there even any ravaged
angels flanking your steel guard left, your clawed
arm right?  You know that when you jump from lofty
places, you are just a flapping, wingless bird.

Even our blue earth, bejeweled by rock pocks,
space-placed, seems from one perspective hung
from rocket windows in the big black done right,
all night, like all dark could roll around it.

Still, it’s really bigdipped.  It’s more roll
than pull.  There is no one without the other.
No pure zero without one.  No prayer without
the harness of faint hope, minus without plus.

Three From Don Ford

Like a Trusted Friend



For those times I felt forgotten
All alone, I stood my ground
I must admit I was afraid
Then suddenly your footsteps
Heard them walking all about

Heart of mine, it leapt so high
Overjoyed, you came at last
Promises you made to me
Envelop like a cloud of light

Linger long I pray of thee
Over stay your visitation
Volumes of my joy ascending
Eternal arms to me outstretched 


 This is an Acrostic poem that doesn't have to rhyme, but each letter to begin each line must combine to spell out a word or phrase. In this case Faith, Hope, and Love - the greatest of these being love.


Found Christmas



Twas the night before Christmas
And in our back yard
Sat a little blue wagon
Why would someone discard?

The wheels were well buried
In Winter’s fresh snowfall
Two kittens were sitting
And having a ball

And me in my scarf
And dad in his wool hat
We rescued those kittens
We brought them right back

Warmed by our fireplace
While drying their fur
The strangest of sounds
At out front door was heard

A jolly big man
Looking very well fed
“I see you found Christmas”
Was all that he said


Author Notes
Christmas is a year 'round adventure for some. The tree and lights stay up in many homes, thus signifying that the people who live there have the Christmas Spirit in their hearts every day of the year.

Wooden Boy (Part II) Escape


I want to be that wooden boy
I wish to have that life of ease
With strings to lift and pull me up
With no responsibilities

Some days I'm down - too tired to play
But as a toy and wooden boy
I'd just have fun and play all day
Games and puzzles I'd employ

Go ahead and string me up
It won't be a surprise to me
I'm looking forward to it
Somehow it is my destiny

The wooden boy - his great desire
To be a real child
But my desire above all else
To not be human for a while

I'm tired of all the pain and sadness
That life keeps handing to me
I'm ready to feel none of it
A wooden toy I want to be

So put me there upon the shelf
With other toys beside me
a place I can escape to
In the land I call carefree

I feel all funny down inside
The transformation's taking place
I don't regret the choice I made
No longer in the human race


Author Notes
My Wooden Boy Part II poem expresses some of the meaning I found in leaving my present station in life for a better world. Oh to be carefree of life - though life still brutally surrounds us. We need to vent at times and to dream as often. Yes, even the rain and the storms of life hold great meaning and pull at our hearts from different directions. I don't live in a bubble, but let your imagination put you in one once in a while. It's good for me. I can be a dead serious writer at times, and it may sound as though I am on the brink of death (for real). Or I can pitch my tent next to one full of kids and get to giggling right along with them. That's why I write some very silly stuff too. Our words live inside of us and once and a while we have to get them out and take them for a walk.

Two From E. B. Dreier

PRODUCE


The produce aisle
Looks like a beautiful rainbow.
Being there lets you know
God’s way is right.

The colors, the scents, the textures…
All obligate you somehow, to the truth
That yes, Mom was right too.

“Eat your vegetables.
Fruits are your friends.”
She told you how many times?
In one of those far off places of your brain,
You can still hear her say it.

Captured in a gelatin capsule –
“All the ‘Good for you’.
Trust us!  Take it every day.  We know!”

God and Mom.
Why does that sprinkler
Always wait for my sleeve?
Turn the corner – soup!



THE OCEAN
 

The ocean breezes
Blow my hair across my face
They leave me breathless.

My feet in the sand
Makes me feel free and alive.
The sand, is soothing.

The sky above me,
Is filled with beauty and peace.
The birds are winging.

I am happy here.
I feel joyful in this place.
I see God’s hand move.

Master Physician!
Bring healing to my body,
Through ocean breezes.

Three From Hannah Ritchie

The Memory Catcher

I’ve stored
our shared memories,
caught them
with a net,
trapped them
in a jar.


Filled it
with laughter
and
good times,
since you
can’t recall
them any more.


I release
our memories
one-by-one,
watch them flutter
to you
and pray
they’ll rekindle
our old, sweet days,
hope forgotten joys
will trickle back.


I see
your eyes flash
sparks of
recollection,
but only for a second,
before confusion’s return
and desperation
to find what’s lost
proves
your mind’s still
sadly bare.



The Art of Pretending

a wintry night
your
cigarette
a candle
in the
velvet dark


I almost mistook
the smoke
for your breath
imagined
the pain in your chest
was from the
frozen air


and as you
crumpled to
the ground
I wanted to believe
it was to feel
the snow
the numbing
of my heart
nothing more than
the cold



Race Against Time

My sister and I
would race,
bare feet
leaving tracks
in the sand.


She was
faster,
so a victory
was rare
for me.


Winner in life,
she also beat me
to the grave…
dying far too young,
leaving me to chase
her shadows.


I trace her footprints
in the sand,
not the only trail
she left behind,
for the impressions
she left upon me
leave me wondering
whether
I’ve won,
or lost.