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March 2021
by Kaya Kotzen, EVP Poet
Where Did You Go?
My blue plastic Adirondack chair represented happiness
in front of my home, sitting on the edge of the driveway.
Yesterday, it disappeared.
Stolen? or did someone think it was put out there
to be given away, for free or for the trash?
No matter, the end result was the same.
The big stone on the seat to hold it
there in case winds came was now on the ground.
The chair was behind my mobile home until this fall,
when I moved it out as I proceeded to unload things
that I did not need.
I sat in it in the driveway a few times, in the sun
when the rest of my home and porch were shaded
and sitting there brought me some moments of
joy and seeing it, I knew I was home, when I pulled my car in.
But I guess someone else needed it too, maybe
more than I did, but had they asked,
I would have given it to them, instead of being left
feeling that a small piece of me in that chair
had been ripped away and taken from me.
Buddhists would say this is about attachment and
learning to let go.
Maybe so.
But I just know that I can still see that blue chair of happiness
beside my driveway, in front of my home.
Even though it is now gone, it has left its mark.
A nice memory and some peaceful moments there
much like life, all too short lived.
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January 2021
by Sergio Mosqueda, EVP Poet
VERSES HAVE THEIR WAY
For
Kathy Holland
With poetry I Pray with poetry I rejoice.
With
poetry I declare my cause
With poetry I rest my case.
With poetry I’ve gotten to realize God
With
poetry I’ve gotten
To shake hands with the Devil.
Because of poetry I have been loved
And
slighted and shunned.
With poetry I have filled-in the blanks.
With Poetry I‘ve covered my tracks
In
poetry I’ve buried my secrets
with poetry I’ve told the Truth.
With poetry I am getting closer
to
know who I am
Unhesitant, I’ll roll the dice of poetry
Over and over. Pocket the purse
lick my self-inflicted wounds.
Celebrate.
Unwritten poetry,
my ashes scattered, surrendering
to the wind.
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May-June 2020
by Rhonda Brown, EVP Poet
FRIENDSHIP
Finding another whose mind
Resonates with yours
Is a less than frequent occurrence
Energizing when it happens
Nourishing the spirit
Drawing out the best in us
Sustaining the heart
Hoping for good things for one another
Inspiring
Persistence and patient perseverance.
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February-March 2020
by Bill Brown, EVP Poet
Innocent Play
“Look what we dug up, Sergeant Brown!”
Young ones drop their find onto the MP Station counter
Innocent eyes see a toy or a treasure under rust and dirt
Experienced ones detect outline of fins of a mortar round
Useless metal lump or volatile ordinance
That is the question
Best left to experts
While we wait at a distance outside
Our disposal guy determines its
"one of the leftovers”
More waiting while a retired
Wehrmacht officer is found
For him the war is still not over
Death lurks as he gently prods the shell
Time and weather have completely disabled it
Off to our range for safe disposal by controlled explosion
Bill Brown, February 10, 2020
Author’s note:
Large tracts of farmland in Southeast Asia and Africa are unusable due to left-over land mines and other ordinance. Each year many draft animals, agricultural workers, and even children are maimed and killed decades after the conflicts have ended. Several volunteer groups courageously work to undo this sowing of death and destruction.
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June-July 2019
by William Guthrie, EVP Poet
On The Mogollon Rim
mogollon rim
through the pines at twilight
sweet peace
infinity and the sun
within my reach
whispering pines
high above the granite rim
speak to the stars
incidentally I listen in
as nature converses
from a granite ledge
I watch tomorrow born
of yesterday's dream
knowing only this peaceful place
where nothingness lives
distant purple
mazatzal mountains shimmer
in twilight
a waving sea of loden
separates us
mares tails
sweep clean a paling azure
making room for stars
to whisper a sweet lullabye
to weary sojourners
William Guthrie, June 14, 2019
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November 2018
by Sergio Mosqueda, EVP Poet
The Paths of Faith
I am God’s son
I am God incarnate
God turned man.
God left his throne
Millions of years ago
To live inside of me,
Inside of she, and you,
Inside the sphinx, and my pet.
God’s in the trees
Outside our homes
Our caves, our holes.
God lives in our walls.
I need not go to heaven
God lodges in our hearts
We are divine.
If I kick God
Outside of me
He would not punish me.
I’d be punishing me
I’d be debasing me
I’d be corrupting me.
I’d live in misery.
Are you, for God’s sake,
Listening to me?
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August-September 2018
by Rhonda Brown, EVP Poet
August
August is not august in her presence―
She’s a blowzy girl
With sunburned skin
And flyaway hair
No dignity
She dances her way through her days
Unmindful that November
Will bring matronly manners
For now
She lifts her arms
In youth and joy
Simply August.
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May 2018
by Howard Gershkowitz, EVP Poet
The Magician in the Window
The view from the 61st floor
is crystal and ice, Jack on the rocks.
The floors below are faded jeans
and forgotten trespasses;
closets filled with dusty collections
of yesterday’s indiscretions.
Up here, the panorama’s unstained
by youthful experiments with love and conflict,
nor darkened by shadowy stairways and weathered doors.
The end never clarifies the means
and castles built on shifting sands
seem little more than irony turned humorous.
In the tower glass, a reflection stares back,
dressed in medieval robes holding an ivory scepter.
My own, personal Merlin recounts my foibles
as they flash past me in ghostly smoke-filled dances
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January 2018
by Helen Spencer Schlie, EVP Poet
{August 24, 1923 - December 25, 2017}
Bread
Earth brown furrows . . . warmed by the sun
Lie waiting . . . waiting . . .
Womb for the seed . . . nurtured in darkness
Sensing need to reach for light . . . for Life
With strength to thrust aside the clod
To force the spear through matted roots of sod
Then green . . . its vibrant green that sways
Caressed by wind and rain
To reach fulfillment in the harvest of the grain.
Be gentle when you touch bread
Let it not be taken for granted
Let it not lie there, uncared for . . . unwanted
There is so much love in bread
So much of patient toil, so much of sacred soil
So much of love in hands that knead and
Form the loaves . . . to fill the air with warmth of baking
This fragrance, old as history of man
This fragrance known to Deity . . .
Familiar with its touch . . . its taste
Christ often blessed it
Be gentle . . . when you touch bread.
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September-October 2017
by David Nicoll, EVP Poet
The Road Taken
They say it may make all the difference
If you venture where few have explored
And the path with the least resistance
Is often the one that’s preferred.
And it’s one of life’s little conundrums
That we never could seem to recall
Should we be on the High- or the Free- Way
Or should we take this road at all?
But now it no longer matters
As we look back from many years hence
There were three hungry kids in the back seat
And that has made all the difference.
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July-August 2017
by Rhonda Brown, EVP Poet
Urban Morning
Clock and radio mesh
At the determined time
Signals are snagged
From the airways
Familiar voices without faces
Drift into sleepers’ consciousness
With the news of local crises
And the state of traffic
Between home and work
Obstacles to be avoided
Hazards detoured around
Breakfast
Eggs or protein bars
Coffee from home
Or from a drive-through
Tensions of city traffic
Freeway delays
Snarled streets
Drivers too slow or too fast
Morning
Fresh beginning
Or a maze to be caught in?
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May-June 2017
by Howard Gershkowitz, EVP Poet
A Slow Walk
There’s a blue sky above the
smog of discontent,
an endless boardwalk beyond the
clutch of stale emotions,
a stretch of sand so soft
it absorbs the residue of disenchanted dreams.
Rivulets of rain wash stale
memories down the beach
as the weight of loneliness
dissolves in tears.
The debris of disappointment evaporates
in the hush of a new day.
Eyes wide; awake; alert;
the gulls sweep lazily along
the shore
to the smell of salt and sunrise
as hand in hand, we walk barefoot
leaving footprints in the
sand.
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February-March 2017
by Bill Brown, EVP Poet
Band of Brothers
Greater love as no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
John 15: 13
Gentles and commoners stand shoulder to shoulder on the field of Agincourt
Harry’s Band of Brothers facing the arrayed power of the French
Lance and longbow ready to repel ant assault.
The armored knighthood of France charge forward on their steeds
Meeting a sky-filled cloud of yew-wood shafts
Yard-long arrows decimate the flower of French nobility
Victory belongs to the yeomen archers.
English, Dutch, Mexican, Pima
All are just Marines crawling up the Suribachi slopes
Volcanic caves stew out sulfurous steam and Nambu rounds
No place to hide, black sand no good for digging in
Each life depends on the others of the Few and he Proud.
Half-dozen survive to the top
Flag is fastened to a pole and raised on a rock pile
Creating the iconic photo of the war
Only three survive to receive honor and fame.
American troops stand ready to protect the Germans
from the godless commie hoards
MP's ready to protect them from the
barbarian American hoards
Good ol’ southerner, lover of drinking and wenching;
Giant Black man from Oakland, frequenter of gay bath houses;
College boy, concert and museum goer;
Together form of one these teams.
Bermuda love triangle of Black lover and Aryan wife has broken up
Cuckolded spouse stealing a tracked 105MM solution
To blow up their rendezvous in the village.
Plan A is to arrest without harm,
But the armored monster doesn’t stop
Plan B is all that is left
Time for help from the L.A.W.* team
Quick gesture starts my own people toward safety
Launch tube flares in the darkness
Shaped charge blasts molten copper through plated side
Blowback slams me to the mud.
Countdown to oblivion has started
Only a few seconds to the Big Bang
But my boys are back (size does matter)
Dragging me out of the blast zone.
Sun-bright conflagration consumes machine and perp
But all my parts still seem to be there
Gender preference and life-style don’t seem that important now
No man left behind
Is all that matters.
*L.A.W. — Light Anti-tank Weapon — From the 1960’s, a tube-launched rocket with a shaped charge fired from the shoulder.
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November-December 2016
by Eva Willis, EVP Poet
Wildflower Hillside
profusion of orange, red and purple wildflowers
delight as I walk through them
leaning over to take in their heavenly scent
ranges of mountains, the highest snow-capped,
make me feel expansive and,
at the same time, small
a blanket of grayish-blue sky
salted with cottony clouds,
drifting and causing dancing shadows
the richness and pervasiveness of green
grass, ponderosa pine and fir
soothing to the eye and the soul
Let the field be joyful (psalm 96:12)
Let the hills be joyful together (psalm 98:8)
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October 2016
by Bill Guthrie, EVP Poet
How Can I Keep From Singing
My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth's lamentation,
I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn
That hails a new creation;
Thro' all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul —
How can I keep from singing?
Robert Wadsworth Lowry, August 7, 1868
(only first stanza presented, full poem on page 2)
Lord of my soul
Your sun too has melody
how can I not sing
Your sparrow's song
illuminates my day
how can I not sing
Your starry heavens
whispers sweet hymns to me
how can I not sing
Your Rock is life
to It I shall always cling
how can I not sing
Your sweet spirit lives
for I'm a new creation
how can I not sing
(page 2, the original by Robert Wadsworth Lowry)
My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth's lamentation,
I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn
That hails a new creation;
Thro' all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing?
What tho' my joys and comforts die?
The Lord my Saviour liveth;
What tho' the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he give
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that refuge clinging;
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,
How can I keep from singing?
I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin;
I see the blue above it;
And day by day this pathway smoothes,
Since first I learned to love it,
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing;
All things are mine since I am his—
How can I keep from singing?
"This poetic sequence is my homage to that beautiful old song."
William Guthrie
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September 2016
by Bill Brown, EVP Poet
Ex Nihilo
Before the Beginning was Nothing
No height for soaring raptors
No depth for cavorting dolphins
No width for galloping antelope
No atomic fire to light the stars
No matter to form the planets
No time to mark our days
There is only the eternal Three-in-One
Alpha and Omega
Then the Word spoke
And there was light
Singularity births space itself
Bursting with incalculable matter and energy
Cosmic clock starts he ticking of time
Interstellar dust clouds coalescing into stars and planets
Out of billions, one is just right
Just right air for flyers
Just right water for swimmers
Just right earth for creepers and runners
Just right days and seasons for all creatures
Just right garden for the Man an Woman
Made in the image of the Three-in One
"Be fruitful and multiply"
"Fill the Earth and rule over it"
And it was very good.
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JULY - August 2016
by Stephanie Frances, EVP Poet
A Dream
I woke from a dream,
Felt it was heaven I’d seen,
Why, “It was Yellowstone,” I screamed!
SO beautiful it was. Pure as cream.
Wow! It was Yellowstone.
I was only a kid,
Even then, it stirred by bones.
We climbed, or tried to, up to Mt. Gallatin
Yes,
we did.
Oh, let me get back into my dream.
Hundreds and hundreds of Trout,
Swimming down stream.
This
is heaven, I have no doubt,
That
the stream came from a majestic fall.
I saw
trees, Aspen, Whitebark, Laderpole
Birds and squirrels gave their call,
Rabbits
coming out from their holes.
I swam in a river of clear, clear water.
I saw
bear that didn’t care if they saw me,
All
around me they loitered.
They had better food in all the trees.
I saw beauty as I climbed up Gallatin Mountain.
Yes, in my dream I really did.
From out of the earth spurted a fountain.
Silver, backed buttes,
A family of ducks,
This dream, this dream,
“Don’t
leave me,” I scream!
But a dream can only last just so long.
And here I am in this forsaken desert
My dream – my dream,
It faded away like an old song.
JUNE 2016
by David Nicoll, EVP Poet
In recognition of Mothers and Daughters on
Mother’s Day 2016.
IN PRAISE OF PERFECT DAUGHTERS
If I were to choose how a daughter should be
Then you are the model that comes to my mind.
A mother, a sister, the eldest of three,
Considerate, caring, and one of a kind.
And as the time passes and seasons unwind
You nurture your children unwaveringly,
Ensuring life's lessons get passed up the line
From the roots to the shoots of the family tree.
You have, as you pause at this half-century
A character strong and of substance refined.
You are loving and thoughtful, a blessing to me.
And I feel very humble to know you are mine.
Come what may, if you say blood is thicker than wine,
Then the vintage we share is as rare as can be,
With no shadow of doubt we are from the same vine
For the fruit never falls very far from the tree.