She moves, with grace,
among the stars.
And gallops down
With tossing head
and streaming mane
On hooves and legs
all strong and sure.
By Rich Richey
I think that I should like to lay
On a lily pad and dream all day.
Gently float, mind miles away,
Peaceful, quiet, here to stay.
But wait! What’s that I see?
A huge big eye staring down at me.
Below that eye, a monstrous tongue
Zap! Splat! Oh no….
By Melinda Louise
The sparrows have nested in the front patio.
They dwell in the shrub that spills over the wall.
I watch from the kitchen window,
amused by their antics.
They’re not early birds.
Their day starts around 8:00.
A rusty colored male ascends from the tangled thicket.
He scans, rotating his small body
checking for adversaries, danger.
and calls the all clear.
The females flit up.
Simple gray, small balls of feathers,
the cute cupfuls chatter and fuss
like ladies hanging out laundry.
More join, puff up,
I need to prune that bush.
Dead branches distract me,
but the sparrows live there.
Today I’ll wait and watch
By Mary DeSmidt
You say it's only Wednesday!
Oh No! That can't be true
This week has been 10 days long
and it's only half way through!
By Eddie Sampson
Staring through his lonely eyes,
everything he says is all lies.
The wall he puts up will have to fall;
he will have to answer to his call.
This game we play needs to be stopped,
before all of my tears have been dropped.
He looks past me like I'm not there.
I hope he knows that I do care.
My heart lets out a silent weep,
because he's no longer mine to keep.
He will always have my heart,
but now our paths have come to part.
Will we ever have what we had before
or will he continue to choose to ignore?
These questions I'm unable to answer,
they pollute my mind like a cancer.
Does he care as much as I,
or was it all another lie?
Am I holding on to false hope?
I don't think I can learn to cope.
Will I ever be rid of this pain,
or will it shower my soul like rain?
The answers are what the future holds.
How long must I wait until they unfold?
By Serena Rodabaugh
The way of the warrior,
a coming storm resisting and torn.
With cold days approaching,
a maelstrom of emotions well worn.
With youthful expectations on the brink,
a fight for glory with determined face.
Soon the clashing of warriors will begin,
Voices and a victor’s song hard to erase.
As warriors grow strong and hardened,
excitement speeds up the pace.
Lured by hormones and bluster,
they engage in sport, bloodletting,
not much grace.
But, even as bitter the dreadful fight,
or agony of defeat on the field,
nothing compensates the warrior,
like injures concealed and unrevealed.
Flashbacks in snatches, a full array,
of youthful vigor and hostility,
angry movements from a remote ballet,
resulting in complex images of takeaway.
And as the beginning becomes it all
while muted songs paint a distant heart,
and bugles sound their clarion call,
deep down every warrior wonders,
is this way of living really smart.
By Jim Hassell
Days Nearly Over
He was old, said he was dying with cancer
I had inquired, and that was his answer
Thought it might have been a snake bite
Was pretty swollen up, didn’t look right
Never asked his age, never ventured a guess
He seemed pretty calm, when his life a mess
He ambled along with his friend, his best pal
I brushed on passed, along the dry canal
I didn’t look back, wasn’t sure if I should
A short time later, I turned and I stood
Almost out of sight, between houses he slipped
I stared into space, “cancer,” he had quipped
About two weeks more, the time he was given
Squeeze in a few more walks, and call it livin’
Never complained, not much was even spoken
His English at best, was probably broken
He wagged his tail, had given me a lick or two
I didn’t forbid — what else would I do
His dog days nearly over, no need to plan
This old yellow dog and his very old man
By Kirt Spencer
There is a Valley in Arizona covered with Green
When the poppies bloom and the cacti flower
One thinks there in a dream.
The mountains frame a picture that only God can paint.
The sunrises and sunsets are worth early up or stay up late
Yes, Green Valley is heaven on earth, something to behold
If a winter visitor or full time resident, the Green turns to Gold
By Bob Cripe
LIFE ON EARTH
Ben Franklin observed,
"In this world nothing can be
said to be certain,
except death and taxes."
We now add "Global Warming."
T. S. Eliot
was possibly prescient
on ending his poem:
"This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."
Slowing climate change
matters more than anything.
It's not dramatic
to insist it's a matter
of life or death for us all.
is a potent narcotic
against the hard facts
of quantitative study
by the science community
with unselfish earnestness
can take all the steps
to quit using fossil fuels
for the sake of grandchildren.
Important as well
is worldwide waste reduction
and green policies
to ensure water supplies
and air we can all enjoy.
Standards of living
must be lowered, requiring
But that will still be better
than utter self destruction.
we can add back luxuries
with solar power.
And life on Earth can become
better than ever before.
And Eliot's warning
may be postponed forever,
though it's quite likely
Franklin's dire resignation
will continue to be true.
By Richard Ramette