Photo by Dwain Bloyer – Poem by Karen Barrett
Above it all
There are cloudy days
And then. . .
There are days brightened by clouds
Abstract satin vessels
Holding hopes
Glowing lenses – Viewing other worlds
Taking me away
To the windblown beauty
Of the serene sky
I want to walk
On the soft stepping stones in the sky
To float on boundless breezes
Beyond the squabble
Beyond petty grievances
Above it all
Photo and Poem by Malcolm McNeil
Exuberance
Exuberance is a crowd rising, cheering as one: the crack of a game-winning hit.
It is a ripe peach flooding your chin and hands.
A fireworks crescendo, concussing in your chest.
A sunrise flinging colors across the sky.
Or a moose calf charging across a cold mountain lake, head up, ears flying, water churning.
Photo by Pat Skrentny-Lamb – Poem by Karren Barrett
Upside down
Upside down and backwards
Like looking at the world through a cockeyed prism
Our world is not our world
Our country is not our country
Our home is no longer a place of refuge
A place of comfort
No—
It is a place of pain
Of fear
Of disbelief
With no moral core
Our world is upside down
And I am falling off
Photo and Poem by Tim Van Schmidt
Windows
-After Melissa Mitchell’s Windows prompt
There are two windows
On either side of the nose.
Keep them clean, give them air
Let them let in light
And darkness, beauty
And the bestial universe
Precious are those who witness the change
From moment to moment,
Year to year, wind to rain,
Memories to brain.
Photo and Poem by Malcolm McNeil
San Francisco de Asis Church, Rancho de Taos, NM
“Sacred”
sa·cred (adj.)
1. Worthy of awe, respect, and protection.
2. Simple massive shapes buttress themselves into stillness.
3. Sun-lit white crosses burn bright against a threatening sky.
4. The main door closed, protective, yet somehow still welcoming.
5. A structure rising from desert earth, aided by man’s hand.
6. A fragile faith pitted against nature’s immensity.
Photo by Marcia Patton-Mallory
Poem by Kent Brown
Cape Cod: Summer
On the Drowning of a Small Boy
The Land
Along the windswept, sea pointing shore
The grass combats wind, sea and sand.
It fights to taller, greener grow
And unites to build the land.
The Sea
Squall clouds gather over surging seas,
With wind whipped waves turned white
Crashes down upon the land,
And chases seabirds into flight.
The Trade
Never resting, ever changing
The sea licks away at the land.
It steals away a mother’s child
And deposits a grain of sand.
Photo by Dwain Bloyer
Poem by Jenny Martin
Poudre Wilderness
A place of countless greens & shifting cathedral browns
The sound of rushing over rocks & sometimes just a trickle
Evolution at its best
A history of past peoples making it home & foreign bands capturing furs
But now on a lovely summer day it is a place of beauty & peace
Perhaps a glimpse of Paradise
Photo by Marcia Patton-Mallory
Poem by Laura Mahal
so when I walk down the street, i hold hands / with the wind
José Olivarez
holding hands with the wind
step down one two put on shoes three four
reach back press that thing which opens
the door which rolls up five six
thing is, no more sticks
leash hangs all alone
collar rests by trombone
seven eight cannot play
cannot finger cannot blow
no one to hear
lie at my feet
seven eight
or to play
with six sticks
three four
no more
belly rubs
no more
wagging tail
no more
one two
me and you
me and you
nine ten
say it again
three four
open the door
open the door
open the door
Photo by Marcia Patton-Mallory
Poem by Mark J. Rosoff
Waiting for a word
Waiting for a word
not just any word
although any word might be the one
Sometimes the right word is hard to find
the wrong word can pop out at any time
Changing meaning
causing concern and hurt
Where no such thing was said
but was heard
Once heard it can’t be silent
it’s loud replaying in our brain
repeats itself until it becomes real
Once real it becomes unchanging
So I am still waiting for a word
that will be the right word
expressing the right thought
But words are heard and understood
by those that hear them
and believe them to be real
and nothing can change them
So I’m waiting for a word
that once said will be what I meant
and understanding will follow
Photo by Malcolm McNeil
Poem by Bryan Roth
THE BEARS
That summer the bears came
down out of the Chugach
Mountains, turning away
from the glacier-fed,
salmon-filled streams, down
from the silent foothills, out
of their forest lairs, down,
down, stumbling, finally,
into our town like gold
nuggets tumbling through
a sluice box, until like any other
refugees, there was nowhere else
left for them to go.
Photo by Dwain Bloyer
Poem by Sharon Swett
The Modern Death
June 29th -30th, 2011
The sanitation gel, clean facility,
kind words of staff, internet
furnished day room do not mask
the disaster of the modern death.
Heart beating with the pace
maker, lungs pumped with 5 liters
of pushed oxygen, liquids flushed
through the veins with hanging I.V.’s
plus, catheter and the death
watching vultures with their
saccharin sweat smiles and
praying prying stares as you try not
to weep.
“now I lay me down to sleep, I
pray my soul the lord to keep”
The dignity dispersed no
insurance can reimburse
The suffering prolonged by the
righteous compassion of corporate
religio-medicine.
Photo by Malcolm McNeil
Poem by Rick Rizzotto
Through the Window
Looking through the open window
The night sky looks deep and cool.
While Moonlight bathes the ground
The bare tree limbs wave hello
Photo by Dwain Bloyer
Poem by Sally Gumerman
For Poets Only
Someday I’ll assemble a book
for poets only,
filled with poems about …
well, yes, poetry,
begun the day my stopper burst
and poetry came spewing out
like champagne from a bottle
inadvertently shaken,
making a mess of my day’s schedule,
demanding immediate attention,
drowning all other intentions,
and oh, how I loved it,
couldn’t stop it,
didn’t want to.
Photo by Tim Van Schmidt
Poem by Don Metzgar
Lizette the Leaf Hopper
Who visits my screen door?
A leaf hopper in all her greeeen glory.
Soon leaves lay beneath the snow.
How will she hide?
Where will she go?
Is her purpose done? Can she find a new one?
Should I let her in? Give her a chance?
Best not toy with Nature’s balance.
Photo and Poem by Dwain Bloyer
Words on Paper
Words on paper,
the squiggles from my pen flow Into cursive on a sea of white paper. They would flow forever were it not for the punctuations that set their limits. —Squiggles flow like the path of a worm in a sea of white sand.
Words on paper give my heart and mind voice. Voice that allows me to touch my great great great grandchildren and all others that might want to hear, see, or feel, inside my soul.
Sometimes my heart flows into this sea of white, little squiggles revealing my hopes, my desires, my pain, my fears, my sorrows, my regrets, my love.
Some words I wish would explode, ripe holes in the paper, burn it into oblivion, self annihilate rather than reveal what they intend.
Words
I love when words flow into question marks —
What if—–What if there were no what-ifs in our sea of white squiggles?
Sad would the world be?
What if every morning started with a what if? Ah ha, bless me, I think they do.