Heartstrings -- a poem by Paulette Grant

March 3/2013

She lays her head on pillow
Watching the moon on high
As clouds drift past the window by her bed.
Her heavy lids are calling her
Back into timeless dreams
Of faraway loves or yearnings
for things that could have been.

... Pulling at her heartstrings
Goodbyes so long ago
They sometimes come in waking times
from where she does not know.
Tossing she turns in struggles
To free herself from these
Disturbing aching heartaches
Of promises unseen.
These declarations echo
upon her sleeping ears and lay themselves
Beneath her thoughts
when morning times appear.
A woman feels so deeply
Love’s sunshine in her heart
And cries and cries forever it seems
When someone breaks her heart.

A Cold Call - a poem by Audrey Austin

The following poem is the one I wrote for the Creative Connections 3 Exhibition.  I was inspired by my daughter, Susan Ruby K.'s, phollage titled

A COLD CALL

 

It's been a while, perhaps too long

She won't accept it, will she?

I've got the coins, could make the call,

Could make amends, will I?

I'm feeling lost without the child,

Could make things right, will we?

 

I stand alone, can't reach the phone,

Can't reach her heart, not me.

She said good-bye, it's all my fault,

Will she forgive? Not she.

 

Who suffers most for our mistakes?

The child, the boy, my baby.

 

It's been a while

I said aloud,

Or could have said,

Or would have said,

Or should have said,

But didn't.

 

I stand alone, I feel alone, I am alone,

The fault's my own.

 

Dialed the number, felt the blow.

 

A cold call.

 

Now that I have a photo of Susan Ruby K's phollage which inspired these words,

I will share it with you here on this page.

I hope the photo can be appreciated.  I'm not the best photographer and the gleam

of light doesn't help matters but it is a beautiful presentation

by Susan Ruby K. of Yuneekpix.com

 

 

 

 



                                                       

Stepmonster - a poem by Noah Preston

Stepmonster 

Every night I’d cry myself to sleep.

Every day I’d wake up scared.

‘Cause there was a monster lurking about.

And every time I did something wrong,

It began to shout.

It would threaten me - threaten to send me to jail,

Just ‘cause I didn’t put on my sandals.

Well damn, she don’t care!

Well damn, she don’t care! 

Every weekend day,

I was forced into its lair.

She would pretend to love me.

Well it’s plain to see

That damn, she don’t care.

She was meaner than a bear! 

Every night I would cry,

“Mommy, why

Have you left me here?

There’s a monster in the hall,

Banging on my door,

Wanting to feast on my fear!”

 

For gods’ sakes

I was eight years old!

Mom treated me like gold,

But it treated me like mold.

It would laugh when I got cut,

That mean old smut. 

And it’s clear to me,

And it’s plain to see

That damn, she don’t care.

It was inhumane

The amount of pain

That she caused me.

And in my dreams my mom gleams

Like a golden saint.

But then my dream turns -

The monster is there and it burns.

Her laughter haunts me,

Her eyes taunt me,

They burn red, I feel like I’m dead,

My heart is full of dread. 

For I’ll never forget.

You wanna bet?

Your heart is a black hole,

Your eyes are made of hot coal

You little troll ... you’d put poison

In my cereal bowl! 

And when it comes

To my mom, well ...

Damn, does she care!

 

By Noah Preston

Endless - a poem by Rima N. Jaber

Endless

Your smile, positive waves caressing,
The light of your eyes shining,
A prayer of love rising to the sky,

... And your love in my heart,
Rising my soul,
Touching my deepest layer,
Transforming my spirit,

Rain of happiness,
Suns of love lights,
Showering my being,
Pushing me deep inside,
Inside this marvelous love world,

You took my hand,
Took my soul,
And took me to your heavenly world,

I close my eyes,
Lost myself,
Find myself in your heart,

Each time I see you,
You succeed to bring the divinity to love,
Melting holiness to our happiness,
Don’t know if we’re becoming love Goddess,

Above this existence,
A constant without difference,
Our love I know has began with the beginning,
And will last forever, out of time, endless, my darling..

I love you eternally honey
Happy Weekend everyone
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
{{ONELOVE}}
Rima N. Jaber
© February 23, 2013

The Snow Storm - a poem by Eva Ruby Austin

The Snow Storm

 

It started to fall at the close of the day

And it never stopped at all

Until it covered all the land

And the cars could barely crawl.

 

"It's the worst snow storm in twenty years,"

Said a voice on the radio,

And "unless it's really important

That you must go out - don't go."

 

My daughter, with her colleagues,

Had left early in the day

To put on a play in Woodstock,

And it started while they were away.

 

So, of course, on the homeward journey

The traffic crawled along,

Delaying their arrival,

To four o'clock in the morn.

 

On Sunday morn, the snow piled high,

Hampered the morning devotion,

As down the street all one could see

Was spade and shovel in motion.

 

The cars were covered with nice clean snow

To the drivers' indignation;

While on the street, and working hard

Were shovellers in rotation.

 

With tired backs and frowning brow

They finished the needy chores -

With comments coming from everyone,

"I hope we don't get anymore."

Beyond Time ... a poem by Audrey Austin

BEYOND TIME

 

by Audrey Austin

 

previously published in Empowerment Magazine

 

 

In motionless silence

The mad woman travels to places that do not exist

Impatient, she sleeps

By the still water pool, awaiting the touch

Of the wise, loving fool.

 

And suddenly, now,

He is holding her close.

Aware,

She's no longer herself.

 

The wise fool's at peace

In this strange, private land.  The mad woman

Places her life

In his hand

 

Why are you? she whispers

With eyes that are open

Be with it

He silently pleads.

 

I carry the key

It will unlock all fear

We've travelled far

To possess what is near.

 

He unlocks her soul

Which unites with his own and drowns

In an ocean of lust.

 

She cries when she wakens

Dear God, set me free.

Let me have here on earth

What is destined to be.

 

Walk in peace, God commands

Wear a clever disguise, respect your sister and brother

What in timelessness thrives

Cannot happen on earth.  The wise fool belongs

To another.

 

In motionless silence,

The mad woman travels to places

That cannot be found.

 

The wise fool enquires

Of the tall tree of knowledge, will we meet

The next time around?

 

And God in His Heaven enjoys the cruel joke,

How wondrous his power; how heavy the yoke,

Rebellious and willful, yet true to God's rule,

The mad woman travels to meet the wise fool.

To Be a Daniel by Audrey Austin

To Be a Daniel

 

 

I sing the song in Sunday School

Dare to be a Daniel

But truth or dare gets in the way

Of being who I am.

 

It matters that I get along

Popularity is key

I learn to follow and partake

I forget what I believe.

 

I say I'll do it all my way

I say to none but me

And then when told here's what we'll do

I wander from my path.

 

Now that I'm older sitting on fence

I'm neither here nor there

Daniel hides - will he be found

When this old soul lays bare?

Alfred 11 -- a poem by Murray Alfredson

Alfred II

No way I’d call it tragedy,
his death; for full-ripe were his years
at ninety two, and rich his life,
a humble man and no high-flyer
yet learned in his way and wise
knower of plants and animals,
a gardener, a sanctuary.
A one-eyed magpie found refuge
in his garden safe from owls within
the barricade of fig-tree branches
and amply fed by worm-rich soil.

He was no knowledge-hoarder; ever
a teacher he shared with all who asked
or showed an interest; never a pusher,
folk soon enough discovered him.

And every time I need to know
a plant or how to raise one, I feel
the gap my father stepped from
so quietly in the early hours
when none of us expected, leaving
a hole that never quite has closed.
Yet often in my quieter moods
his face appears, his lifting eyebrows.
I’ve no idea how many lives
he touched, but hundreds packed his church,
sang lustily his funeral hymns.
-- published in Touch: the journal of healing. 3 (Jan 2010)

What If ... a poem by Audrey Austin

What If

A what if feeling arrived late last night

I took it to bed in the dark out of sight

 But not out of mind

 though I'd like it to be

Can't quite understand

what has happened to me

 

It was still there this morning

I wish it would leave

It arrived uninvited insisting believe

Couldn't focus on work

so my feet hit the trail

Each step stamped this feeling

but to no avail

 

What triggered this feeling?

What word, what cruel twist

Has weasled its way into what doesn't exist?

The question what if

has stolen my morning

And coloured my feelings

as though they were mourning

the loss of something

that hasn't transpired

Except in my mind

 

 

This poem by me was previously published in "Moments in Time" , Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume 13, 2008.  Canadian Authors Association - Temiskaming Branch and White Mountain Publications.

               

Two poems by Poet, Murray Alfredson

Young bones

Those were still the days when gas was made from coal
leaving a residue of coke, pure and porous
carbon that burnt ashless. The gas was deadly, though,
not merely thinned with air to blow out walls when touched
by careless spark or flame, but toxic through the lungs
and blood to brain.

                                     I do not know just why Anne took
the coal-gas route; history honours, archivist,
but years long punctuated with psychotic bouts
chlorpromazine, that mind-divorcing drug, did not
quite hold at bay. Did her heavy future stretch
too far its terrors? This much I know, that schizophrenics
rarely make old bones.

-- Mindfields: edited by Jude Aquilina & Ken Vincent. Port Adelaide, S. Aust. : Ginninderra Press, 2011

Falco berigora(on the Strzelecki Peaks)

It was no gale
but plumb amidst
the roaring forties
and at seven
hundred metres
on that island
where all the trees
leaned strongly eastwards
the wind bit chill
through summer cottons.

To lunch and talk
we lay on naked
granite, in shelter
of melaleucas
tough and fully
ankle high,
forcing their roots
in narrow cracks
through meagre rock-
crumble and leaf-rot —
when from the east
a bird swooped up,
brown falcon poised,
wings wind-fluttered
scarce two metres
above the peak.

A moment she hung
against the wind,
then turned and in
her turning drew
her wings closer
and stooped down
the northern drop.

We ran scarce twenty
paces to the edge.

That black streak
flattened her flight,
swept out above
the plain beside
the flecked sea-crawl.

-- Ocean, v. 6, 21 (Winter, 2009) ;Visible breath; ed. by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling. Stoney Stanton, Leics: Indigo Dreams Publications, 2010.

SOMEDAY - a poem by Paulette Grant

SOMEDAY

Someday.
Somewhere in time.
At this life's end.
When body is no more
And all earthly obsessions
As dust are scattered by the winds.
A soul is flying free.

Someday.
Somewhere in time.
These eyes unclouded.
Ethereal lips sing heart songs from
The mountain of self.

Someday.
Somewhere in time.
All melodies divine
Pour out the living memories
All lived for God
They are.

A final note someday in time.
A punctuation mark.
Will plunge into the timeless hearts
That wrapped themselves to her
In unbearably earthly ways.

Someday.
Somewhere.

The merging cried for like a whining child
Since the beginning
Will come full circle.
The lessons learned at last.

An individual spark.
At times in darkness was.
Will see, hear and taste
In its own measure of perfection
The true meaning of love and peace............Paulette
.............so in the meantime ...I cry ......sometimes.

This Student - a poem by Maggie Kirton

This Student

 

 

she sat at the back of the class

the very last row

where others dared not be

where those whose works

suffered - undone

flunked - incomplete

whose ambitions

and dreams

were born

through a steady stare

into a classroom window

holding within its glass

a bit of light

giving importance

to the impossible

 

she stood by the gate

watched them play

tag and jump rope

slides and swings

their laughter embraced her

although

- in spite of -

she would not join in

 

the teachers taught her

basics

words

numbers

what they could

when they could reach her

but instead she remained

in the back of the room

with a window

a port hole

fascination

uneducated dreams

they shook their heads

wondering

often

surmising

her failure

 

but they pushed her on

the pale child

that stood by the gate

embraced by the laughter

of friends not had

 

her smile was a weak one

easily returned

seldom seen

a private affair

reserved for the dreams

and so she went on

for so many years

with homework undone

and shoes untied

close to the garbage basket

and window

and dreams

for which she could find no words

 

until there was one

a teacher and friend

silently

grandfather

who laid before her

pen

empty paper

a soft and gentle smile

warm hand on her shoulder

a wink

and a whisper:

"finish your dream on this

so I may dream it too"

Silent Thunder ... a poem by Audrey Austin

Silent Thunder by Audrey Austin was previously published in Sylvan Jottings Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume Eleven, 2006, presented by Canadian Authors' Association, Temiskaming Branch and White Mountain Publications.

SILENT THUNDER

He softly speaks of quiet pain
      Then smiles to ease the burden we now share

And deep within my searching soul I find a truth
       To run away from if I dare

His words are silent thunder running scared in
       circles unconnected

He touched me and I'm freezing in a suffering
       warmth that leaves me wanting to
       experience a love that can't be mine

And now I softly speak of quiet pain

His words have left me standing in the rain and
       the thunder has grown deafening

Remembrance of his smile is my umbrella.  His
       gentle touch is my despair.  He is unaware
            that I truly care; no longer there to
                   know he touched my soul and left me
                           bare and wanting.

In One Divine Love -- by Rima N. Jaber

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    In One Divine Love

Fusion of love,
Mixed with the divinity,
Souls of pure glory,
Above the edges of hopes,
Living in the heart of faith,
In a universe of holiness,
In the ocean of tenderness,
Smiles of sunshine,
In the land of Saints,
We drink from the source of eternity,
Two lovers living, praying,
Two souls uniting in love,
Two in God’s blessings,
Darling we are these two, in one,
In One Divine Love..
I love you eternally..
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
{{ONELOVE}}
Rima N. Jaber
© January 23, 2013
~♥☼♥~

 

 

Not Quite There Yet -- a poem by Terry Shepherd

When you are middle aged
Is this the time to begin
To live and discover
Or maybe to sin.

Should we act our age
As people wish us to do
Is it to late to find
A man and say I do.

Is your life half over
Or has it just begun
Has your better half gone
And left you as one.

Do you really want to
Go to bed at ten
Or do you want to go out
And come back when.

It’s a hard thing to swallow
When you reach this point
You have raised your family
And you feel it in the joints.

Not quite ready for the rocker
And not ready to dance
Maybe just a little companion
And a little romance.

Let me live the life
That I once have done
Let me soar with the birds
Until the last song is sung.

Terry Shepherd
01/21/2013

The Only One I Know -- a poem by Rima N. Jaber

The Only One I Know

A tender caress from my destiny,
My God’s mercy,
My heart melody,
My soul glory,

A gift from the infinity,
My endless ecstasy,
My consciousness perpetuity,
My hopes reality,

A sky opening so kindly,
Your eyes mesmerizing me,
Your heart loves truly,
You enchanted me with your purity,

A paradise is our unity,
In your heart you took me,
To your soul you invited me,
My life I offered you eternally,
You and I forever united in love divinity..

I love love you darling for eternity..
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
{{ONELOVE}}
Rima N. Jaber
© January 21, 2013
~♥☼♥~

Richard Blanco -- Inauguration Poet - inspirational and wonderful ..

The following poem was delivered by inauguration poet Richard Blanco during ceremonies for President Obama's second inaugural Monday. The text of the poem was provided by the Presidential Inaugural Committee.

http://www.richard-blanco.com


 "One Today"

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper -- bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives -- to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind -- our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me -- in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always -- home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country -- all of us --
facing the stars
hope -- a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it -- together

"A Place to Lay My Heart" - a poem by Marlon de Souza

A place to lay my heart

You accept me with all my faults

and everything I do

is watched by you for signs of love,

kind words from me to you.
 

You wake me up because you are

ready to start the day,

the crazy joy you bring to me,

a dog that wants to play.
 

I wonder what I will do

when you're no longer here,

you tell me to enjoy your love

and never shed a tear.
 

And when some days I stop and sigh -

at times you drive me nuts,

you wiggle waggle my sighs away,

my darling mutt of mutts.

© 2013 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Marlon de Souza is a writer and artist based in New York City. He learns a lot of life lessons from Jules, the dog who lives with him. More of his work can be found on
http://www.JustAnotherAveragePerson.com 

and on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/JustAnotherAveragePerson
 

Warrior Woman - a poem by T.L. Cooper

"Warrior Woman"

I stand short but tall
Shoulders narrow but squared
Armor at the ready
Weapons stowed within reach
Trained for the moment
When you breach
... My defenses
My smile slides into place
Fooling you into thinking
I’m easily taken
My gentle curves
And slight stature
Make me seem like easy prey
To those who would seek to conquer
But when the battle you seek is done
You’ll find yourself bloody and vulnerable
Your weaknesses exposed
Your losses incalculable
And you’ll wonder how you missed
This tiny woman, as you saw me,
Held the strength of a
Battle hardened warrior
~TLC

http://www.writewithtlc.blogspot.ca/

http://www.tlcooper.com/

Happy New Year to Family and Friends ...

At Christmas -- Remembering Dudley

At Christmas

by Audrey Austin

Through multi-paned window\

Brown eyes wishing, praying,

Desire to be inside on carpet near fireside,

To hear what they say,

To watch children play.

The children are happy, Santa has been most kind

Gifts galore on the floor just inside the door

But I feel all alone on the other side,

My feelings are injured and so is my pride.

Then finally it happens

Susan asks where is Spot?

Bobby cries come here boy and share in our joy

It’s not Christmas without you, we love you a lot.

I lift freezing paw tap, tappity, tap

On the window. At last she looks up,

Oh, Bobby, you’ve left him outside in the cold, Susan scolds

Just before the big door swings wide.

Now through multi-paned window I watch snowflakes dancing

I lay, tail wag-wagging. I’m loving my life,

Christmas carols entrancing,

Outside reindeer are prancing,

Let me stay on the inside so there’s nothing I’ll miss,

Another dog’s Christmas and life is pure bliss.

Remembering Dudley

Three poems by poet, Joyce Jones

by Joyce Jones from Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy © 2012

Three poems presented below.  Xlibris, pub; Susan Polk, Editor; Cover Art by Tori Egherman.   www.xlibris.com to order copies. 

THE HAUNT   p. 79

 

You haunt me like the breeze

Among the trees softly whispering.

Flashing in my thoughts

the love that was before you

the wide open love that

encompassed, surrounded and

then let me go. 

You haunt me like the flutter of my heart

and the scars on my kneeling knees

the hoarse, dry throat

begging love to stay.

My body shivers

in memory of

blooming love songs

recalling the melody

the sweet harp and lute

a lure to love. 
 

Going round & round & round

tickling and amusing

the harp twinges

taunting and teasing

your fingers play my skin

your tongue wanders deep in

syncopated rhythmns

like a mix of cool jazz

stir the gospels of life

more definitive than Aretha’s wail. 

Along the curve of the flowing satin negligee

tears drop like rain mist

clouding my day with promises not kept.

 

Threatening my tomorrows 

You haunt me with blessed

assuredness

throughout the day and night

In all seasons

You are there

Solemnly

persistently reminding

love will come, but not today.

High Stakes     p.56 

 

Loving you

regardless

of the consequences

has taken its toll.

Already, I prepare

that part of me

that clings

so longingly

to you,

for the sacrifice

of letting you go.

Besides

another woman

can best serve

your need for

total affection,

the kind

that drains and

leaves no room for me

to care for me.

Another woman

too new to know

can love you

regardless of

the consequences.  

Triumph     p. 13 

Corseted passions

 

unleased by Cupid’s charm

leads to

cascades of feelings

that

swirl in fanciful parade. 

We strut to the

melodious tones

that bare once bridled desires.

Both lean on the edge of

anticipation

as the romance unfolds.