Termination Dust
Contributed by Darroll Hargraves
There is snow on those mountains. Termination dust!
Angel dust!
Whatever the name, we know what the appearance means.
Birch trees are stripped of their golden leaves. Fireweed releases furry-covered
seeds in the cold wind. Snow on the mountains means that winter comes.
With it, there is a new feel in the air.
Formations of flying ducks and geese going south. On the hillsides, the big bull
moose rumbles in his discontent for the cow that will birth his calf next
spring.
We see it first, a light dusting at the very tip. Disappears for a couple of
days.
Returning another morning as a thicker covering farther down the mountain.
Mornings later, the mountain is covered in glorious white to the very
bottom. This leaves no doubt that the end has come, and the march into another
wintery season has begun.
Darroll Hargraves is a retired School Superintendent who lives and writes in Wasilla.
countryridge@gci.net
Empty Without You
Contributed by Charles Dean Walker
Once in life, I could come to you.
I could say, do anything, it never mattered.
Now, my best friend is gone.
It cut me like a knife.
To know they were gone.
They may not be dead, but it sure feels this way.
Like a brother, they were to me.
Love you, brother.
Now you're gone.
Come back.
Come back.
Come back.
“Come back.”
It's useless to say.
They're just too far away.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Anybody Notice?
Contributed by Robert Lyons
The illest society, the deal in reciprocity,
Souls for swapping, opioid pill popping,
Stolen jewelry hocking, constant god talking.
He listening to me? I didn't pray on my knees.
I was too busy getting pleased, used to just tease.
Now it's all sleaze, from young’uns to old ladies.
The Bradys would turn in their graves. No braves, just circled up custers.
Who couldn't spread mustard, the luster?
Your brains in our hands. Glowing.
All of culture’s skeletons showing.
Blowing my mind on a drive to buy my wine.
Two middle fingers and a full-on salute.
People tooting on horns like trumpets
Forewarning that horned beast and an eventual return to peace.
In the least, honesty is just the thing to cheat.
Help out a man and your ass out, no plan?
The original would have you open a book.
I say just open your eyes and look.
All In Due Time
Contributed by Marjorie Labriola
I apparently have,
A lot on my mind.
“They” sometimes say, “All in due time.”
There is no definition, especially for time.
It never changes, can never can get it back.
No matter how hard you pick up the so-called slack.
And never will.
But you can make it better.
“It's all the same: past, present or future, all in due time, one day at a time.”
That's what “they” say.
Why must we not?
Maybe it is,
Because we just forgot?
Was it you?
Was it me?
Who's counting anyway?
One by one or one, two, three?
When there is no clock…
They say time takes its toll,
Like a bird in a flock
Or a person with a goal.
Is it you?
Is it me?
Why keep track,
When there are
Times we disagree and
Agree to disagree
Between you and me?
Or between me and you?
It could be history,
like something you make.
Life is just a story.
One that is told to
Who hears the glory.
Or is it told to be heard?
Or something to be felt?
Or is it the reason that
something is under your belt?
Like in the past…
The past is just a memory…
Like you,
Like me,
We are all a story.
Why forget the past,
When it creates our future?
Our past is the present.
Our present is our future.
And that is all that we should stand for.
Is it you?
Is it me?
Or was it not meant to be?
That is the question.
As time takes its toll,
Your life is the dice,
in which you choose to roll.
Make your past, become your present.
Just live for the future.
By that time, just maybe,
Everything will seem clearer.
Open your mind, create your own space;
Like the story of your life,
which you live in called fate, cannot erase.
History does not,
Have to be repeated.
It's whether you will or will not,
Or want to defeat it,
As the world turns.
Time takes its toll,
Like the story of your life.
Them dice you choose to roll…
Is it you?
Is it me?
GO ahead.
Push rewind.
Play it back.
Or just push repeat…
Through the Years
Contributed by Brenda Stinnett
Through the years we have gone on our own ways.
I have been on my journey, as you have.
Obstacles have come too, and have gotten in the way.
First a broken heart, filled with pain and loneliness.
Making the path a bit more rough.
Just remember that each rock that hinders your walk,
will build strength, and make you more tough.
Many tears shed for loss and failures.
Broken promises... that hurt beyond all measure.
Instead of feeling down and crying, look to the sky
at an eagle soaring high.
Graceful and gliding in harmony, with each other,
in the sunshine.
Look at the falling rain, in a new refreshing way.
As it cleanses the world God gave us; also washing
away our tears, and cleansing all of our fears away.
The clouds may rumble, as we sometimes stumble.
Then if you ask Him, God will pick you up.
And dust you off, encouraging you to keep on going.
He will strengthen you to keep on growing,
Like the wild pink roses,
that reach for the sky.
Kik Username Scramble
Contributed by Drake Blandin
You wake up in Gravity Falls
Realizing this you stand up tall
On this day you have to take a stand
Or die with nothing in your hands
Xanthic paper on the table
Really reminds you of your friend Mabel
Kids that tell you not to run
So that triangle can't have fun
Very carefully you read the clue
In case the what they told you is actually true
Recoded the poem in a line
Have you tried cutting the paper?
Do or do not, that's the takeaway
Zephyr that blows in Oregon
Go to the rock, look in the eye like they
Xylyl is a word you can play on
Start at the top, end with the last
Remake the code, it's always a blast
Make it count, there's not much time
Till the 60° times three guy comes back for a rhyme
Be careful when decoding
Look high and low
Free yourself from him
A Good Morning
Contributed by Robert Lyons
Bells tolling, rolling over
Continued ignoring
Father imploring, snoring
“Going to school, you awake?”
Fake a move, shake a leg
“Hey you, don’t just move, get up!”
Continue to aggravate, anticipate…
“GET UP NOW, YOU ARE LATE”’
Reply but hesitate, I can raise the bar
Ten minutes later, I act offended
Cause confusion and apprehension
Teach that authority figure a lesson
Stomp on him for wanting me to pass
Turn away from the fact that I'm late for class
Not see his intent for me to go far
A dirty look and out to the car
A Gallery Tour
Contributed by Yvonne Moss
On a bicycle built for two,
The sisters fleetly ride.
Viewing paintings by my hand,
‘Round living room they glide.
Daughters, mine, ‘twixt golden forests,
Tour ‘mongst aspens tall.
Cycling’ cross rivers, or’ mountain tops,
A Rocky Mountain call.
Their eyes see watercolors,
Blurred by speed and thrills.
Abstracts and collages, all
Delights them to the gills.
Their tour is incomplete
Until every piece, perceived.
And then, ‘round again they circle
To return, they’re apperceived.
The illusions I’ve created,
Trail along my walls.
The tricks they play on mind and eye,
The spirit, it enthralls.
I invite you on this tour de art,
Through my gallery.
Enjoy the fruits of passion, all;
No matter what you see.
The Song of Repentance
Contributed by Nan Potts
As to ascending and descending scale,
As to a song that endures.
The ABC’s of repentance prevail,
For one whose conscious’ allures.
No mournful dirge with lack of passion,
No mournful tune hailing us.
If viewed with empathy and compassion,
Its rhyme and meter go thus:
Acknowledge the injustice committed,
Be grieved, the wrong you did.
Confess your transgression, oh wholehearted,
Don’t repeat and guilt you’ll rid.
Expunge cruel beliefs your heart has possessed,
Forgive yourself, pray appeal.
God’s grace is bestowed and not repossessed,
Aiding your being to heal.
Now you’ve heard its devout resolution,
Now you have listened in full.
To heed its laws and wield devolution,
Endless, its wisdom to pull.
However you’re bent to perceive blessings,
However your ears review.
The song of Repentance, worth addressing,
Mending the essence of you.
