Rain
Contributed by Charles Dean Walker
If I could be a better friend.
I know I would have been a long time ago.
I could make you smile.
To last longer than awhile.
Instead, I'm a man who cries.
These tears of rain.
Everything I've ever said, is said in vain.
I'm to blame.
For all my shame.
I fill this cup with my tears.
The angels can't cure my pain.
God help me.
What I've said.
What I've done.
Can't be undone.
Give me the gun.
I've had my fun.
I am done.
Put me in the sun.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine on me.
Before you put me in the ground.
Pour my tears on my grave.
I'll feel my pain.
Once again, this time you'll be with me.
Please God, then set me free.
Let me be with the spirits an' angels.
That be, only with them I'm free.
Only this time, they'll be with me.
Let me be with the eagles, free as a bird.
I'll have my bird’s eye on you.
I sore past the mountain tops.
Over all the trees.
Through the clouds.
Past the blue sky.
All the way through space.
Past all the stars, an' the planets.
I'll spin around through the rings of venues.
Collide with the nebula.
Go over to the next solar system.
I'll be inside a black hole.
I'll lay in a water planet many light years away.
I'll swim all the way around.
Sink to the bottom.
Float to the top.
I'll look up at the clear, blue sky.
Then, I'll fly.
And if God willing.
I fly my way back to you.
A Winter’s Night
Contributed by V.M. Tackett
As the sun’s warmth and light fades softly through the
snow-covered pines. The dark blanket of night shrouds the land
in its icy grasp. As the moon gleams down a ghostly radiance, its
magical influence awakens the howls and screams from the
beasts flaunting their nocturnal dominion. But, as the piercing
cold cuts through the night like an unrelenting razor’s edge,
it is as if time itself stands still, anticipating the glow of morning
as a savior for yet another day.
But, as the night rages on, its icy grip on every living creature is
unyielding, fighting for survival in this livid beauty, as it flaunts its
resolve over life and death. However, as the sun crackles to life
over the horizon, life is granted a reprieve from another
winter’s night.
Seasons Go, Seasons Come
Contributed by Darroll Hargraves
Here it is a day in October.
And, we are well past the prime of our summer. The
signs that summer is past tell me that winter is here.
Termination dust has creeped down the sides of the
Talkeetna Mountains. The fireweed has long since filled
its flower. Now it stands stark with the fine web of
white silk containing seeds ready to take flight.
Birches shed the last of their leaves during the recent
windstorm. The larch have kept their bright golden
needles, brilliant among the stark and leafless birch.
There have been several cow moose, some with
calves, in my garden and yard. But today they were
accompanied by a bull with trophy-sized antlers. The
sign is certain, when the bull moose leaves the lush
summer forage on the side of the mountain to accompany
the female of his species across the flat lands, up and
down the Valley then freeze-up and winter is near.
In the clear autumn skies overhead, there has been
for a couple of weeks now, an age-old exodus taking
place as the skies fill with formations of geese,
ducks, swans and cranes leaving us for warmer places
down South. We watch them go as a certain longing
swells within us.
The signs are here within me. There is a feel in
the air that tingles my skin. There is a noticeable
something that can’t be scratched. I know from the
prevalence of darkness that the season is changing.
Ahead there are days of little sun and prolonged
nights. Snows will come and grow deep in the woods. The
rivers and ponds will freeze, and every task will become
a bigger effort.
All the signs this year point to an early and cold
winter. I have watched as my neighbor, Dave, at his log
cabin, cut and split more wood than ever before. He has
the biggest and neatest woodpile this year. That must
be the final sign, a hard winter is neigh.
So the evidence is in, summer is gone and winter is
coming as certain as the sun moves lower on the
horizon.
I just looked outside and snow is beginning to
fall.
Night, Irene
Contributed by Robert Lyons
Words are fun, not in persecution, or to feel like number one, but when done for pun.
Wait, wait… Don’t run. Taking offense at everything under the sun.
A loaded joke cannon aimed at everyone, missing the mark, a cleverish clown.
I’m about to start this, chewing chocolates on March 5th trying to forget her.
Writing letters to my favorite artists, I’m a go getter.
Spend whatever on new things, even though funds are tight.
Jester amongst the populace, masked, soaked in lighter fluid,
Melting smiles as I do this.
A blazed druid,
Watching lewd acts being appalled at by the same people doing that.
Clap, clap, %$&^ hypocrites, it’s what I witness. So, I laugh, laugh and go and print it,
Rile them up with the first amendment, to avoid piling them up with my bare arms.
Don’t be alarmed, I’m just kidding. Maybe a hug’s needed.
By the way, I’m winning. Don’t believe me?
I’m getting everything I ever dreamed of achieving.
It’s what attention brings me. Now I’m leaving, so take it lightly, There is no need to fight. You don’t have to read what I write.
Good night “Ireennnne” ...
Look On Past That Looking Glass
Contributed by Marjorie Labriola
The grass is only as green, as far as the eye can see.
Me, myself and I can picture it perfectly.
To help you believe it doesn't end there,
the other side is everywhere.
See in between the lines, try to feel them too.
Out, in and all the way through.
Not just from one angle, but just a few.
Now, what color do you see? Is it blue?
Feeling the swirling shades; mixing in and out,
Some are frowning with a little pout.
Smiling and laughing and dancing about,
The oceans waves are what color now?
“Yellow,” you say, with a sweet little kiss.
Touching your cheek with the sun’s spicy orange twist,
Twisting and turning to rise above this.
Such a beautiful sight from one little kiss.
No feelings of pain,
Just sweet tenderness
As the colors drift away
into the night sky’s tests.
“Purple,” you say.
You see it now…
The world is a color pallet,
and you want to create it somehow.
And for every star that's in the sky,
there's an angel that kisses everyone nearby.
For all the beauty that's created and still continues,
All the creatures and plants and people and animals,
Swirl around and mix again.
No more hurt, no more sorrow - a new beginning.
New fresh air to breathe, and it's no longer a dream.
Beauty being described such as this,
I know in your heart and in mind exists.
The pot of gold at the end of your rainbow,
Reaches levels as far as your unknown.
It can be the other side to your “greener grass”,
just look on past that looking glass.
Costumes & Candy
Contributed by Nan Potts
Fall, drab and dreary, all color departed,
Tis time ere winter ‘midst humors down-hearted.
Folks seek festivals, gay, ancient or new -
Awakening spirits to smile not to moue.
Bare trees as skeletons, leaves ripped from bones,
The passing of summer, a poet bemoans.
This bleak spell stirs festivities contrite —
Sparking verve and imagery, spirits’ delight.
Twas when celebrated by pagans and celts,
A time long ago, which their presence’s still felt.
Fete of Harvest, a serious nature -
Ghostly rituals, by our nomenclature.
Congregations celebrate, Allhallowtide,
Next days for all saints and all good souls abide.
Dia De Los Muertos, ones’ deceased -
Are cited and honored, may they rest in peace.
Hence, the spookiest place and scariest time,
Looking out your front door around dinner-time,
What you’ll spy may cause your soul to evert -
Proffering candy will appease and divert;
These hobgoblins and ghouls outside in the night
Who taunt you and tease you, delivering fright.
Yet, all revelry ends with light of day -
Like a tide flowing in, then ebbing away.
It’s costumes and candy, one day of the year
That brings mirth to many, there’s no need to fear.
To those who’ve passed, our memories recall -
Their most generous love to us, did befall.
