Patrick Thomas Jeffries

REBIRTH

 

In Lilac thirst and breath Love is Life’s first dance with Death

The project to collect as we admire what the pond does reflect

Like Narcissus ready to dive intoxicated pursuing beauty blessed

Another becomes the mirror, a vision too elusive to be possessed

The end’s suffered, when lovesick the trick is an identityretained

Drowning, in waters deep commiserating with Romeo’s Tragedy

Alone, we rise as the mind lies and memories relentlesslyremain

Will Psyche attempt to hide reflections of the beloved’s joyful physiognomy?

Or will trust be renewed as the ghost haunts willing to transform

As the pain of being insane transcends becoming an immortal quest

To reconcile with Zeus and Poseidon and become the storm

Alchemizing a broken heart into a bittersweet existential jest

 

Love’s fall into Death, breathing will to rise again giving Life worth

In this process of grieving into healing comes all forms of re-birth

Lob Instagon

The Girl at the Soda Shop

I’m in love with the sweet girl at the soda shop
She makes sandwiches and hand scoops ice cream
Every time I see her it makes my heart stop
Her 2 scoop sundaes are like stuff from a dream.
I sat and watched her sculpt 2 banana splits
like a desert artist she created the divine treat
ice cream with fruit topped with sprinkle bits.
A fresh living painting but smothered with sweet
She delivers with a smile and the smile is returned
the customer’s face lights up with excitement
the delicious delight for which they have yearned
is now their source of exquisite enlightenment
She makes people smile, and it makes her smile
And I’ve been lost in love with her for a while

I’m in love with the cute soda fountain girl
Pouring bubbly sodas and serving cold sweets
She dances behind the counter almost with a twirl
Then moves from the counter to the booth seats.
taking orders for cold sodas, cookies, & lunch
as she pours, scoops, and slices up more dreams.
She amazes me every day, I love her so much
But I’m probably eating too many ice creams.
I visit just to see her and end up with a scoop
they have sugar free vanilla and diet cola too
Some how I think I might be being duped
Into buying more desert than one should do.
But she is so dreamy, and I so I just cant stop
I am in love with the woman at the soda shop.

Emil "Gene" Schultz Jr.

 Early Love

 

Love as we know it represents so many things

how can one ever know how to really define

or understand the myriad of feeling it brings

as hormones push us to pursue it all the time

 

It falls upon us totally from out of the blue

as breath becomes short and my gaze can’t stray

when that luscious red head comes into view

my head whirls and my tongue has lost its way

 

The ache that burns inside we recognize as love

finding us a mate for our journey through life

surely, she must be sent from the one above

why else would anyone endure all this strife

 

We have the answer and don’t need to assume

as our love begins to blossom in her womb

Mira N Mataric

 Help Me Shakespeare

 

Help me now my Shakespeare my favorite my bard

William coming from Stratford-upon-Avon Warwickshire

we learned tragedy, comedy, and history cannot be hard

when expressed in fourteen lines poetry can truly inspire

 

You overcame the bubonic plague a great tragedy

reciting your poetry in London on corners of streets,

becoming one of Lord Chamberlain players

becoming one of the King’s Men and amazing feat

 

Help me now my bard to write fourteen lines of this sonnet

To dive into the sunshine be free to move with music in the air

enjoy the great wonders of our world dancing in my bonnet

Similar to the great artist Renoir or a renaissance sonnet

 

Give me the words to show colors changing with time

Like the painting Nude Reclining on the Grass in rhyme.

Caleb Delos Santos

No Matter What, I Hot-tub With My Love.

 

No matter what, I hot-tub with my Love.

Each time I rise to take a hot tub dip,

I must locate my fellow water dove.

Her sweety wingy hug-holds make me flip.

 

Before I reach a hot tub’s splashing zone,

I need to see my favorite Angel’s glow.

Her light turns loose anxieties to stone

and churns my wild hail-hate into snow.

 

Once I descend into that flaming bath,

I must connect to my best Mermaid friend.

She tail-whips me with fish jokes and her laugh.

She sings the sweetest themes, and I transcend.

 

No matter what, I hot-tub with the One

who makes all hot tubs warmer than the Sun.

Sundays Beside My Love.

 

When creaking church seats bleed my energy,

When preppy worshippers screech like bent doves,

When bad “snack tables” run out of coffee,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When church aristocrats performance pray,

When paid church hands snag cash “for God above,”

When white applauds lead me to praise Mondays,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When Discount Jesus (the pastor) arrives,

When their fake friendship slips off like morgue gloves,

When they enrage “in grace” and threaten lives,

I peek to my right side and see my Love.

 

When Sunday seats snake my vivacity,

I find my Love, and she alone saves me.

On Everlasting Thirsts.

 

A bucket always dumps more than a drop.

A firehose explodes more than a flame.

A geyser shot cannot un-stomp a crop.

A drowning wave cannot unclaim a name.

 

A fleet of hail and sleet will beat a tree.

A wild creek will reap a thirsty bee.

An avalanche will mute a symphony

and silently dilute diversity.

 

A holy stream redeems the driest eye.

But, “manly” fountains “for the Lord” can drill.

The Savior’s endless well might satisfy,

but sweaty zealots’ bursting dams can kill.

 

A steady drop might never quench a thirst,

but bucket dumps will always murder first.

Mary Langer Thompson

The Ernie Trilogy

Mews at Eleven

                April 2001                                                                          

                    

Mr. President Bush, what's with Ernie?

Why couldn't you just have had him declawed?

Instead, you sent him on a long journey

westward.  I fear that you found him too flawed

with six toes.  Anne Boleyn had six fingers,

and we all know what Henry did to her.

My concern regarding Ernie lingers:

you put U.S. treasures above cat fur.

Shouldn't you be getting your values straight

at your age, and now in your position?

But no, you even crack jokes while you wait--

"He's in Malibu, surfin' or fishin'."

More likely, he's in the dark in L.A.

where people and cats all hate to be gray.

 

Mews at Midnight

               January 2002

 

As it turned out, scrappy Ernie was spied

strolling on the Avenue of the Stars

wearin' shades, thinking where else to abide.

He walked in the mall, past some famous bars,

went to the Shubert to see the play "Cats,"

maneuvered his way past all of the cars.

Saw people in jeans and women in hats,

same as folks in Washington, not on Mars.

Went to the Museum of Film and learned

like him, Marilyn Monroe was poly-

dactically challenged, yet never spurned.

So why was he involved in this folly?

Maybe he would go to Grauman's Chinese,

Get his six toes in cement, if he pleased.

                                                                                                             

Mews at 1:00 a.m.

 

He committed no feline felonies,

just wanted to be loved, like you and me.

Might have had a tendency to climb trees,

and a desire to be footloose, free.

So he couldn't live with our President,

now Ernie will stay in a Brentwood home,

though at first he was a bit hesitant,

kept inside, declawed, unable to roam.

Now he's quite comfortable every day,

eating his way to being a fat cat,

maybe not what his namesake, Hemingway

would do, but then Ernie can't write like that.

Angelenos hope he stays in L.A.,

and promise he'll never again be gray.       

Joe Grieco

Touchstones 

When you are old, like I am old, and bring

  The teacup to your lips, then pause for space

  To feel the steam uncoil across your face,

You might attempt to hear your heart remembering

A moment from your past that took to wing

  So long ago that you can’t join the chase:

  A net made out of vapor won’t encase

Or trap the visions sewn with flickerings.

And yet you’re sure that somewhere something happened

  That cut across your flesh beyond skin deep,

Like talons on a bird that’s now misshapen.

  Your memory adrift. Old wings lie in a heap.

You can’t recall why all your touchstones overlap.

   Now drink this brightened tea:  will help you sleep.

R A Ruadh

Sonnet for a Forest

Lives falling down like raindrops around me day by day
The famous and the infamous and just humans that I’ve known
Music and memory makers of my growing and the way
They carved my path with signposts so I was not alone

Preceded by my parents I did not yet have to start
To be oldest or an elder with those other elders round
Yet the forest keeps on thinning as ancient ones depart
I’ve grown uncomfortably tall between heaven and the ground

The sky brightens and frightens as it’s making room for me
I practice sheltering understory younglings while I can
Each leaf must teach the lessons of the fruit from every tree
For one day only I will reach high upon the land

I miss them I am them they nourish me root and limb
For only if I reach the sky will saplings know how to climb

Shih-Fang Wang

Trust in Fate

 

I try hard to reach my goal

But my toil does not take me 

To the height pined in my soul

My dream determines to flee

 

Sometimes no matter how hard

I strive for my endeavor

Still fate will deal me a card

With outcome worse than ever

 

Life is such a conundrum

Although I can choose the path

To calculate its outcome

Is harder than higher math

 

To trust luck is a wiser way

Work hard and keep doubt at bay

 

Jackie Chou

When Asked About My Life's Purpose 

With dung-colored lenses, I view a world 

Where the roses are not pretty at all 

The stems that hold their heads twisted and twirled 

Their partly blemished petals soon to fall 

With downcast eyes, I roam the neighborhood

Where no one wants to help or be my friend 

From far away, they sense my wretched mood 

An ear to hear me rant, they would not lend 

Alone, I get a pen and write my thoughts

How dark they are, the paper does not mind 

Like my delusions, they come out in bouts

The words don't have to be happy or kind 

For a few years, I've been making verses 

My poems–they’ve become my life's purpose

A Facebook Sonnet

Seldom do I with cyber friends engage 

Though I for hours on social media spend 

Concerned about one's work more than his age 

A simple birthday wish, I'd never send 

Neither would I thank him copiously 

With comments longer than the poem itself

Who's published a haiku written by me

Nor purchase his book to put on my shelf

Even in times I do participate 

I oft cannot tell when one's post is grim

Choosing emoji inappropriate 

With him I laugh, but no, never at him 

Though oblivious to things people share 

When something dire catches my eye, I care

The Little Book of Questions 

Should I let "what ifs" fill my head 

What year of my past I'd relive 

Who would I bring back from the dead 

To what charity would I give 

Imagine if I could change a law 

Which innocents would I set free

Or unsee something that I saw 

How different my days would be 

What if I were to choose one food 

To eat for the rest of my life

Maybe not all questions are good 

Some causing emotional strife 

Instead of using them to think 

Let me ponder with my own ink

Tim Tipton

Collection of Sounds 

 

A truck roars boisterously over a bridge  

Blasts of autumn air blows straight across the house  

A pack of seagulls' squeal across a Pacific Ridge 

Kettle of hot water whistles on a stovetop 

The refrigerator clicks and ticks and gurgles 

Bedroom telephone upstairs ring, left unanswered, never stops 

An ambulance siren echoes far in the distance 

Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1 floats softly from next door 

My cat lazily murmurs comfortably in a chair, omniscience 

Group of children returning home on their bicycles 

Breaths out from riding, full of life 

I want to find my own sound before the new day signals