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(Poems by PPS members —Electronically-shared)copyrighted by authors
28 lines or less,
formatted and illustrated by Ann Gasser with digital paintings, digital collages,
and other shared images.unless stated otherwise
PPS members are invited to submit.
Deadline for receiving—1st of each month, poems appearing in order received
Target date for sending out—10th of each month
“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”– The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS, (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..)
January
2014201420142014
1.
Maureen Applegate...14
Gail Denham...9
Doris DiSavino....5
Marilyn Downing...10
Lynn Fetterolf...2
Ann Gasser...11
Imogene Hunt...4
Katie Khan...12
Nancy Henry Kline...7
Marie-Louise Meyers...13
Prabha Nayak Prabhu...3
Susan Nelson Vernon...6
William W. Vernon...8
A BACKWARD LOOK AT NEVER NEVER LAND
—by Lynn Fetterolf
Lana Turner, Dottie Lamour, Veronica Lake,
“the sweater, the sarong and the peek-a-boo blonde,”
reminders of that halcyon era pre World War II
when America was so innocent.
Everything changed December seven 1941.
Our naïveté turned to shock
and sent our sons to war.
Overseas, our GI Joes made solo love
to pinned up Betty Grable or luscious Rita Hayworth,
then dreamed of attainable girls awaiting their return.
Their battles came alive in urgent voices:
Walter Cronkite, Edward R. Murrow, John Cameron Swayze.
Our tongues stumbled over alien names like
Bastogne, Bataan and Tarawa.
Back home every child learned
“loose lips sink ships,” hoed victory gardens,
sacrificed their cast iron toys
to Boy Scout scrap drives and could identify
every enemy airplane pictured
in the Plane Spotter’s Manual.
Life wasn’t so much simpler then
but complications seemed more solvable.
Neighbors looked out for each other
and Americans were welded
into one great national identity
the likes of which I’d dearly love to see again!
2.
photo from beautynewsnyc.com
3.
SHATTERED DREAMS
—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu
When fruits of labor prove to be bitter
Suspicion points to those who were in tow.
Did they, while seeking glory and glitter,
The seeds of hatred and resentment sow?
CHRIST IS BORN
—by Imogene Hunt
Christ is born, kneel before Him,
bless His presence in this place.
Christ is born, kneel before Him,
thank our Father for His grace…
In this stable, from this manger
Holy Light fills up the night,
Blessed Baby, Blessed Jesus
is our hope for Heaven’s sight…
Christ is born, kneel before Him,
fill your heart with Holy Love.
Blessed Jesus, Blessed Baby,
Blessed gift from God above…
Join the chorus, join the singing,
Hal-le-lu-jah, and Amen!
Christ’s Love begins its winging,
filling all the hopes of man.
4.
*This song is based on the music of the
hymn... “Christ Is Risen;” lyrics by
Imogene Hunt...sung as a solo
Christmas Eve 2013.
THOUGHTS FOR A NEW YEAR
—by Doris DiSavino
May those who mourn find comfort
in remembered joy.
May those who rejoice
be ever mindful of those who mourn.
May we hold each other closer,
love each other more dearly.
May we find room in our hearts
and at our tables for just one more.
May we create Peace in our homes
and in our lives.
Only then can we hope to celebrate it
in the World.
5.
6.
(In response to painting
#1, Town Nocturne, by
William Kocher)
BACK STREETS
—by Susan Nelson Vernon
Escaping the rush of Main Street
I slip into the alleyway.
The familiar fades for the moment
into the stillness of the dark.
The soft patter of footsteps disappears
down an unknown passage-
a fellow traveler
finding his way through the night.
In this private anonymity
the forgotten passageways
of my own dreams come alive.
A gleaming mantle of snow
diverts my attention to a pile of wood,
stacked and stored for future use,
while in the distance a hazy clock
reminds me of the hour.
Time to move on, time to move forward.
No more loitering in the background.
For too long dreams have been
stacked and stored for later.
Later is now.
7.
STAR NAME: PASTOR PAUL JONAS HENRY
Star Number: Bootes Ra 14h 22m 53s D53 49'
—by Nancy Henry Kline
Your Christmas present sparkles in the sky.
A star named in your memory today.
I saw it through a telescopic eye
in constellation Bootes, star charts say.
I know the wise men tracked another star that led them
to the birthplace of their king.
Like Artaban, I've traveled long and far.
My jewels are gone. What gift have I to bring?
Ten trillion stars set galaxies alight,
but yours the beacon that will guide me on.
Though apprehension tries to blind my sight, its trail
of stardust pilots me to dawn.
Celestial light emboldens my faint heart.
Your star, Dad, binds two souls death cannot part.
CRYSTALS*
—by William W. Vernon
Long have I labored into the night
under a microscope’s glaring light,
searching for faces that grace a form,
and finding axes they will adorn.
Images and forms appear to me
as crystals I know, with symmetry.
Some are colorful gems of note,
others lackluster in places remote.
An internal structure crystals must display
with atoms and molecules in distinct array.
Faces are parallel to these planar sheets.
Aggregates of faces are crystals complete.
Mock crystal shapes may often be found
in everyday items the world around,
like food items in boxes of varying size,
or crystal-like paintings, pleasing to eyes.
8.
*on a painting by Joan Kolker
“Homage to the imagination” #11
LIVELY STORM SHOW
—by Gail Denham
Love those tall pines,
leaning wildly toward each other,
making nice with fierce winds,
massaging their thin trunks
No holds barred;
nodding now
over smaller young saplings,
omitting nothing, training in
perfectly robust behavior,
perpetuating their dance, embracing the storm
9.
TETE-A-TETE
—by MarilynDowning
Whenever we meet face to face,
we’re like two old friends,curious
about the time elapsed, amused
by changes etched in crinkled lines
around the eyes, the tilted smile.
Sometimes the questioning begins …
How are you doing this morning?
Did you survive the loss or shame?
Do you remember that other time?
When each day brought its promises
renewing challenges and hope?
Expanding circles of family and friends.
So, if each time we meet, the circles
shrink, they gain in symmetry and
strength. You may just smile at mild
conjecturing, old friends are we, parting
from the bathroom mirror to venture
singly into the waiting day.
10.
11.
A VERY GOOD THING
—by Ann Gasser
My son's friend, Mike, has Olfactory Disfunction,
In plain words that means he can't smell.
Doctors can't say why, might be from stress
when his wife Mary took off with a Venezuelan
whom she married after the divorce. Or maybe
something changed in Mike's brain, although the scans
show nothing.
I can't imagine how sad it must be
to not smell lilacs bursting into bloom,
the clean fragrance of sun-dried sheets, or the
spicy aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls on Sunday morning.
Mike's mother was a Christian Scientist who always
found some good in everything, and I can imagine
what she would say, probably is saying as she
looks down from Heaven on her son.
He has a thirteen year old dog named Oscar
who smells like "skunk meeting rotting fish."
Vets have tried everything--even “Din-o-bite”—nothing works!
No one else could tolerate Oscar, would have given up,
but Mike can't smell him, and it's a very good thing,
'cause Oscar is the only one who loves him now
and keeps him company in that big old house,
that Pacific-size bed.
12.
EVENING SHADE
—by Katie Khan
In winter’s evening shade
the Leyland Cypress wears
a shawl of white.
The moon, almost full,
lights up the snow
and fills the night.
In Love’s cold breath
and silence rare,
my reverie becomes a prayer.
FAILING BUT NOT DERAILIING
—by Marie-Louise Meyers
We drift from handshakes and kisses,
the clock ticking away, the fire flickering,
we've run out of lines scripted for us,
listing from side to side
like a boat floundering, no longer tied to a mooring,
no longer immune to the tide.
But what do we know of Death or even Life?
In our circle of graduates of ‘55 at Reunion time,
scrolling down names and ambitions in the Year Book
no longer partitioned by trades or college dreams,
fewer and fewer gaps as we grow older.
One with stroke written all over her robotic frame
buoyed up by a husband who bears her pain,
braced to go into a straight-legged stance for picture-taking.
We hold memorials talking of their impact.
How many we saw before surgery,
remembering them when they were fancy free.
"Write a poem about being 75," our Hostess says,
so I comply.
"Seventy-five, Failing but not Derailing."
I try to instill an indomitable spirit inside.
We've come to be a dwindling resource,
more and more families linked in remorse.
How painful the intercourse between friends has become,
knowing next year, one of us might succumb.
13.
14.
A WINDOW ON WINTER
—by Maureen Applegate
Don’t say that January brings the blues
or that your view from frosted pane is bleak.
Just cast your gaze on cardinals in the yews
and hawks that called for mating all this week!
For inspiration you must look beyond
a wind that sets the tree limbs bickering.
The window with its painted feathered frond
is gateway to a world awakening.
The New Year brings the azure skies alive
as lines of geese and swans return to feed.
And see? Those rhododendron buds survive!
They hold the springtime promise that you need.
Do not lament the passing of the year
when just outside your window life draws near.
OnOnOnOnthethethethe
Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side
January
2014201420142014Marie-Louise Meyers...19
Susan N. Vernon...18
15.
Marilyn Downing...20
Lynn Fetterolf...16
Ann Gasser...17
16.
JUST SUPPOSE
—by Lynn Fetterolf
Just suppose I gave you a rose
and when you smelled it
it stuck up your nose.
So I gave you some grease
to make it release
but the rose in your nose
just started to grow.
Now two months later,
wouldn’t you know
you get a bouquet
every time you blow!
17.
A PETRARCHAN SONNET TO TELL THE
SAD TALE OF MY POETIC MASTERPIECE,
CIRCA 2000
—Ann Gasser
A veil of deep gray blanketed our room;
my over-caffeinated mind still skipped
and skittered; maverick thoughts popped up and slipped
across perimeters of gloom and doom.
Some pranced and danced, some almost seemed to zoom
like midnight rockets, 'til at last I flipped
and said, "See here!" With firm resolve I gripped
the reins of runaways and tried to groom
them into words on paper in the dark.
With ball point pen I wrote while my husband snored.
This poem would be great!—My best I think!
Insomnia has perks--I'd felt the spark
of inspiration--not to be ignored.
Next morning, what a jolt! That pen had no ink!
AND ALL THAT PIZZAZZ!
—by Susan Nelson Vernon
Switch on the bright lights!
Bring up the footlights!
Tap your spiky click-clack entrance,
form flashy chorus lines of dance!
Put on your top hat and haberdashery!
Pour down all your style and flare on me!
18.
19.
PACHYDERM PINK
—by Marie-Louise Meyers
I've owned a pink pantsuit with floral design,
30 years if it's a day!
It's unique as a personal manuscript,
why I've kept it I cannot say.
Mother changed seams 'cause it never fit right,
and if one's eyes would squint or slant,
they might think that they were seeing
a human size pink elephant.
So many times I thought that I
was going to throw it out
but decided to save to wear when I
became a wee bit stout.
It began to develop those terrible pills
that no matter what one tries to do,
still cling like burrs and drive one mad
while they hang to the fabric like glue.
Last week I pulled out that pantsuit again,
(I had one of those dreary days
that left me feeling a Gloomy Gus,
thought the pink might relieve my gray haze.)
But a young matron whom I met at the "Y"
said, "I love your outfit. I think
you should wear it more often. It's really 'You,'
I would call that shade 'Pachyderm Pink!''
So today it is bundled off to Goodwill
and my closet will do without it.
No more will I think I may wear it again,
I'll be far better off without it.
CLASS RIVALRIES
—by Marilyn Downing
Picky Persnickety
Little Lord Fauntleroy
Dressed in the finest blue
Velvet and lace.
Finicky fashions bred
Animadversity
In every urchin with
Dirt on his face
20.
movie poster from doctormacro.com