(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, Inc. The Essence of PPS, Inc. The Essence of PPS, Inc. The Essence of PPS, Inc.

(Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)(Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)(Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)(Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)

OctoberOctoberOctoberOctober2013201320132013

Marie-Louise Meyer...13

Jacqueline Moffett... 15

Prabha Nyak Prabhu...11

Comstance A. Trump...12

Susan Nelson Vernon...7

Lucille Morgan Wilson... 2

Charlotte Zuzak...5

Maureen Applegate...10

Doris DiSavino...8

Marilyn Downing...6

Lynn Fetterolf...9

Ann Gasser...14

Nancy Henry Kline...3

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...4

1.

PRISM PRISON

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

In splendid cages

of deceptive transparency

we dangle

from tinsel threads

twirling slowly

to catch every ray of light

before sunset.

Separating colors

like untwining a rope

exposes the whole.

Each facet

holds a fragment

torn and distorted

that frays at the edges.

In moments of sunshine

the oil spill

and the cataract's spray

divulge bowed splendor

and deflected light.

Today

across my off-white walls

seven hues dance out

from a common glass bauble,

revealing my hidden self.

2.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN

—by Nancy Henry Kline

A Jew walked down toward Jericho.

Thieves waited in their lair.

They wounded him, tore off his clothes,

and left him lying there.

A priest enroute to the Temple Mount

thought the man was dead.

"The Torah forbids me to touch a corpse."

The priest passed by instead.

A Levite also came that way,

his ego swollen with pride.

Although he thought the man still lived

he passed by on the other side.

A Samaritan rode down that lane.

He saw the man in need.

When he heard his painful cries and moans

he knew he must take heed.

He dressed his wounds; poured oil and wine,

Then took him to a roadside inn.

The keeper said, "Do bring him in.

He may rest here tonight."

"Be kind to him," his mentor said,

"for he has been through hell.

Take care of him 'til I return,

and I will pay you well."

Jesus ends the parable.

"Who showed mercy?" the Master asks.

"The one who helped." Jesus replies,

"Do likewise in your tasks."

3.

EATING ELEPHANTS

—by Louisa Godisssart McQuillen

Question: “How do you eat an elephant?”

Answer: “Take one bite at a time.”

Don’t sample other rich desserts

and you will do just fine.

“Desserts” are all those sweet ideas

that crowd your mind and pen,

until you have too much to do

and the cycle never ends.

Try chewing on the task at hand

until you get it done.

Soon that stack of drafts will shrink

from ninety-nine to one!

Keep nibbling at your elephant,

another bite or two.

Remember not to bite off

any more than you can chew.

You’ll finish up long-standing tasks

in record time, you’ll see.

Before you even know it,

one fine author you will be!

4.

–Louisa Godissart McQuillen ©1996

COMMUNICATION

—by Charlotte Zuzak

I remember the party line--what fun!

listening to the neighborhood gossip,

'til Ma Bell gave us our own space--

an ugly piece of black equipment with

holes to dial a number.

Mama always used a pencil--

she'd just had a manicure at Effy's Salon.

We never spent fourteen hours in line

to hand over hundreds of dollars

for a phone and an amusement center.

Vocabulary never used: texting, online, etc.,

a new foreign language now taught in school.

Correct spelling and cursive have now disappeared,

conversation is an absolute mystery;

future generations will be born

with cellphones glued to their ears.

5.

INDIAN SUMMER

—by Marilyn Downing

Summer flaunts its beauty after frost has warned beware

Powwows flicker campfires, voices whispering in the air

Chiefs and warriors dare

Peacepipes smoking skyward gather clouds into their dreams

Squaw boots trample pathways leading deer down to the streams

Woods where wildlife teems

Paintpots spatter crimsons over autumn's brilliant trees

Children chasing chipmunks rustle through the gaudy leaves

Slanting sun deceives

Tribes still tracking bison whisper through prairie grass

Tepees dot horizons where the thundering herds will pass

Under sky so vast

Tears in raindrops falling, keening wind's most lonesome wail

Tomtoms echo heartbeats through the pounding sleet and hail

When all treaties fail

Arrow bolts of lightning piercing lives bereft

Weaving rainbows into blankets' warp and weft

Only dreams are left

Only dreams are left

6.

from teepees-people.smu.edu

ART WAS IN THE HEART

—by Susan Nelson Vernon

Art was in the heart

hundreds of thousands of years ago

high in the Andes Mountains,

deep in the Lascaux caves of France.

Without precedent to

guide them how to show

patterns of the world,

hands focused in a creative dance.

Geoglyphs, clay pots,

figurines and mosaic tile

predate Mesopotamia.

Out of our ancient birthplaces

circling the globe, all

along the fertile Nile,

given idle time, man

blazoned historic traces.

Were they bored or lonely,

inspired by a Higher Power?

Captivated with beauty,

did the spirit well up inside,

flow out as self-expression

in the transforming hour?

Or was it a joyful pastime,

transcending pleasure or pride?

photo from rodinspoet.wordpress.com

7.

MAWMAW TOL’ A STORY

—by Doris DiSavino

MawMaw tol’ a story

when the night was growin’ old,

‘bout the music in the mountain

and the gal with hair o’ gold,

‘bout the wind a-sobbin’ through the trees

and sighin’ down the trail,

a-moanin’ in the medder

and a-cryin’ in the dale.

MawMaw tol’ a story

‘bout the music that they heard,

how the gal a-follered after it

and never said a word;

how she searched the long years after

for the song the Ghost Man played,

how it echoed every full moon night

through holler and through glade.

So we never play the fiddle

‘til the moon is gettin’ old

‘cause she still looks for the music,

does the gal with hair of gold.

8.

FALL IS A FLIRT

Lynn Fetterolf

Fall is a flirt.

She knows she’s beautiful;

showing her crimson petticoats,

flaunting her golden tresses,

waving her peachy handkerchiefs

before she drops them in your path,

scattering them everywhere.

You’ll be playing pickup for days.

Fall doesn’t warn you

she’ll be leaving soon.

Quivering in the chill winds,

she bares her limbs to winter

leaving you to shiver in her wake.

9.

SUNLIGHT —by Maureen Applegate

When I was a child the air was so clearthat light could do magical things.It could bounce off the leavesof the old apple treesand shimmer on starling wings.

The rays of the sun came completely undoneon the surface of wet placid pools,and sundrops like glassbrightly danced on the grass,while mirage turned macadam to jewels.

From the deep cobalt blue those rays would shine throughmaking playmates of shadow and light.And now, through the haze,I remember those daysof illusory sunshine delight.

10.

DODITSU

—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

Benevolent autumn sun

foliage playing trompe l’oeil

colorful chrysanthemums

long walks in the park

11.

12.

AUTUMN’S SENSES

—by Constance A. Trump

Tousled, tumbling red and gold

carpeting lane, field and knoll,

crackling in barrels, burning bright

woodsy scent, firelight.

Crisp blue sky, brisk cool air

apple bobbing, brown Bosc pear

jack-o-lantern, marshmallow roast

turtle neck, robe warm as toast.

Smiling eyes from that dear face

To touch or by sweet memory’s

Grace.

In memory of neice Grace McComas

ANOINTED TASK

—Marie-Louise Meyers

It was more than just laundry day decor

when mother shook the last drops of holy water,

wiped clean of mundane tasks,

then stretched the snow white sheets

like an altar cloth till they squeaked

for all the neighbors to see clothes-pinned on the line,

propped up with a ramrod straight pole.

It was a hint of the sublime

to see the sun glint on the plain design,

the wind lift the immaculate sheets heavenward,

snap to attention in winter,

while I contented myself with lesser matters,

lowly socks with pervious toes darned

to righteous stiffness,

the heels still grimed.

I grappled with a make-shift line

using a ladder in the shadow of the sheets

where gleaming little souls were fashioned

from worn out soles of restless feet.

Soon it will become a forgotten task

without the reward that lasted week long

to be renewed like a freshet on a dew-dropped lawn,

not baked through in a dryer, dull and lifeless,

and heaped in a basket, but folded neatly.

Sinless as the day we were born,

tucked securely in our receiving sheets

the fragrance transforming our plain beds

into heaven-scented bowers.13.

ABRACADABRA FOR LIFT-OFF

—by Ann Gasser

I always thought I'd like my poetry

to be EXPLOSIVE !!!!

like a firestorm shooting sparks,

transforming lukewarm days into a celebration,

passive nights into July the Fourth with

pyrotechnic flowers bursting

in each reader's mind

and sizzling to the fartherest star!

But when I try to set the spark,

I feel I'm hampered--

tethered by cold oatmeal genes,

a lifetime full of "thou-shalt-nots,"

a leaden logic weighing down the rockets

which could send my fantasies aloft.

My words sit primly on the launching pad

within my mind, or in some pre-planned space

caged by the boundaries of a page,

and often only laser thoughts

fly off to pierce the stars.

Someday I'll find the magic wand

to turn my words into small clones of Pegasus.

They will unfold their little snow-white wings

and fly off into other minds and other hearts

where, with their tiny wing-beats

they will soon be fanning other sparks

for other dreams.14.

THE HANDS OF TIME

—by Jacqueline Moffett

Studying my hands, I recall the

smooth, chubby fingers of a youngster

fashioned to do little but eat and play

Fast forward to school days when a

pen/pencil was a constant companion

Later, hands were poised over computer keys

or rustling pages of innumerable tomes

to earn that coveted degree

Treasured memory of holding Dad's arm as I walked

down the aisle to a new life as wife and mother

Grandchildren provide the need to stretch your

love with hugs and kisses and books to be read

Now, former busy hands are resting, palms down,

balanced on rocker arms

With each forward motion, pleasant memories prevail

Smile creases my face as I continue to rock

back and forth, back and forth...

my mind filled with peace and harmony

15.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

October

2013201320132013Marie-Louise Meyers...19

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...18

Jacqueline Moffett ...25

Susan Nelson Vernon...21

Lucille Morgan Wilson...20

16.

Barbara Blanks...23

Robert Lynn Brown...17

Marilyn Downing...24

Ann Gasser...26

Nancy Henry Kline...22

HARVEST TIME

--by Robert Lynn Brown

Now that the days are shortened

and Summer's cause seems lost;

everything green in my garden

has been ravaged by old Jack Frost.

The giant Sunflower sentries are gone,

yielding up buckets of seed;

No matter how deep Winter's snow

there will be more than my bird friends need.

The corn stalks stand in a shock by the steps

with pumpkins and squash as decor;

a reminder that Thanksgiving's coming on fast

and that Halloween's right at our door.

The onions and spuds have shucked summer duds,

as have also the carrots and beets.

But my root crops aren't dead.

They have just stayed in bed

And the beds are replete yet with eats.

17.

© Robert Lynn Brown

18.

Writers Can’t Not Write!

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

With tons of literature in print,

our expertise shines through.

(Do you suppose there’s anything

we writers can’t not do?)

I contemplate that question

and I know that I am right.

There is one thing we can’t not do . . .

we writers can’t not write!

© 1994

19.

PICKLES AND POETRY

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

Fame has always been known to be fickle--

take my poetry, Grandpa's Pickles.

no reporters pursue us,

no talk-show hosts woo us,

our applause may be only a trickle.

Still we plug away, doing our best

for each family member and guest.

We both persist,

grandchildren insist.

We bask in their love and feel blest.

photo from karavi.wordpress.com

THE RISK

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

I brought her lovely, fragile flowers;

she stuffed them into old fruit jars,

regarding not a crystal vase

that on a high shelf held its place.

Offended then, I wonder now

if God looks down and marvels how

with gifts He hands me every day

I mount rare gems in crumbling clay.

20.

21.

AVIAN WONDERS

—by Susan Nelson Vernon

Out for maneuvers,

flocks of agile birds zigzag

on indigo skies.

Sharing common direction-

a sense of community.

Out on the highway,

counter-intuitively,

birds perch on high wires.

Can they be people watching;

amused by follies of man?

AUTUMN

—by Nancy Henry Kline

A leaf lets go and frolics in the air.

It dives, and lodges in a scarecrow's hair.

It's autumn.

We gobble taffy apples, season's treat;

mulled cider, pumpkin ice cream, chestnuts sweet.

It's autumn.

Wild geese honk loud goodbyes as they take flight.

A grinning jack-o-lantern lights the night.

It's autumn.

Wee ghosts and goblins call out, "Trick or treat."

Beware the haunted house on Witchcraft Street.

It's autumn.

We light a blazing bonfire in the park.;

tell very scary stories after dark.

It's autumn.

A pack of wolves howls at a harvest moon.

Soon winter winds will howl a mournful tune.

It's autumn.

22.

23.

PAIN AND STABLE

—by Barbara Blanks

Unusual horse, the unicorn—

His forehead sports a single horn.

He has the body of a deer,

An ox’s tail hangs from his rear;

His coat is always purist white;

He’s sought by wizards and by knights.

He’s been around since Eve and Adam—

Do you think either ever had him

Wear a bridle or a saddle,

Rode him sideways or astraddle?

I think they preferred to walk—

Riding bare would make them squawk.

MOOOVING ALONG

—by Marilyn Downing

When ten cows wandered out of their field,

the autos were all forced to yield.

Bovines were not cowed

by horns honking loud

from the horse-power they had congealed.

24.

GIGGLES

— by Jacqueline Moffett

Halloween party at school

that's no fun, too predicable

bobbing for apples, eating candy corn

better to wait for darkness

when the real excitement builds

carved orange pumpkins fill porches

outside lights burn brightly

witches and goblins roam the street

black pants of monster costume

fall down past my hips

squinting through small holes in my

rubber mask, I check my house,

put my red-gloved finger on the bell

best blood-curdling yell -- yeowww!

Daddy jumps, I scared him

uncontrollable giggles burst forth!

25.

THEN AGAIN, MAYBE NOT

—by Ann Gasser

The stately maple turns to red and gold;

and lately I feel I am growing old.

I wish that I could be more like a tree

and as I age be beautiful to see.

I'd love to don a bright-leaf gypsy skirt

and sway my limbs when autum breezes flirt.

I'd scatter gold on all the passersby,

stand crimson-saffron framed by azure sky.

I'd shelter squirrels playing hide and seek,

and kiss migrating blackbirds leaf-to-beak.

At night when sky is navy-velvet air,

I'd wear a crown of star gems in my hair.

I'd watch the moon rise, pale as honey dew.

I think I'd really like that, wouldn't you?

But when November winds blow wild and shrill,

and flurries whirl and twirl o'er plain and hill,

There's no way I would imitate those trees--

drop all my leaves, stand naked in the breeze.

26.