MM's Represented Poems for 2007 Options

[Cleo_Serapis]

JANUARY SELECTIONS:


The Ravin’ by JustDaniel

Oft I dream, my body shakin’; worried wife cannot awaken.
Though I’m safe abed, she’s anxious; twice I’ve fallen on the floor.
Once she woke me from my slumber… seems I swore… a nasty number!
3 AM today, while tremblin’, something nearly soiled my drawers.
What’s that high-pitched screeching, screeching? She’s awake now and beseeching,
“Dear, what is that awful shrieking? Peek inside the closet door!
Only this, and nothing more!”

“Why don’t you? You are awake now… and of course you have the know-how;
must be Ollie trapped inside there; crazy cat’s behind the door.”
“No, it’s something else,” she worried; still she wished that I had scurried.
“Hurry up; get up, you crazy, lazy lump… but watch the floor!”
Still, I nearly fell… then righted, while she watched, now more affrighted
as I stumbled, bleary-sighted toward the stupid closet door…
now expecting blood and gore.

Tripping over clothes not laundered, step-by-step, in dark I wandered,
squandered time as I moved nearer, nearer to the closet door.
What’s behind it…? Now I’m fearing… and the fear’s not disappearing!
What could be there crying, crying? What’s behind that closet door?
Inch-by-inch… then hesitating. Why is she so obligating?
She could look herself inside it… I’m a man who’s scared… best hide it!
“Don’t you worry!” I implore.

Then I feel my body quiver… kidneys, bladder, even liver…
it’s gut-wrenching, teeth now clenching; I hear something like a snore.
Looking back… my wife is screaming, and behind, a light is beaming,
beaming till my eyes are burning… burning fire I can’t ignore.
“Turn the light off; I can’t stand it!” I yell back… yes, I demand it!
“Wake up, Daniel; stop that screaming!” It was I that I heard snore.
‘Twas a dream, and nothing more.

© Daniel Ricketts 30 Oct 2006

Sing to Me by Eisa

Cradle me, Mammy --
in your warm arms I’ll inhale
the fragrance of your skin;
playing ‘butterflies’,
eyelashes flutter
against each other’s cheeks.

Sing to me, Mammy,
lift me with your spirit
in rousing hymns;
soothe me with lullabies,
swaying ‘til I rest.

I’m growing old, Mammy,
yet that little girl lingers --
longing for the solace
of your embrace.
When sleeplessly tired
I ache for the lilting
timbre of your voice
to wrap me in peace.


© Eira Needham December 2006


Mammy – Welsh dialect

The Phantom by Merlin

I

When dawn arises, spreading dulcet rays
across her vast expanse of peaks and draws,
nocturnal creatures tread on silken paws
back to their lairs ahead of morning’s haze.
A herd of horses in one treed retreat
begins to stir and move to grazing grounds;
spry, frisky foals carouse in leaps and rounds
as docile mares choose grasses fresh and sweet.

A cabin, nestled near a forest crook,
takes life with golden lamplight glow; its smoke
ascends in blue-gray plumes to disappear.
When Josh awakes, he takes a yearning look
to where his hills turn sable-cobalt-oak
and Hogback Ridge keeps chanting in his ear.


II

To local folks, The Phantom is a myth
like many kept alive across the plain
by cowpokes long in tooth and tough in grain
who claim they’ve felt this stallion’s fiery breath.
Those tales relate how he’s a patriarch
that keeps his harem free from spur and bit,
though loudmouth punchers brag how they’d outwit
The Phantom, but each effort missed its mark.

Josh rode his grula through an open green,
exploring Hogback Ridge’s weaving streams
and chanced upon a fresh, but well-worn trail.
He rode uphill to check what could be seen
and watched as wonderment change into dream –
light wind caressed The Phantom’s mane and tail.


III

Where mountaintops are capped with ice and snow
and stillness fills each valley to its brink,
a youngster stops to give his horse a drink,
dismounting while cool, placid waters flow.
Josh hears a whiney as The Phantom throws
his head around, now sensing something wrong
and starts to move his trusting herd along
the bottomland. A soothing zephyr blows.

Josh checks his cinch, remounts, and heads for home
since noon has passed them by some time ago;
his grula breaks into an easy trot.
With mind awhirl, Josh wishes he could roam
wild as The Phantom, free as west winds blow,
his restless spirit never to be caught.

[AMETHYST]

September Selections:

Lovers Meet Again
Two Views by heartsong7

Hers:

I watched you wrapping life in fantasy
until you lost yourself in make-believe.
Appearances took precedence and we
soon parted. I still wonder—did you grieve
to wake and find me gone? No way I'd leave
the man you used to be. Today I know
too much has come between, we won't retrieve
the newness of a love we both let go.
It's time to travel on with memories in tow.


His:

It’s true, I’d hide behind a fantasy,
imagining some day you would believe
a prince had won your heart but, sadly, we
were far too far apart; it’s that I grieve.
The maybes topped with what-ifs made you leave
and left me lost in all I didn’t know.
If fate allows one chance, we could retrieve
the remnants of our love. Don't let it go
to perish, pulled apart by pride’s strong undertow.




The Ghost in the Machine by Michelle


A drop of water neither begs to stay
afloat and travel leisurely for miles
nor opts to fall upon a south sea isle
and moisten threaded flowers on a lei.

A mountain cannot try to elevate
its snowy peak nor lose its massive girth
as thawing summits carry motes of earth
to line the depths beneath a sound or strait.

As moons revolve, their parent planets trace
a path around a star. A billion stars
are like galactic cogs in spiral bars
and countless galaxies dot boundless space.

The universe keeps pace. The cosmos whirls;
no constellation questions movement‘s means.
No rift of jealousy occurs between
a moon and star; gears mesh as nature twirls.

Inside its nuts and bolts, our form conceals
the consciousness within a human mind.
We note the patterns coded in design
and learn the laws which turn celestial wheels.

Man sees this grand machine and stands erect
above its hum. He logs activity
with scientific objectivity
yet doubts his archetype, The Architect.




Once Upon a Time by Merlin


A herd of cows with calves in tow
now graze this meadow, where,
not many years ago
the two of us wandered,
looking for elusive four-leafed clover
to bring us luck.

The golden balsamroot of early spring
had burst in bright abandon
like stardust
sprinkled by wee forest folk
who rule the mystic woodlands.

Then later on, roses, wildwood roses
graced our much loved hills
where we would stroll,
enjoying sunshine days
in nature’s freedom.

Aspen leaves turned gold,
grasses withered,
autumn winds brought frosty nights,
and rose hips blushed in scarlet.

Along their dusty trails
where once we sought
four-leafed clover,
cows now wander.