MM's Represented Poems for 2009, Best of luck! Options

[Cleo_Serapis]

JANUARY SELECTIONS:


SONNET 73 Paraphrased by Ronald Jones


The fall of autumn leaves, denuding trees,
Regales in crispy crackling song-like sound.
A crunching tune arising 'round my knees
From boughs where boist'rous birds of song were found...
The price I pay is youthful years now passed,
For like their way, I too, have served my time
And so accept the years I have amassed.
Those waning rays, now set, forswear my prime.
But still in me, you see a spark, a glow,
Though ashes stifle embers, I'm still warm!
So let me crunch and crackle, you must know
We all return from whence we came, in form.
Let love abide, despite my dimming light,
And then, as darkness comes, my midnight's bright.



Late Snow by Larry D. Jennings


Emerging from my chrysalis, I see
the face of Winter’s crystal tressed milieu
abiding still. Her breath confronting me;
instead of flower petals washed in dew.

Something’s awry, for Nature’s call was clear.
“Emerge and go into a springtime’s youth!”,
away from prison chambers, which adhere
to limbs, still barren; gnawed by icy tooth.

I sense no respite near. With these furled wings,
a flight to other climes is not a choice.
Rime covered now from chilling wind which sings
my dirge. Life’s verdict read without a voice.

Upon the silv’ry shroud from fate’s wry hand
lies death, a rainbow frozen in time’s sand.



December Streetwalkers by Eric Linden


December darkness nibbles bits of day
until there’s hardly any left, it seems,
at least not much. Ice covered ponds and streams
are Meccas for both young and old to play
a game of shinny. Children on their sleighs
go hurdling down embankments – mortal screams,
as off they spill into a drift. Two teams
in forts let snowballs fly each other’s way.

Electric lights in rainbow-colored hues
adorn the busy city streets and stores
where shoppers bustle back and forth, like bees.
And everywhere you look, each avenue
has yards and homes alit in bright decors;
wreaths hang on doors, garlands on leafless trees.

It’s almost solstice time. How woeful nights
appear to one misguided, tortured soul
who works nocturnal downtown streets where lights,
like bright electric stardrops, hang from pole
to pole, aglitter in December air.

A speaker somewhere overhead blares out
What Child is This, then Jingle Bells. “Who cares?”
she thinks, and moves away. “It’s all about
the mighty buck today, which I ain’t got
and by the looks of things, I’ll never get.”

Salvation Army bells. Their plastic pots
hold hope that expectations can be met
and no-one goes off hungry at this time.
Each contribution helps – five dollars or a dime.

[Cleo_Serapis]

NOVEMBER SELECTIONS:


My Book by Daniel J Ricketts, Sr.


The jacket on my book is soiled and worn
but it's as special now as on the day
you gave it to me. It has long adorned
the shelf beside the window to the bay.

An ordinary child would probably
have lost it long ago; I wasn't one:
I heard you say so often -- notably
a bird-brain. Hearing that was never fun.

I cried a lot and often beat my head
against the wall to take away the pain,
but nothing seemed to help like jam and bread
with peanut butter; I'm okay again.

That day, spilt gasoline all over me,
you handed me the book, Light one and see.




The Legacy by Walter Schwim


A Kiss,
stolen between the land and sea, with
spray - salty on your lips
and sand, slipping through our fingers,
building tiny stalagmites for laughing children.

Silken Hair,
restless as the wind and waves,
washing treasures to our tingling feet
and your eyes that
boldly rob the ocean of its fire
while Poseidon roars inside his cowry shell.

Sunshine,
warm on sanguine skin,
lungs filled
with virgin air - un-breathed,
in a green forest, resting within my soul.

Your Smile,
cascading naked over marbled pebbles,
claiming my heart as
the mountain murmurs blackly
beneath our unshod feet.

These, I'd take with me.

Soil,
steeped in blood, inherited with sweat;
a lifetime’s toil for
fledgling fiscal dreams and
prayers - ever unfulfilled.

Promises - made in faith,
broken in sickness and in fear
of foe and fate.
Curved sWords,
fired in anger at vulnerable emotions;
parried with semi-truths and deception,
finally manoeuvring into shadow.

These,
(and sorrow’s Tear as well)
I gladly bequeath to those –
who stay.



She by Beverleigh Gail Annegarn


She arrived in the night
hauling her basket of agony.
Slowly, she unpacked
her heinous wares
next to my bed
then thrust her
needles and swords,
sharp and piercing
into my flesh.

She dragged barbed wire
across my back, until I cried,
but still did not stop.
Then continued to stab the wounds,
leaving them suppurating.

Desperately I searched…
respite did not come.

She moves with me, depleting energy,
rendering me spiritless.

I am at her mercy.