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.

[Cleo_Serapis]

JULY SELECTIONS:



The Flag by Judi

The air is still, as though the earth has held its breath;
the tears that flow are triggered by the sound of guns.
Two soldiers fold a flag, for war has claimed a life,
which like a budding tree had barely just begun.

As parents hear the bugler play his final note,
the mother sighs, a grieving father holds her hand.
Nothing soothes the pain his loved ones still must reap,
a shiny medal in a box, his last command.

Friends shake their hands, not knowing what do or say,
The parents nod their heads and shake each hand in turn,
So difficult to leave him there, an only son,
who chose this life, and knew that he might not return.

Tomorrow, they will fold another flag up tight;
salute with guns that echo with staccato sound.
The Taps will play for one who'll walk the earth no more.
When will they see no victories are found in war?



Hollowed Ground by Nada Lott


Along an eon-charted course
the river flows relentlessly
to carve a way through massive rock.
Its steady passage humbles me.

From rim to rim, these depths are but
a speck beneath the firmament
and I, beside them, apperceive
my smallness to its full extent.

For no appraiser stands prepared
to grasp the fathomless. Time wrought
a canyon; its Creator's mind
encompasses perfected thought.

I search my vocal repertoire,
superlatives exhausted. Now,
from parted lips that drip with awe
escapes a feeble, whispered, "Wow."



Jeoffry by Cleo_Serapis


He is sleek unto himself,
blending onyx and brilliance.

Seven - that magic number -
seven times he wreaths
his agile frame to the East,
ascends on haunch hopes;
no more, no less.

Toward latent stars he arcs
in complementary prayer,
and sheaths his domain with
spindrifts of nature’s musk.

Friends frolic in the grassy knoll
to mark their place in society
then yield to his presence: exercising
their position in his kingdom.

He crouches low and slowly
advances amongst his
camouflaged backdrop;
a transient salutation
that shadows pranks of the day…

then quietly sneaks back
to the comfort of a cushy couch
and moons himself to sleep.

A god made unto himself,
he blends onyx and brilliance.