Poem: Flash

Flash

Times flash, intermittently; wimpling waves,

speed through space – faces forgotten

slip in and out of my consciousness,

living in sepia,

snapshots in albums – an alchemy of lives,

details stirring memories;

some exit from love, others indifference;

still others linger, living between

musings and dreams.

By:  Patrica Cole

2/12/11

Poem: Taxes

Taxes

(My apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)

Once upon a midnight dreary as I struggled, weak and weary,

over a changed Form 1040 I had never seen before.

Back and forth I did the sums, looking for deduction crumbs,

hoping, ever hoping that I’d find a way to score.

But, alas, twas not my lot to escape an awful blot

upon my worldly fortune, Uncle Sam keeps wanting more.

My mind grows dim with sorrow; the due date is tomorrow,

and I must find the answer else I’ll end up very poor.

Can I claim those gambling debts resulting from my stupid bets?

Should I try to itemize my bar bill from the club?

What about my one contribution, will that not bring absolution?

Surely I can claim deduction for the new pants that I tore.

Alas tis midnight past, and the time is flying fast, and I must find an answer

to the question: How much more?

You may think my answer funny: I’ll just send them all my money,

and request that they return to me all that not spent before.

It is now six months gone by, and as yet there’s no reply,

Could it be that Uncle Sam will give me no succor?

Then the Raven came rapping, rapping

the Raven came rapping, tapping at my window door.

Oh to be so doubly blessed, a messenger from the IRS!

Surely he has come to tell me that my problems are no more.

And I said “Oh bird austere, do you bring me news of cheer?

If you brought to me a refund, then together we will soar.

I am down to bread and beans, for I do not have the means

To buy a decent meal. Tell me, Raven

am I affluent, as I was in days of yore?

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”

By:  Al Manning

2/7/11

Back Home

Mike Sepelak






Never, ever, Ever
return South
and smugly suggest
that you're tired of snow

The Cosmos listens

Poem: Back Home Finally

Back Home Finally


Back Home
Finally
Been North too long
Love seeing the Family, but

Tired of driving. Tired of snow
Tired of driving in snow
Tired of asking "What day is it?"
Tired of having it matter

Sleep in
My bed
Shower in My shower
Walk the dog in My woods

Put the damn suitcases away
Fill and light the woodstove
Feed the birds. Read
Be normal. My normal

My couch
Warm down quilt
Hot chocolate with a shot of shine
Quiet time with My Mary

New tying vice
Comfy bench chair
Fly rods in the closet
Within reach. Ready

Back Home
Finally
Been North too long

By: Mike Sepelak             

2/4/11                            

Poem: For B.

For B.

Yes, I know

anguish (yours?), despair (yours?)

as reflected in the funhouse mirror

of my mind, the rollercoaster

of emotions, the (oh god)

the freak show—

the fat and bearded lady the dog-faced girl

the Siamese twins (sick fascination)

the geek

the brownian motion of the

crowds crowds crowds

the ballyhoopla carny of the

midway of my mind.

Step right up, folks. See the

anguish and despair.

Oh please oh please

Hold on.

Hang on. No need to cross

my palm with silver.

This I tell you. I promise

yes, this will end / is ending.

the time will come / is coming

of the mad (ssh!) carnival’s

reluctant departure.

Look into my crystal ball.

Look deep into my eyes.

(You are growing very sleepy.)

The level dusty area

now a little worn,

a little frayed and tattered.

Not the same.

Yes, you can see where it stood (held sway).

But now

it

is

gone.

Gone.

Over.

Yes.

I know.

I went and looked there.

By: Elizabeth Molin                               

2/3/11                                                   

Poem: My grandson Alex

My grandson Alex

How do I describe my grandson Alex?

He is jumping and leaping

Crawling and creeping

Bounding and wriggling

Bouncing and jiggling

Skipping and hopping

Jumping and bopping.

Smiling and winking and dancing around

Grinning and twisting, both feet off the ground.

Laughing and giggling and yelling and more

Climbing and falling kerbang to the floor.

Rolling and turning and punching and kicking

Throwing and catching and dropping and picking.

Stepping and stomping and running and racing

All of the neighborhood pets he is chasing.

Pushing, pinching, bending, bucking, always on the go

Calling, singing, shouting, cheering, joy from head to toe.

My Grandson Alex is living proof for all the world to see

Perpetual motion does exist, especially when you are three.

By: Al Manning                                         

2/2/11                                                    

Poem: Dusk

DUSK

Dusk walks up the cloudy stair

Drawing Dark behind

And she has magic in her hair

With dreams and stars entwined

By:  Elizabeth Molin                 

2/2/11