Poem: Storm

 

“If you don’t get what you want, don’t miss the lesson”___His  Holiness, the Dali Lama

Beyond the overwhelming fury of the thing,

there is something about how we have refused, how we have how hardened again and again.

This dragon of a storm is roaring for a reason.

In the waves taller than trees, in the dark fury of the winds we are missing it.

And now how can we be still and know?

 

We are being given the dragon’s treasure and the creature screams in its outrage, “Is this what you want, finally?”

We don’t even notice it has vomited up its diamonds, its yellow chains, as the sickening pull of the great waters swallows up the treasure that sparkles like golden bones, and devours the glittering rocks. The treasure gleams and then is overcome in seething waters.

 

We are busy listening to our voices, listening to our fear, and Quan Yin rides the dragon on the waves in stillness unimagined. Her voice is a flute, clear as a summer’s afternoon in sun.

There is something we must hear in all of this. There is something we must cherish, some call, some message and maybe we can come to know again what precious truth is hidden in the whirlwind.

 

 

By  Linda Beatrice Brown,

September 10, 2017

© Linda Beatrice Brown

Poem: Steam Calliope on the Natchez

Even from way over on Elysian Fields it sounded 

like a disaster drill, a siren a frantic army of titanic

kazoos blasting out holiday medleys, alarmed we

headed down to the levee, there high up behind

 the wheel house playing in harsh blasts and shrieks

the rotund meister hulking in a broad hat,   

walloping out Here Comes Santa Claus, the crowd 

between panic and tears gaped at the discordant squeals 

of steam, even a flock of birds sweeping up-river veered off over 

the bayou for safety as we, trapped on the ground helpless 

and too astonished to flee watched the whistles tear

into the air like a scene at a fiercely burning building 

the whole steamboat threatening to explode with joy.

                                           

                                by Tom Dow

                                "Steam Calliope on the Natchez"  first appeared in the Red Clay Review, 2019

Poem: Sweet Benedictions

 

Twilight fades at the horizon.

Night is born

like baby Lord Krishna,

in a dark storm.

Winds whistle. We jostle

on a boat in the giant arms of the ocean.

Whales, starfish, and seahorses plunge

into waves of unrest.

Water splashes in my face,

gushes inside the rocking boat.

Dark memories of yesterday spill in, chilling my spine.

Humanity is parched for life like

miles and miles of cracked cement.

A passing boat’s lingering siren

hollers to the Seven Wonders of the World.

Clouds open their gates,

mystic beasts of wonderland roar and

the sun’s sweet benedictions fall to the earth.

The lighthouse flickers in sight.

I step from the boat

with bare toes into sinking sand,

shaking my wet hair, dropping to my knees.

My soul calls out in prayer:

      Restore peace, unity, and healing

     in this torn, rugged land.

                                    by     Aruna Gurumurthy         

Poem: Co-op Gardening

I did my part -

Sketched a plot

Amended the soil

Dug a trough

 

Embedded the seeds

Pre-emerged

Watered and fed

Mulched in hope

 

Now it’s up to                                                        

Heaven’s part

To provide what

I cannot –

 

Rays of sun

Nutrients of earth

Showers of rain

For flowers of blessing

                                           From  Seasons in the Garden By Sandra Fischer

Poem: Damn You

You have no right to be in my dreams.

The house we would build on the hill.

Clearing thorn trees and loving the view.

Then going away.

Not having the will

That makes dreams real.

Damn you.

You have not right to be in my dreams.

But whenever I am on the hill, the dream is there,

And you are in it.

Damn you.

                                by John R. Dykers, Jr.  

Poem: The Unkind Offering

Intense kitty bemoans the loss,

The mouse in the house just got tossed.

“I’ll find a rat or fat bunny.

I’ll leave it some place, not so funny.”

 

                                             by rick bylina

 

Poem: Spring Comes

 Zealously invading

Winter’s cold with its promise

Gnats hatch to swill in warm light

Sap swells into buds

 

Feebly, worming its

Presence into Winter’s wrath

Smoothing wind’s bite until

Only lone flakes remain.

 

Slowly limping until

Stems push dirt aside, petals emerge,

And Spring tumbles in on thunderheads

Spreading its promise in humid air

 

Enduringly, heeding the

Calls of recreation,

The ancient prayers of life, Spring

Lingers in warm breezes and heavy dews.

 

                                              by Carol Phillips