i sit beside rivers

By thom moon 10
(Thom the World Poet)












astrologers advised(if i wait long enough
i will see the heads of my enemies floating past
yet all my friends have fine and furry heads
and waiting only changes me

i listen more and deeper now
to what you say and do/it changes me enough
(i will change my name again
since i cannot change you

i watch this day like a hawk
looking for some point of contact
gannet strike into deeper water
in search of the perfect one

this ocean of air dried up
summer moved in her heated furniture
emptied the foreclosed planet so we
could write our own versions of history

in progress and under continuous assessment
we each see the same gun
but only one gets killed by a policeman
the other wounded and discharged

as if a circus -giving money to the rich
so they can make more profits
allows a temporary presidency
until the bills come in

elder trees with oak wilt
elder activists with compassion fatigue
aging population asks for health costs
to be borne on the back of the young

imagine a silent movie
with no commentary soundtrack
and you would have to distinguish between
images,mirages,illusions,mirror tricks

reflecting upon armageddon
only changes reflections
point your solar powered eyes towards one moon
she will cycle and recycle you

and even stars cannot be seen
cities industrial waste 's gleam
as smog around the fog of wars
is peace lifestyle worth fighting for?

May 16, 2009

Included (with permission) because I love it - and because I can justify its inclusion on the grounds that Thom has been a guest workshopper to this group in the past. - Rosemary (Facilitator)

The Trouble with Being an Emigrant

By M Cunningham Webb












Distance causing isolation
From those I felt were close,
Connection so important
Slips away, I feel morose.

Confidences, familial news
No longer sent my way,
‘No need to trouble her with that,
She’s much too far away.’

Desperately I crave inclusion
Still no letters of affection,
Busy lives and other ties
Replace the strong connection.

Chinese whispers run amuck
Words twisted and misquoted,
Miles impede communications
A villain, I’ve been voted.

Dissension stirs within the clan
New hurt, some gossip mongrel
Has dug the chasm wider still,
Slander scapegoat, tribal libel.

Long distance now in heart and soul
No chance for my redemption,
No explanation can I produce
I am guilty, by presumption.

The Gentle Coals

By Aileen Hayward












(An exercise: to write a piece starting with this first line:)

The rouged coals languished long after midnight
Where gentle heat kissed the cooling air
Soft darkness mantled the chairs and table
And fine bone china gleamed silently there.

Soft spoken words and innocent laughter
Had graced the day in this family room
As matters of import had full discussion
And busy fingers had worked the loom.

“Oh hasten the day when the spring is with us”
She’d smiled to him with her eyes downcast
“These coals I have brought will warm and cheer you”
He vowed “and the fire I build will last.”

He stacked the fire, and hot tea was offered
These two young people so safe in their dream
Her Mama served scones with jam from the orchard
And cream from the cows that stood safe by the stream.

And gentle was he as he made his departure
And gracious the maid as he kissed her hand
So gentle the coals as they kept his promise
To warm the room in this winterland.

There is no question for coals to answer
When faced with a task they are meant to serve
There is no need in the midnight’s stillness
To fret as hands travel the clock face curve.

Should we move slowly and softly eager
To tread more gently upon this earth
The coals in our hearts would stay rouged after midnight
And we would discover creation’s worth.

Clichés

By Eddie Blatt






Clichés aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. Unless of course you have an axe to grind. Take my wife for instance. Please. She went out in a blaze of glory. Kicked the bucket, bit the dust, gone to meet her maker. She was only 30 when she cashed in her chips. Didn’t stand a chance. She thought she was God’s gift to mankind. But really she was skating on thin ice. The tide had finally turned and she was up shit creek without a paddle. Oh well, here today, gone tomorrow.

The first time I saw her she was dressed to the nines. I was struck by a bolt from the blue.

“Cat got your tongue?” she said to me.

I was caught off guard but I knew the score. I had to sweep her off her feet or she wouldn’t give me a second glance.

“You’re as pretty as a postcard,” I replied. “Haven’t I seen you before?”

God, I must have been dumber than a box of rocks, but hey, I was bent out of shape. I had already fallen for her, hook, line and sinker. Make no bones about it I was as mad as a hatter. But I had put my foot firmly in my mouth and had to think quick on my feet.

“Look,” I said, “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Save your breath,” she replied. “I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man alive.”

I had made an ass of myself but it was now or never. I waited for the dust to settle then let fly with both guns blazing.

“Will you marry me?” I blurted out.

She looked like a stunned mullet. Then she suddenly broke out into a laugh. She had a smile as sweet as honey pie.

“Yes,” she said, “a hard man is good to find and you’re just what the doctor ordered.”

**

They say all’s fair in love and war. Take my wife for instance. Please. Well, my best mate did. He took her for every penny she had. Didn’t stand a chance. While she wasn’t looking he took off like the clappers, money and all. He was out of there like a rat up a drainpipe. Off like a piece of gorgonzola. Can’t say she didn’t have it coming. Served her right. In the end she didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Not a zack to her name. The walls were closing in on her and she drove her car off a bridge. What a way to go.

I didn’t see it coming. When all’s said and done, however, come hell or high water, I knew which side my bread was buttered. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. All in all, I thank my lucky stars.

When push comes to shove, it’s love that isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. But it ain’t over till the fat lady sings. Amen.