The Evening Sets In…
The evening sets in as the daylight fades,
Geese are honking in grey sky
And the life walks into a poetry.
I’m trying to cash in my day’s work—
Multifarious chores into a tune
To fit into a poetry,
Picking Swiss Chard in late October
Sweet peas still hang unto flowers,
No time for peas to ripen,
But it’s never wholly lost
For life is a progress,
And the evening is too dark for some,
But for others it’s beginning of a day.
Who’s behind the quivering lips
Looking into a rear-view mirror?
The evening sets towing the daylight behind.
2020
Year of the Rat
Yenna Yi
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In Praise of Boring
I yearn for a solid boring day.
A day I awaken and the sun
or the rain appears as anticipated.
A day containing no surprises.
A day when the news is presented
with a yawn.
No invasions reported around the globe.
A day when people of different
backgrounds talk to each other
without yelling.
A day that the art of listening is resurrected.
When I open the milk, it has no sour smell.
The phone only rings for someone to say hello.
No frantic calls coming from children.
My cat simply meows at scheduled
feeding times.
My annual physical is normal.
My friend can declare her desire to continue
to recover from surgery
as the world’s most boring patient.
How could I ever have so misunderstood boring,
a word that damns the movie or the book.
As a youngster, I dreaded the boring class,
the teacher who droned on,
the concert I had to attend.
Perhaps there is a switch that is thrown
at a certain moment in life.
That day when one awakens and breathes
a special sigh of relief,
inviting a lack of excitement.
It has taken many years to truly
appreciate boring.
I plan to cultivate my appreciation
and even seek out this wondrous state.
Paul Redstone
***********************************************************************************
Papers in my Pockets
tell that I am 84
they say
it is just the right time
for dementia
so in my pockets
I keep two truths
for those
who want to know
how opposites are true
one says I’m fully alive and well
one that I sometimes forget words
and am slowly
losing pieces of who I was
I give out both papers
to those who want to know
how opposites
can live together
as they do
changed but
still fully living
writing poems
like this one
keeping who I am
accepting what is changing
as it will
Phyllis B. Katz
*******************************************************************************
CHEN FAMILY WORSHIP
A time capsule:
we share
these now ivoried panels
of hilarious family comicality
found pinned to the back
of that dusty drawer:
multi colored balloons
of computer cartoons.
We share, read aloud
his epistles framed in panels
to the bachelor uncle’s gathering :
grieving, brothers ,sisters.
.
Replace them gingerly
in the composition- board dresser
The Salvation Army refused :
“Not taking: dead or alive,
has to be new or unused.”
I wake in the dark night to ask
Could our family artist be yet alive?
We dreaming,
butterfly fluttering,
he drawing us ,
sketching cryptic notes on our bad habits
,pinning siblings to ancestral tablets ?
Geo Cernada
**********************************************************************************
Blackout poem
from John Lewis quote:
“~ ~ ~ ~ ~ light. ~ ~ the light. Never let anyone—any person or any force—dampen, dim or diminish ~ ~ light. Study ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ the whispers of your ~ ~ heart, ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ universal truth, ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ Hold only love ~ ~ ~ ~ peace ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ good ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ follow your truth ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ to
peace and ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ love, if you shine like a beacon ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~, then the poetry of all ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ is ~ ours to manifest in a nation, ~ world ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~, and ~
Beloved Community ~ ~ ~ finally at peace with itself.”
Isabell VanMerlin