Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Purr, by Jed Feffer

Jed Feffer
Purr

The sunshine basks my face.
I feel an affinity with Cheshire, the cat.
I can't stop grinning.
Old Man Sun has something
                             to do with that.

He's been shining for eons,
and thank you very much for asking,
so have cats been basking
for a very long time.
No wonder they are so mysterious,
lying around flicking their tails
and preening their whiskers,
finding the laps of so many chairs,
breathing, stretching,
finding the gracedfulness of air
to skirt around the stodgy legs of things.
Everyone looks so serious to a cat you know.
Everyone so busy with someplace to go.
And me just puddling up in the sun.

Look, I'm disappearing.         

Friday, September 21, 2018

More from Scott

Universe shimmers, Reality perceives
Perception fountains...
Vibration sounds, World roars.









In our September 19 meeting the prompt for writing in session together was simply, fear.
Scott produced this:


A good space                                      
Scott Norman Rosenthal

in a bad place ...

Farms on the road,

and tragic beefalo ...

cry, whine, shout,

nowhere for movement
but out ...

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Judith Janoo's previously published Snow Travels




Judith Janoo, summer 2018, Barton Public Library
Snow Travels  
                 By Judith Janoo

light and down
in its kingdom

sweeps parallel
as supine you gaze,

question why remain,
and miss the great escape

south or west
still braced against

last week’s freeze
that wheezes, moans

bone scrapes bone
until at once unleashed

into white silence
you travel as wind crystals

over neighbor’s blue van
abandoned, up to its wheels

in white, over roofless shed
left open to soft fragments    

falling over the woodpile
lining the drive

lighting on fir saplings
bowed down and higher,

birches regal parchment
cleaving and even these

peeled, dried,
crowned.

Monday, September 17, 2018

Another September poem, by Scott Norman Rosenthal



Scott Norman Rosenthal
September 5th, 2018

The Sun doesn't pause,
nor the calendar cease ...

This Season
heat stays ...

...the patient Moon
luxuriously sails ...

Friday, September 7, 2018

Jean's September poem

Jean Morris
Here's what Jean Morris wrote in our session
on September 5, 2018, with the September Song prompt:  


September could be the
     cruelest month,
     given the chance.


I'll take the chance.
I'll rake down-fallen leaves
    with abandon and fury

and anticipate muscle aches.             

Fran Smith's Pieta

Fran Smith


Pieta


You used to Loom Large.  Your critiques
Wounded me.  Recovery took weeks.
And now, at Calvary Hospital, it speaks
Volumes that your beauty, though diminished,
Persists despite the toll exacted by your years,
Despite the drugs that addle synapses.  Your fears
And pride and vengefulness and tears
And joy in jewelry and grandkids aren't quite finished.


Junkies would falter at the dose you get
Of opiates.  Sweet anodyne!  No pain but you regret
Your loss of language, hearing, mental clarity.  Yet
closeness, skin to skin, is what you really crave.


I know this.  So now that nurse is gone, I stealthy-slide my arms
Under your covers.  Under your thin back.  What harm
Is there?  Will you catch my germs?  But there is no alarm:
Embraces are welcome at hospice ... especially at this stage.


Your shoulder blades are bird-like. By contrast
Your grandkids' infant backs were muscle-bound and even then surpassed
Their little grandma's now cradled in my arms.  Rid of ambivalence, at last,,
I'm willing, but sad, to let you go.

                                                                                                                                                                                               
                                                                                                                                       7-20-2018

Friday, August 31, 2018

Four from Carole

We love our Carole Perron, who often writes about family matters. (The Perrons are one of the earliest and largest families to have come down into the Northeast Kingdom from Quebec to build farm homesteads.)  Carole's first poem here relates to a new family member.  The second is a take on the pantoum, with the same subject.
                      
Carole Perron


A Foster Child

My daughter and family
Welcomed a 12 yr. old boy
Who knows what he has seen
Or where he has been

Perhaps this is his first solid family.
Is he frightened, relieved, defensive?
Will he stay?  Is he a son, a brother?
Does a solid family relieve some anxiety?
Perhaps this is only temporary
Or may provide a solid base for the future.



A Stranger in Our Midst

There's a new boy in town
He may feel really lost.
He attaches to Silas, a friendly face.
Strangers everywhere when he looks around.
He may feel really lost.
Hey, a water balloon fight!
Strangers everywhere when he looks around.
There's lots of food.


Hey, a water balloon fight!
It's a lot of fun.
There's lots of food to choose from.
There's a new boy in town.


Let's play frisbee or lawn darts!
There's a new boy in town.
Really talkative and at ease
He attaches to Silas, a friendly face
And seems to make a space for himself.


                                                                            *****

(This next is a poem Carole wrote in our most recent session, Sept. 5, 2018.  We had only 10 minutes only to write to the prompt, September Song.)


September Song

It's a long way from beginning to end.

September is like a transition
                    from the warmth of summer
                    to the chill of December.

It carries wonderful memories
                    of love, laughter, pleasure,
                    and lets us carry them,
                    a treasure.

And when the wind howls around
                   the windows,
And snow drifts, covering the road,
We remember that everything
                   travels in circles.


                   Spring always comes.
The pleasure of summer soothes.
Autumn signals another change,
Preparation for rest

                   and rejuvenation.

Then once again
we're prepared for spring.
    



                                                   ****
                                      (And the one below has a date as title, her father's birthdate.)



8-29-18

Today would have been my dad's 106th.
We always celebrated with cake and ice cream
And fried salt-pork in milk gravy,
Dad's favorite!
 

Though he died 30 years ago
His memory lives on
In the stories he told,
In habits we hold
In the fact he didn't scold.


He was quiet and calm,
A part of his charm.
Loved visiting with friends,
Keeping in touch,
Laughing at shared jokes.


When helping with haying
Was heard to exclaim,
As he lined up wagon and elevator
(A challenging feat),
"Damned old fool, don't know
         if you're coming or going."