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.         

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 ...

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.

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 ...

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