True Self – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli
Have you ever thought
Why sugar is sweet?
Why salt is not bitter?
If not then ask yourself now
I am sure you’ll rediscover yourself
And perhaps recreate your own fate!
The Game – A Poem by Roy Pullam
Time is a card shark
Stealing the chips of youth
Pilfering our ambitions
Bending our backs
And our will
Playing with sleight of hand
Where the aces
Are palmed
Leaving the deck
Full of simply survival cards
But we all
Have to play
Taking what
Is dealt
Just hoping for a trump
That will
Lengthen our stay
At the table
New Year's Resolutions – A Poem by G. S. Katz
I don’t make them
They just become fragile and break
I’ll just continue on
Maybe we’ll meet for whiskey or tea
Or both
Perhaps a meat pie at the pub
I gave up eating red meat mostly
Those meat pies though
I’m never quite sure what kind of meat is in there
Could be tofu dressed up and congealed in mashed potatoes
While we’re at it
No reflection either
We should be like our pets
New day
Food in the bowl
Drink water
Go for walks and take beautiful naps
Mask – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli
That man wears a mask every day
Don’t think he’s a clown
He does so for his little children
Now, can we say that
A mask is sometimes better than reality?
Memory – A Poem by Richard Kalfus
Love remains
never lost
though you are gone.
Before me daily
Your image never fails
to warm me.
You call me from a business trip.
You check on the children nightly.
You dig in the garden.
You speak long distance
to parents in another city
who nurtured you
before you came to me.
I am forever grateful.
It was a risk you took,
to share a life with me
whom you loved,
but hardly knew.
Yet you knew
Long before I did.
So very sure you were.
Sure that:
Different cultures
Different language
Different religion
Were powerless
In the face of love.
Insight – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli
I once saw an old man
With dimples on his wrinkled cheeks.
He lived alone in a small cottage.
He worked very hard and
Always prepared his own food.
I wondered what made him
Live in solitude?
He used to collect
Dried magnolia leaves and twigs.
One day while passing by his cottage
I saw him painting the autumn trees.
I stopped and asked him
What is so special about the melancholy autumn?
He simply replied, “A new beginning”.
I was inspired and he gave me
A humble smile.
Salvaging Memories – A Poem by Roy Pullam
There was no joy
Ii the dreary morning
The house quiet
Since her burial
I opened the door
The flip of the light
Revealed the infamy
Burglars had invaded
The cherish space
Mother called home
I did an inventory
Dad’s knife
The family Bible
Mother’s favorite dress
All gone
The radio
Once close
To my father’s ear
His source
Of local news
Missing
Dishes, pans and glasses
Taken from the cabinets
William’s Christmas gifts
Purchased in the Orient
Dorothy cried
The pain
Of knowing
The memories
Of a hard childhood
Things with no monetary value
Seized in the sweep
Of valuables
My heart broke
No evidence
Of my childhood
Not one picture remained
All lost
The assault
On my heart complete
We divided
The remaining things
I took a pair
Of my father’s
Bib overalls
His soiled work shirt
From the hamper
The smell
Of his after shave
Still in the fabric
I found my mother’s purse
Under her bed
$2.00 in change
A handkerchief
Smelling of the White Shoulders
Velma bought her
Four Halls cough drops
For the cold
She got each year
I sacrificed other things
Allowing my sisters
To claim
What they wanted
To keep the old
Tired leather purse
Mother wore
Over her shoulder
We took the puny tokens
Left by the felons
Closed the door
And drove away
How miscellaneous
Are the things we treasure
The artifacts
Of a long life
Bitterness – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli
They say words should not be bitter
Bitter and hostile words
Can be very hurting.
They can kill a person
They can ruin relationships
They can break a person’s heart
Into a thousand pieces.
Then why do they say
Bitter gourd is good for the body?
Sometimes I feel these bitter words
Can make us strong
And determined lifelong.
The Hoover Guy – A Poem by Gareth Culshaw
He filled his van up with Hoovers,
brushes, cleaning fluid, mops
and other sorts of things. Whisky
was painted on the back of his throat,
and his phlegm was curried
with it when he spat. He slammed
the door and walked around, money
rattled with keys. His polished hair,
black as his heart, glowed,
as if something slithered through it.
I never liked seeing him or having
to say ‘Hello’. He was a difficult man,
opinions, wind-like, and a stare that made
you think you shouldn’t even be alive,
never mind looking at him.
Morning – A Poem by Daniel Miltz
While the morning dozes in handily
The sun paints inciting vegetation
Bit of greenly sward, applauds, snappishly
Moving, moping, in startled asp’ration
Lying in torment, unpretentiously
Wide-eyed land, romps energetically
Iridescent sunrise, floating flightless
Forenoon savors in sparkl’ng veracity
While the world spins in absolute hushness
And rattling in sweet regularity
Gloating tenderly, in edgy touchness
Warming the earth, raindrops, tumble from sky
And cockcrow holds its head high, in closeness
Feathered creatures in day peep, unify
Untamed wild, fills local space, once afresh