NEW POETS OF
POETRY CONNECTION!


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PHOTOGRAPH BY BROOKE SHADEN DTLAL EXHIBITOR

This month, I asked the poets to write about Home, Nature or something close to their hearts.  - Gayle

 

Obit

 

If they tell you I died

you can tell them you know

differently,

you tell them I gave myself back

to the songs and

to the stars in infinite sky.

Tell them I dove deep, deep down

between atoms,

and found God in everything,

giving myself to It all,

tell them I am finally home--

everywhere.

        

          Lorraine Hart

 

 

 

If I Were God

 

If I were God

Or even one 

Of a million Gods

 

I would make an Executive Decision 

Outlawing calendars

And clocks

 

And I would raise humans

To the exalted level 

Of other animals 

 

So that we too would declare

The arrival of new seasons

Via our hearts and our souls

And we too would arise from sleep

Exactly when the spinning earth

Informed us to do so

 

And we too would at long last be as free as the birds

And as joyful as the hibernating bear

As she opens her eyes to the beauty of a new spring 

          

          Dale Goodvin

To purchase a signed copy, contact me at:

dgoodvin@yahoo.com

 


 There are

 

There are

Ways of seeing

And

Ways of looking,

Like dreamscapes covered in snow,

Like landscapes

Where only a soul

And a heart

Can grow.

          

          Mokasiya

To purchase a signed copy 

contact me at:

mokalightpoetry@gmail.com

 

 

PROMISING TRACES 

(Spring Year One)

 

Nature traced the scars.

The once quiet forest stood for centuries

Sheltering elk, bear and chickaree’

Down the charred and barren, 

Clear-cut stubble-slope

Ashes rise with the wind 

Transparent replicas of the raging flames

That climbed the slope and 

Crossed the ridge

Marking the end time of 

Forest and its sheltered lives

All life gone, 

Devoured in the heat.

Leaving only a faint trace

Of an old familiar trail

Ahead the shadow of a bird slides past

Pause and listen, is there a low insect hum?

Pause and look, 

Are there tiny bug-trails in the ash and dust?

Can there be more?

Kneel and touch 

Small leaves push through the earth

Know that nodding blossoms will appear by summer’s end

Stand and walk on

Toward the distant nutcracker’s gravelly call and response 

Awakened to the teeming life

Follow in the footprints of insect and animal

Add the first human footprint on the path to recovery. 

In time the only record of the desolation

Will be the charred stumps 

Hidden within a living forest.

          Carolyn Wiley

 

Longing for Home 

I was created beyond this world 

Incubated in that unfathomable ancient place 

long before I rooted

in my mother’s womb. 

Swimming deep within me 

is the electron print 

of a cosmic home I long for 

but have never seen. 

I return there for nanoseconds, 

momentous slivers of time 

when the smallest detail floods me with déjà vu 

and my consciousness waves 

like curtains in a breeze 

and I catch a blurry uncertain 

glimpse, a shadow of knowing 

that walls and roofs 

grass and trees 

are simply trappings 

manifestations of creative energy 

that pulse through every 

sentient being, every inanimate object. 

Nothing is real, yet everything 

is perfect and achingly beautiful 

and all things, including me, float, 

cradled in the amniotic fluid 

of our first and truest home— 

absolute belovedness. 

 

 Cathy Warner:

Cathy Warner writes, edits, teaches, sells real estate, 

remodels homes, and takes photos in the Puget Sound region

of Washington.  Her two books of poetry:

Home By Another Road (2019)

Burnt Offerings (2014)

Can be purchased on Amazon.com

 

 


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PHOTOGRAPH BY BROOKE SHADEN DTLAL EXHIBITOR



Living in the City

 

The cobblestone streets and sidewalks

were hard, with blood in the cracks.

Old buildings held the cries of mothers

and children, the laughter of immigrants.

It was the only world we knew and though rivers 

ran below the rock palisades the earth had forgotten us 

and we were left to fight it out beneath the streetlights.

Somewhere above the glare we believed there were stars,

that a moon still graced the sky, but we were looking down

and around the corner braced for the next raft of trouble.

Sometimes there would be songs on the corner

and girls in high heel shoes, their legs showing

beneath a red skirt, click click clicking for our attention.

We were desperate for love but usually settled for a brawl.

I remember all their names, their faces, wish I had been

a better friend, loved that girl a little stronger,

held her tighter until that pulse between our legs

could find the joy that only came at midnight.

Out of time’s cloud I hold them dear, 

with all the faults of exiles in a stolen land,

wanting to go home, wanting to be loved,

wanting to live the one life we still could dream.

          

          Don Hynes

          Donhynes.com


DOWNTOWN LA LIFE MAGAZINE
ENDORSEMENT

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