poetry 6

 

 

Hope is a Thing With Feathers

 

            by Helen Padway

 

Hope is a bride dressed in white organza

standing in the doorway of the chapel.

 

Hope, a pale leaf facing the sun

waiting for the chemestry of Cholorophyll.

 

Hope is the grain of sand in the oyster

becoming a prized luminescence.

 

                The net that holds the wisps

                of our dreams. The embroidery thread

                 that stitches our loves together.

 

There is purity of hope.  The fragility

of hope.  We cling to it as a silken rope.

 

 

Bio: Helen Padway is theater trained and worked in radio and television both writing and performing until she was waylaid by love and children. Picked up her pen again as a grandmother.  Now she is young enough to know that poets can change the world.  She lives and laughs in WI.

 

Poppy Seed

 

        by  P. A. Bees

 

An emails pings

I read with relish

Of the fetus’ movement

Like a wave she writes

A fish just under the surface

Her glee and surprise

Times New Roman print elation

I feel the heat of her smile

 

Her palms to her belly

To anticipate that moment

When movement makes it real

For the whomp and the slide

Of a foot or a buttock

An elbow in retreat

A mother’s hand soothes

And the child’s lingers

 

And I remember

When I was young

Through the fog of years

That like an acorn to oak

Ova to embryo transformed

An alien moved inside me

Fishy pokes and kicks

Undeniable, yet fairy magical

 

Now hers a poppy seed

Will sprout into summer

And I know it is so

As my fingers glide

Over the rough streaks

Of my paler flesh

Of stretch and skin

And I hurrah her news.

 

 

Bio:  P.A.Bees travels through space and time at her computer.  Ohio is home more because of familiarity than any other reason.  Because of a lousy memory, she writes everything, everything down.  Maybe that is why she writes so much.  Check out the etsy store at ARBrown.etsy.com for a children's fantasy poetry poster illustrated by a good friend.

 

 

 

POETIC ATTIRE

           by Jerry Kraft

This tie is chokin’ my poem.

At times a well-pressed shirt,
smart slacks and shined shoes
may show respect, proper form

but t-shirts and jeans wear easy,
sneakers are less likely to bind,
open necks let you breathe.

Not every verse should dress for church.

A worn-out knee has a certain meter,
a belly hanging over a waistband
might trump a sonnet for eloquence

And the voice heard over the choir

is often rummage sale rough, Goodwill
bargains taken for a second life, words
found in materials that others discard.

 

Bio: Jerry Kraft is a playwright, poet and theatre critic living in Port
Angeles, Washington. Retired after 30 years as an institutional

counselor in acute psychiatric mental health, he is now focused on
making sense of his own mind and uncovering the language still silent
within it.



 

 

 

A Blank Page

     by Kelly Reed

         

A blank page – oh – every blank page is a promise, an exciting world of possibilities.

A blank page could be a painting, a drawing, a sketch, a caricature, an editorial, an article, an opinion, an investigation, a review, a play, a sketch, a short story, a novel, a line or a sentence, a poem, a history, an explanation, a set of instructions, a design, a record, an illustration, one single frame of animation, one possible shot in a film, a script, a stage direction, a monologue – all that and more, in a single blank page.

Oh God – I get excited just thinking about it – all that is there, just waiting for you to add to that world of possibilities.

You can cut that blank page and make something out of it. You can fold it and make something else. You can curve it and make even more. Or you can ball it up and throw away opportunity.

But look at it. Look at it, just sitting there, crying out to be filled, screaming at you – use me!

Use me – I don’t care how – a recipe, a grocery list, a diary, a guide, a prayer, a sermon, a pact, a printout.

Use me! Don’t let me just sit there – don’t let me just fade away.

Because fade I will, used or not, and who wants to be useless?

Who wants to be forgotten?

Use me. You will never regret it. You will never regret it.

 

Bio: Kelly Reed has been writing ever since she was five years old, when she learned how. Screenplays, poems, and essays –nearly every day usually means a new idea. After learning that someone else might actually be interested in reading this collection, she is finally allowing her work to be seen by others, and is now trying her hand at publishing.