Marilyn Downing...8 Meg Eden...6 Lynn Fetterolf...15 Ann Gasser...3 Nancy Henry Kline...7 Louisa Godissart McQuillen...11 Emiliano Martin...5 Carol Dee Meeks...10 (Poems by PPS members —Electronically-shared) copyrighted by authors 28 lines or less, formatted and illustrated by Ann Gasser with digital paintings, digital collages, and other shared images.unless stated otherwise PPS members are invited to submit. Deadline for receiving—1st of each month, poems appearing in order received Target date for sending out—10th of each month “Pennessence”– “Pennessence”– “Pennessence”– “Pennessence”– The Essence of PPS, The Essence of PPS, The Essence of PPS, The Essence of PPS, (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) April 2013 2013 2013 2013 1. Marie-Louise Meyers...13 Jacqueline Moffett ...4 Susan Nelson Vernon...12 Loretta Diane Walker...16 Carolyn L.Williams...2 Lucille Morgan Wilson...14 Charlotte Zuzak...9
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“Pennessence”– · I stoop to examine the tender tips of crocus announcing their arrival in this lemon yellow afternoon. I marvel how Spring heralds its coming in precious subtleties,
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Transcript
Marilyn Downing...8
Meg Eden...6
Lynn Fetterolf...15
Ann Gasser...3
Nancy Henry Kline...7
Louisa Godissart McQuillen...11
Emiliano Martin...5
Carol Dee Meeks...10
(Poems by PPS members —Electronically-shared)copyrighted by authors
28 lines or less,
formatted and illustrated by Ann Gasser with digital paintings, digital collages,
and other shared images.unless stated otherwise
PPS members are invited to submit.
Deadline for receiving—1st of each month, poems appearing in order received
Target date for sending out—10th of each month
“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”– The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS, (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc..)
April2013201320132013
1.
Marie-Louise Meyers...13
Jacqueline Moffett ...4
Susan Nelson Vernon...12
Loretta Diane Walker...16
Carolyn L.Williams...2
Lucille Morgan Wilson...14
Charlotte Zuzak...9
2.
John Muir Country
—by Carolyn L.Williams
The forest floor--
Mushrooms, violets,
Green clover galore--
Redwoods tower,
The eucalyptus spills its bark,
Aromas refresh the walkers.
Nourished by dew,
Dogwoods, forget-me-nots grow, too.
In open meadows, blooming wildflowers--
Orange poppies, lavender lupine and pink succulents
Add color for hummingbirds.
Once the fog lifts
Above distant hiking trails,
Would-be Ansel Adamses,
Tri-pods and digital cameras aimed,
Capture reflections mirrored in crystalline pools,
Water cascades down granite cliffs,
Spray rises from snow's spring melt.
Nature's living classroom displays
Energy that cannot be spread-eagled on the corkboard.
Preservers prevailed
Over lusting developers.
Photos submitted by Carolyn
3.
THE SPLENDOR OF GRASS
—by Ann Gasser
Botanists explain that grass has no brain;
HorticuituraIsts (I'm sure you'd have guessed it),
say in every front yard it is in high regard;
but in gardens most gardeners detest it.
Grass is shunned and misused, it is often abused,
but undefeatable, immortal, renewable;
it has proved of great worth as it carpets the earth
with a zeal that is quite unsubduable.
While Man disembowels the earth and he fouls
her with deep scars and ugly bare patches,
grass blankets and seals, it soothes and it heals
spreads its green till the whole landscape matches.
When the running of feet to a juvenile beat
tramples grass till its strongest blades flatten,
grass won't mourn, it won't moan, it waits till they've grown
then grows back as lovely as satin.
Even where it's been stained with the blood of the slain,
on battlefields past our forgetting;
In a decade or so it will all barely show
and will look like a lovely park setting.
It defies summer's scorch or the flame of a torch.
It will rarely freeze out in sub zero;
Seeds are sown by the breeze, fertilized by dead trees,
and on golf courses grass is the hero.
So, here's to real grass, may it always surpass
artificial, no matter how tough.
Salesmen may sell you, but bovines will tell you,
that nothing can beat the real stuff.
LAVENDER LILACS
—by Jacqueline Moffett
“In the spring, a young man's fancy
lightly turns to thoughts of love.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
One warm April day, the scent of perfumed lilacs
brought a pleasant memory to mind.
It was the Sunday morning my fiance' presented
me with a huge bouquet of purple lilacs,
heart-shaped leaves still wet with morning dew.
"Thank you, how lovely,
you picked the flowers yourself?"
Smiling, nodding his head, he was pleased
with his token of affection.
Now he spends his days in a nursing home,
thoughts of clustered blossoms far from his mind.
Was the pledge of undying love and the flowers
he brought many years ago still remembered?
Sitting in his wheelchair, a crooked smile crossed
his face and the words, "I think so."
was all he could manage that afternoon.
4.
5.
ONE FOR THE ARTIST
—by Emiliano Martin
Among artists
when originality
brings the ability
to touch…
one can tell the personality
(individual or collectively)
we often enjoy so much.
6.
THE FAMILY’S DOCTRINAL INCLINATIONS
REGARDING SOCK WEARING
—by Meg Eden
Dad and I refuse to believe in socks.
We are not religious adherers to wearing
things on our feet, though Dad sometimes gives in
and covers up to his ankles. Blasphemy!
It’s nothing against sock-wearers. I just don’t want
my socks imposing their belief systems on me. I don’t like
how they cling to my skin like Jehovah’s witnesses.
How they indent their doctrine patterns into my ankles.
When I put socks on, I feel guilty stripping them off,
after their sweat appeals and sticking and staining.
I don’t want their pathos, but only the simplicity of bare raw truth.
We are witnesses only through exposure—what witness
is in hiding? In costume? Witness results in discomfort.
When I walk, the gumballs press against the inside of my foot.
I consider no alternatives. I walk.
BLESSINGS
—by Nancy Henry Kline
I walk the woodland trail.
Two fawns rest in a clearing.
I stop
and sit on a rock.
Their ears twitch, but they sense no danger.
Our Mother Earth binds us.
Their eyes are loving, trusting.
I ponder the cycles of life/death/life.
They are the sacrifice -
nourishing wolves,
and enabling others of their own species
to survive the winter.
I grieve, because I lack their faith.
They let die what must die.
I approach our sacred place,
and tie a strip of white cloth
to the branch of a sapling.
Our Mother blesses us.
7.
ONE BOTTLE ON THE SHELF
—by Marilyn Downing
So ordinary,
dull clay, lightly coated with dust,
the bottle sits upon a shelf surrounded
by objects ordinary in themselves,
its cork jammed firmly into its mouth.
Formed from substance of the earth,
the bottle has endured molding on
some potter’s wheel before firing gave
permanence to its shape and inner space.
But when I take the bottle
from the shelf and pry the cork,
its genie billows forth,
an amorphous cloud expanding beyond
reality into imagination’s copious realm.
The genie at my bidding powers profusions
of sights and sounds, tangs and textures,
travels and treasures and fantasy.
His flying carpet swoops close to earth,
then soars beyond the universe.
Sometimes the journey expands
mere seconds into eternity.
When we alight, my final wish
-- always the same -- restores
the genie to his bottle while I
compress our flight of fact and fancy
into a poem.
8.
9.
SEARCHING FOR STRENGTH
—by Charlotte Zuzak
The weather reflects my feelings today:
the dirty grayness that precedes spring.
I really don't feel like fighting my cancer
or hearing your prognosis prediction, my friend.
The rain and sleet collect like my tears,
anger and hate react to your questions.
Am I doing well? Yes, but today I want to
be left alone.
I drop stitches in the knitting I'm trying to create,