Poetry Pals' Potpourri
IMPRINTS IN MY MIND
by Kim Charette aka Zoozappy
Cool afternoons
imprints in my mind
Memories forgotten, filed away
I look around me and want..
What? I cannot touch it.
Fresh breezes flutter forgotten things..
A song, a moment, a touch, a picture
A revelation
All of these I remember
A multitutde of reminisces from my past
Now part of my present, my future
My eyes opened once again.
I want to share all this
but don't know how..
I cannot say it.
CHAT FRIENDS
by Rex A. Brewer
Words move relentlessly on the monitor
Rising quickly out of sight.
Sleepless eyes watch the passing by
Tired and lonely he reaches out
Typing words across the net
Then, then in whisper quiet
There is no scroll, no conversation
"Is anyone there?"
"Does anyone hear?"
"Hello," appears beneath his cry,
"I'm here,"
"Who are you?"
In words that pass
They touch each other
Hold each other close
And chase the chill away.
PARTING
by Teledon
How can my heart, so empty, yet ache?
Our love has died.
Memories, sadness, pain, and regret
Dwell deep inside.
I am a pale shadow, an image
Fate has decried.
There is no blame; we both still care, yet
Our love has died.
LISTEN
by hvwbiky
You didn't understand me
I didn't mean it that way
You took it wrong so easily
Didn't hear what I had to say.
Now I must ask you to please
Forgive me for what I didn't do
And of course you'll accept with ease
My apologies to you.
So many times this same
Misunderstanding has come
And I've always taken the blame
Can't you at least accept some
Words so easily spoken
Hastily tripping along
Can be taken by you as a token
Or either a curse or a song.
So open your ears to my words
Open your mind and see
Please understand what you've heard
Is just what I meant it to be.
OUTSIDE MY PATIO
by teledon
An egret alights
with leisurely avian grace;
a mockingbird cries.
A lizard scampers
with mysterious intent;
a spider weaves lies.
A hawk circles high
in calm and effortless flight;
a bee seeks his prize.
Red fire ants scurry
and ply their painstaking trade,
while God paints the skies.
I AM BUT NOT AM I
an original poem by Jim Johnson
Da Nang, South Vietnam - 11/24/69
In a divided world, I live
in a complicated bliss
as all the while I ponder
the love back home I miss.
Moreover, I am among thousands
striving to preserve Freedom's call
little I realize that here I am
but I'm not here at all
I fight daily, in one world, lonely
to retire, nightly, to my lonely room
eleven months more of such loneliness
in this world of devastating gloom
But, on the other side, also I am
yet, only part of me sustains reprieve
I didn't leave my heart in San Francisco
I didn't have a heart to leave!
WISCONSIN PRIMARY 1972
by BS
Take me to a place where time moves slowly
Where people and things remain much the same;
Take me to a place where winters are snowy.
And fields lay green in the warm summer rain.
Oh I was born in the heart of the city
Where grey is the color, and love is like pain;
And you measure your life in the words of profanity
As thousands of clocksprings wind up in your brain.
April--
Your secrets are concealed.
Are your promises empty, or are they real?
Have your warm gentle breezes
Come shyly to free us
Or just to deceive us
And mock what we feel.
LOVE IS GIVING
an original poem by Jim Johnson
Pascagoula, Mississippi - 4/23/85
What you don't ask
that I may give
accept it and smile
use it and live
What I give to you
from my charitable heart
is forever yours to cherish
or wholly tear apart
What I continue
to give to you
implies in no way
what you should do
What you feel
plays little part
in what I give
from my heart
I will give to you
as long as you're living
for as long as I love
I'll keep on giving!
THE CAT NAMED RAT
by Antonova's six-year-old grandchild
A cat named Rat lives in a hat.
He eats acorns while he peeks out his hat.
He's black and blue and he's kind of fat.
He goes inside and he sits on a mat.
And that's that
ROODIE
by Antonova's six-year-old grandchild
Roodie is my big Great Dane.
At my Nannie's she made a stain.
Roodie chases Willow some.
To stop her we say, "Roodie, come!"
She prances when we sing a song.
And she stands on her head when she does something wrong.
MARCH WINDS
by Claudia J. Laird Broker
aka Grif
The March wind has followed me all the day
chasing my happy mood away
to darkened thoughts and faded tasks
of tired days of overcast.
The skies drag their lead gray clouds behind
with windy cold and blustry blind
of wint'ry drab which marks the day
and makes me wish for one sun's ray.
It tricked me to think that spring had come
upon the land with flowers and sun
whose fragrant breezes blow by free
and summer's langor waits for me.
And what, may I ask, might tomorrow bring?
Will there be, perchance, a sight of spring?
Or will there be only more dreary gray
that I must endure yet another day.
