Posts Tagged ‘poetry-archives’

Dave’s Avocation Application

By Jay Madigan

A measly $3,000 a year at most,
Yet, a Mayors employee to boast.
Still a hard pill to swallow,
Must a Poet’s life just wallow?
In the City Beautiful, my host.

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Drink in the Waters

By Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

Drink in the Waters

Ubiquitous

bountiful bays
luminous lakes
nourishing narrows

clear, cool creeks
swift, shallow streams

Rushing rivers
carve colorful canyons from
roily rock

Rough rapids
refresh and renew;
foaming falls’
resolution
serene seas

Best medicines

© May 2019 Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

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First Lake Crossing

By Barbara Giles

Splashing bodies glide into the deep.
Face beneath the water. Pulse takes a leap.
Breathe stroke stroke breathe.

Fingers graze an object! Swelling sense of dread.
Monsters under water? Or only in my head.
Breathe stroke stroke breathe.

Red orb floating. I can make it there.
Reach the halfway point. Now I can take some air.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Back under the water. Mind under control.
Back under the water before the day takes its toll.
Breathe stroke stroke breathe.

Middle of the lake. All alone out here.
Glancing to the distant shore. All I feel is fear.
Breathe stroke stroke breathe.

Reaching finish dock. Kick the fears away.
Face towards the rising sun. Time to face the day.
Breathe.

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Seasons’ Cycle

By Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

Temperatures plummet, heaviness falls from the sky.
A weighty, shiny, deadly intruder overtakes everything;
glistens deceptively;
makes its home atop the small, strong, and sturdy;
coats the tall and majestic as well.
Even they must succumb to the crush
of its crystallized calamity.
In brokenness the fallen lie quiet,
hopeful warmth will return
for those who remain,
bringing with it a kindness…

Tasteless, colorless, and mindful.
Ubiquitous, nourishing and necessary,
flowing from heights, resolving itself in deepest, darkest places;
connecting one body to another;
carving colorful canyons from gray granite.
A gift from above it refreshes and renews
all that is around it.

The brutal becomes bounty.

©2014/March 2019/March 2020 Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

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Water Seen

By Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

Pastel hues of orange and yellow gently herald sunrise;
morning lifts its misty veil from water’s edge.

browns, blacks, whites
varying sizes and shapes
indigenous or immigrant
birds of a feather…
go their separate ways seeking delights that lie below the surface.

Heads and/or bodies submerge
surface somewhat satisfied

but one, unidentified caring heart
silently signals “There’s great eating over heeeere!”

their differences aside
they come together
to feed from the underwater abundance;
demonstrating there can be harmony among us.

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The Mermaids of Lake Cane

By Michael Zahn

“Mermaids at night, sailors take fright.”
(Ancient adage that I just made up.)
Many a sailor has gone insane
upon spying the mermaids of Lake Cane.
After a night of too much beer,
these sailors claim that they can hear
the mermaids sing in tones divine:
“Do not fear, the water’s fine.”
In dead of night, in full moonlight,
the mermaids lure the sailors in
with flips of their tails and saucy grins.
As legend tells it, the sailors succumb
because they’re drunk (and also dumb).
Next morning, the sailors wake in their beds
with soaking wet clothes and huge throbbing heads.
Ask them what happened, you’ll only get groans
and pleas that you speak in much gentler tones.
The fable ends here, the moral is clear:
If, while drinking too much Yuengling,
you think that you hear mermaids singing,
and it sets your senses tingling,
let those feelings slide right past.
Ahoy! Avast! A midnight splash would be half-mast.
Batten your hatches! Put down all beers, including Pabst.
Don’t lose your head, set sail for bed,
‘cause the mermaids of Cane are creations to dread.

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Myst’ry Bog

By Laura Cole

I have a story, oh, to tell
That many oft have whispered still
It’s ‘bout a man who legend speak
But myst’ry does so ‘round him leak…

If ever were one should to ask
No, best, if you should better bask
Within the deep dark watery bog
Should find yourself that gruesome log…

Don’t worry, ah, he cackles so
The water’s fresh, now in you go
But once you enter, soon you’ll know
You’re the bait for his new show…

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Lake Cane is our cathedral.

By Michael Zahn

Lake Cane
is our cathedral.
The wild creatures
are our choir.
They sing of Cane
a sweet refrain.
They speak in tongues,
but this is what they surely say:
Fill this lake with love
for those below
and those above.
Let all enjoy
and play
and pray
and work unceasingly
day after day
to ensure
that Cane stays pure
so its allure
will endure.

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