A calming silhouette,
   One which eradicates all fear,
   A shoulder on which to cry,
   A safe place to shed your tear.
   Her kind generosity,
   Her flushed rosy cheeks.
   All I've ever desired
   Is this girl my severed heart seeks.
   True Love and its Beauty
   At long last I have found you
   After all this time,
   Finally we're together
   I am yours and you are mine.
   That first night on the dance-floor,
   When the lights were turned down low,
   Our eyes, they met across the dark crowded room
   And the path of love did show.
   Our first date, a Chinese restaurant,
   We laughed the night away.
   'I've never felt this feeling before'
   I remember hearing you say.
   Back to yours or back to mine?
   A decision that had to be made
   And after that one, amazing night
   I knew our love would never fade.
   We grew up, became mature
   And our love grew stronger and stronger.
   But then with time came age,
   And both of us were no longer.
   Now we'll stay together,
   Looking back at the past
   It's nice to know that after death
   True love and its beauty lasts.
   * * * * * * * * * *
   OSCAR WAGER II
   The Old Man, the Dirt Path and Me
   I walked along an old dirt path, my boots kicking up the dust
   My spurs were old, and would not jingle because of too much rust
   I must have walked fourteen miles before another soul was seen
   Even though he was seated, I could tell he was tall and lean
   Many miles showed upon his face as he smoked a hand rolled cubeb
   There were many tales behind his eyes that glowed like ocean’s ebb
   He looked and motioned for me to sit alongside the soil road
   As I lowered my bottom I nearly sat on a brown toad
   It hopped out of the way of my aching rump before I struck
   And so I settled upon the ground wishing it all the luck
   The old man began by stating his name, now it’s just a blur
   As he talked the cicadas sang and the crickets they did stir
   He told a tale from his childhood; dreams of running out to play
   But he’d been warned that away from the local stream he must stay
   He himself at eight years old walked along a trail of dirt
   He came to three branches; choosing toward water and hurt
   He slipped into the creek while jumping across moss faced stones
   He grabbed onto a branch letting out barely distinct moans
   But his cries were heard by a lone fisherman wading near
   The fisherman pulled the young lad out, but he still felt fear
   His mama would know something when he returned to his house
   So on the walk back he concocted a tale of a grouse
   Stuck in the underbrush of the forest beside the trail
   When he told his mother the story she dropped her old pail
   Even though she knew it to be untrue, she smiled to see
   He was safe and in her arms; pouring love for her from he
   Once the old man finished his tale, I took the lesson well
   I sat for what seemed like hours even though I could not tell
   As I continued upon my journey, I thought it through
   And then I came upon a three tined fork not sure which way
   I thought back to the old man’s fable as my face turned gray
   Not the lesson of a mother’s love I was meant to learn
   I was to learn from his mistake and know which way to turn.
   A Lonely Soldier
   A soldier stands on a battlefield,
   Protecting the freedom of a thankless world.
   Fighting the enemy he’s been ordered to kill,
   While struggling to keep himself alive.
   Peace is always the ultimate goal,
   But death is the result of an aggressive foe.
   He may disagree with the reason he’s there,
   But he fights with conviction as he wages war.
   May God bless this lonely warrior,
   And keep him safe from harm.
   A Witches Downfall
   The witch stared into her bubbling vat,
   “Eye of newt, and wing of bat.”
   She cackled as she made her brew,
   Adding wart of toad, and evening dew.
   Making sure to get it right,
   She boiled her brew half the night.
   As the sun rose in the east,
   She summoned forth the nasty beast.
   Only one eye and rotting teeth,
   You could feel the evil flow beneath.
   A smell so foul it would make you sick,
   Fur matted and stained and full of ticks,
   “Take this to the tallest tree in the woods so deep,
   And bury it underneath, to stew and steep.
   When the time is ready, they will feel my wrath,
   No one will dare to cross my path.”
   On the darkest night, when there was no moon,
   She called out to her lackey goon.
   “Bring back the potion that you buried deep,
   It is time, for I have promises to keep.
   Go out to the woods, and retrieve my potion,
   It is time to set the wheels in motion.”
   As the hideous creature set off to his deed,
   The witch reflected upon her need.
   When he returned, she began her plan,
   This would show them all, to the biggest man.
   “Goddess of Earth, hear my cries,
   May a veil of darkness cover their eyes.
   Mask their sight with shades of gray,
   So they see only black in the light of day.”
   She poured the concoction onto the ground,
   The air grew still, and there was nary a sound.
   The witch’s eyes grew cloudy and gray,
   And then her eyesight just faded away.
   Her spell backfired and her sight was gone,
   The dumb ogre buried the jar upside down.
   * * * * * * * * * *
   Peter Watson Jenkins
   THE AUTHOR’S STORY
   It came so easily at first,
   Words dripped off his keyboard
   In a steady stream 
   Of super-consciousness
   He saw a strong man
   Clad in skins and fur
   Master of a cave community
   Dwelling there with his wives
   Who daily protested they were 
   His alone and only his 
   Lest he suspect the younger men
   Taking advantage of him.
   After the hunt
   The young men ran home 
   Leaving the elders
   Humping home heavy 
   Bodies of beasts they had 
   Done to death with
   Shouts of victory.
   Then the author realized 
   His story was not simple. 
   Discovered in the details 
   It was his own life.
   Suddenly he remembered
   He had been that strong man
   The leader of the clan
   Weary from walking
   Many miles burdened
   With bodies of beasts
   Who came home at last
   To find his careless wives 
   Together with the young men 
   Then in his fury forgot
   His tiredness and age 
   Battled the boys
   And lost.
   DICE ARE NICE
   One and six make seven
   Six and one the same.
   Smilingly I asked her
 &nbs 
					     					 			p; Will you join our game?
   Two and five are seven
   Five and two as well.
   First round I lost badly
   Luck became her spell
   Three and four make seven
   Four and three does too.
   Bad luck was my fortune 
   Dice had favored Sue.
   One last throw of seven
   Played my fate to seal
   Sue was smiling broadly
   Winning was unreal.
   “If you win again Sue
   I will marry you”
   Dice again decided
   And my luck came through.
   A STRING OF HAIKUS
   Operas greatly
   Delight my musical wife 
   I get a numb bum.
   We are old fashioned
   Playing the Early Musick
   Few people enjoy.
   We have a piano
   A violin and a flute
   That nobody plays.
   My wife smiles broadly
   Preparing to sing at church
   A heavenly tune.
   We like the motets
   Sung at mass. What we dislike
   Is the long sermon.
   SONNET
   Where there were grassy fields and bubbling streams
   Where birds would hop from branch to branch and sing
   And little flowers reflected sunny gleams
   Their green shoots climbing upward every spring:
   Now noisy trucks piled high with human waste
   With bits of furniture and broken chard 
   To dump upon the treasured land in haste
   And in an bloody stream without regard
   Of all that made the precious earth so rich
   In a brash insult to sweet nature’s face
   Without a thought of what they had to ditch
   Piled high their insults to that hallowed place.
   Then top their smelly hill of garbage greed
   They cover up with grass their dirty deed.
   * * * * * * * * * *
   Regina Puckett
   More
   Tucked inside and out of view
   Are dreams trying to come true
   But every now and then or so
   One will peek out to let me know
   There’s more to life than what I see
   And I can be more than I want to be
   Unaware
   Unbeknownst and unaware
   There are angels everywhere
   Calming hearts and shedding tears
   Through our pain and for our fears
   They hold our hands and feel our stings
   They lift our hearts on the tips of feathery wings
   Ships, Cows and Little Boy Blue
   It was porridge in a pear tree
   A Little Boy Blue Fantasy
   It was love at first sight
   A battle lost without a fight
   It was waiting for my ship to come in
   Seeing if your will would ever bend
   Instead the cow jumped over the moon
   And I was way too late or way too soon
   Our Steps Matched
   Wandering eyes and a motionless stance
   Was a strange way to begin this dance
   So I inhaled deeply and tried to pace
   My steps to match your subtle grace
   With each heart to heart and face to face
   Our souls became adrift through time and space
   * * * * * * * * * *
   SHANNON McROBERTS
   The Stages of Love
   I The Eternal Love
   I will love you forever
   My heart sings with joy
   The world will know our epic love story.
   II The Spurned Love
   You broke my heart
   And now you have to pay
   This grudge will never fade away.
   III Forgiveness
   In our defiant youth
   We proclaimed forever
   We never considered how long that was.
   From my broken heart
   I cursed you until the end of time.
   But my heart has mended
   My hate of you rescinded
   And now I feel nothing towards you at all.
   A Thousand Years
   Tear drops shatter-
   like broken shards of glass.
   My heart ceases to beat-
   beneath the misery.
   The somber raven-
   pecks at my soul.
   My very core-
   is numb with your lies.
   The charred embers-
   of all that we were.
   In a thousand years-
   my apocalyptic sun won’t matter.
   In a thousand years-
   we won’t even be a memory.
   In a thousand years-
   your betrayal won’t sting.
   In a thousand years-
   I will finally be free.
   Plea
   I understand you can’t make time for me.
   But could you just hear my plea?
   My heart is breaking you see
   I’m drowning in misery.
   Surely you would see–if you had time for me.
   Hope may float, but I don’t have long.
   Do you hear that beautiful sorrowful sound?
   It is the song of my shattered soul–it is almost at a crescendo.
   I am sure you could hear it if you stopped to listen.
   Well I am sorry I took up your time.
   I know it is valuable to you.
   Maybe someday soon you can make me some room on your never-ending calendar of to do.
   Maybe someday soon you will stop and soothe my wounds.
   But I understand you can’t make room for me today.
   I will see myself out of your way.
   * * * * * * * * * *
   Steven Harz
   A new cure
   Each day I collect couch cushion pennies
   Lincoln wheat copper zinc
   in a dented tin bucket that I stored secretly 
   under our bed until the time came for me 
   to need an abandoned wishing well
   Behind our house on welcome wooded walks 
   path tracks bridge brook
   you gathered weeds and wildflowers
   in turn of the century medicine bottles
   and placed them on the windowsill to die
   After we began declaring war on each other
   I would sneak a handful and go 
   in search of soon needed hope but slowly 
   my pennies would disappear into the 
   back pocket black hole that long ago 
   stole gumballs and baseball cards
   folded love notes and promised forevers
   You began by using silence as a bargaining chip
   and later your used anger like an arrow
   finally you tried to push me away with your words
   but your actions finally worked and the 
   result was indifference and to heal the wounds
   that both of us caused but neither wanted 
   you emptied your bottles in search of a new cure
   Following the railroad tracks
   Baltimore Ohio Chesapeake Pennsylvania
   with full bucket and empty pockets 
   I found my well and kissed each coin 
   before tossing it into our future
   and as the caboose rolled past and 
   the view beyond was distant but clear 
   I saw you sitting on a fallen log 
   holding a fistful of white dandelions 
   against the fast fading train
   scattering your own million wishes
   Misplaced heart
   The morning news showed a story about 
   a baby born with her heart on the outside 
   and as we watched together 
   you in your new world and me in our old one
   I touched the screen as it beat outside of her body and 					     					 			r />
   learned that doctors had to build a 
   hole in her chest to make room for what they called 
   her misplaced heart
   When you were barely older than her 
   you molded your own discarded steel heart 
   into recycled brass knuckles 
   allowing you to fend off love in the name of hurt 
   and in the years since have passed time 
   smoking wooden matches while drinking milk jugs of gasoline 
   from live wire straws and riding shotgun 
   with ghosts of who you should have been
   Abandonment hit you like a winter morning commandment 
   causing scars that remain tipped in red making them 
   look like God’s words in the Bible 
   and the light you are now walking toward is 
   our 120 watt incandescent messiah 
   and while you fought off love I searched for it and
   where a baby with a point of view heart is loved and cried over you thought yours lost and never to be found 
   until buying milk by the carton I discovered your picture
   So you leapt from the height of our love and 
   onto the rocks below hoping to induce amnesia so 
   you could forget your pain like they forgot about you
   and if I could I would lure you home by cutting out a yellow construction paper crown with green lefty scissors
   and building you a castle from forgotten fun house mirrors 
   that could change your point of view and 
   allow you to kiss yourself at every turn
   Our first meeting was brief and you kissed me do hard 
   that it drew blood and made me reach for something sturdy
   And although quick we were electric but before long 
   I knew you had to leave me and us and why
   Now while you lay here and I watch over you 
   I take a break from holding your hand and brushing your hair 
   and think that your hospital sheets are so stiff that if