One Piece by Andrew H. Oerke

Time Takes it Easy in the Shade of a Grape Arbor

Actually, Time is a regular visitor here.
She’s rich, relaxed and charming in a chair
in the shade of a trellis, or she strolls
in a peignoir of stardust, or in broad daylight
among the columns n porches of the ageing past.

The sun’s honey-hive is oozing over.
Golden bees plunder the buckwheat and drone
back n forth like small trolleys jammed with ore.
And when Sleeping breathes heavy, a patient
hunting for his way out of a coma,
Time, the suave medico in sunglasses, bows,
and like a magician removes the dream
as if it were a poultice, and you wake up.
Morning yawns, rolls over, and calls out your name.
You are the one, after all. You are the one.

{Poem by Andrew H. Oerke}

A Piece by Jeff Steinle

Heart's Lair

Before inhabiting personality was in the womb
To when the chemicals of this body lie entombed
And in between when daily
Vague nonsensical memories
Splintered pictures
Sniper insights
Wounded eyes
Watch the lewd spoof that is love
Crowd mind
And block my reverence for release
Forming life's inclement ruckus
Bitter odyssey surrounding
Heart's lair
Inscape of love and gratitude
Building ensnaring word castles
Of experienced grief on meth
At release enthralled
From bodily sand castle death

{Poem by Jeff Steinle}

One Poem by Caroline Crawford

Living Revealed

In our quest
to create
one
elegant future

Save your impressive
civilized
one of a kind
earth

Sacrifice was born
atop the frigid
summit
of wildlife

When you can add
laughter to
your people you
can rely on a river

Everyday is Earth day
clawing its way
to a mate

You can’t prevent a
flood but you
can prevent a
disaster

The interactive produce
the best
enjoy the sound
even more

{Poem by Caroline Crawford}

Two Poems by Kaitlin Brey

My Life

Her love is the universe.
Never ending
Going on forever in all directions
Over spans of time and space.
Her love is a safety net.
Protecting me
Catching me when I fall
And never letting me go.
Her love is an adrenaline rush.
Anxiety and longing
Pushing and pulling on my heart
As it beats faster than ever.
Her love is like the end of a sappy movie.
All tears of joy and love struck teens.
Her love is my number one priority.
Her love is my life.


Significance

We sit in silence
In the darkness surrounding.
So still, so quiet
Only the sound of breath
Can be heard in the air.
We look at each other
And there is no need for words
As our lips curve towards the sky
And our gazes smile at each other.
With astonishing beauty
Your lips slowly open
And three meaningful words
Escape, and pound into my heart.
“I love you too” is what I say,
In return.
And your grin grows bigger
As our fingers intertwine
And sleep washes over us
Til morning.

{Poetry by Kaitlin Brey}

One Piece by Lucas Schultz

My Battle

Blood sweat and tears
describe my past three years.
Battling through adversity
brought forward by distinguished foes
Going from deer in the headlights as a freshman
to the growing pains as a sophmore
now as a junior I'm fully prepared
for the rigors of a tumultuous FVA season.
Settling for an early exit the past three years
going for gold in Green Bay this year.
Plowing through harsh criticism
spending all summer in the humid gym
sweat dripping off my exasperated body
removing past seasons tears after an agonizing defeat
muscles screaming pain from a harsh workout.
Always looking towards the upcoming season
with a winning mentality in mind.
Doing whatever it takes to get the job done.
Motivated from the agony of past defeats
to come out on top this seaon.

{Poem by Lucas Schultz}

One Natural Piece by Deanna Rusek

Ode to the Forest

Needles lie
abundantly sprayed
among broken branches,
creating
incidental homes
for the creatures
who
rely on nature to build;
holes in fallen trunks
become
sanctuaries to some,
rightful inhabitants
made vagabonds through
man’s desires;
brown, red, gold and wet decay
blanket the ever-damp
floor—not seen naked
in years—holding
moisture which rises
on hot, sultry days
creating life; it gives
and gives, never takes,
only humans take.
Bigger still—the
creatures that are
hunted, who live among
the small and trivial
others that crawl
and bury themselves
inside, within and throughout.
Promote and preserve,
this life bearing,
life breathing,
ever-giving but
not ever-living thing
lest the Ever-green king
be overthrown.
Who will share
in the blame
when this
ephemeral gift,
misused, ceases
to exist?

{Poem by Deanna Rusek}

A Bit of Beauty by Michael Ceraolo

Dream Weaver

For those unable to dream,
dreams were now available for purchase,
running the gamut of formats
in a wide range of prices

{Poem by Michael Ceraolo}

A Poem by Jackson Culpepper

In the Truck, in the Sky

It was not cold, must
have been spring. Leaving the fire,
we climbed into the back of the truck.
We watched the full moon,
the stars spinning through their hours,
the thin clouds sliding across
the sky, translucent. We talked,
teenage longings for girls, for what
we thought might be love. We spoke
to the stars as Orion rose heavy in the east.
As Delphinus, in a tiny patch, swirled around
the cosmic center. We may never talk
in such a way again. Still, today,
our hopes rise on certain pinlit nights,
and are pulled away by the spinning stars,
like those hopes we spoke without understanding
why we wished for them.
Scorpio's claws catch them
as he rises, or they draw to Sirius
as moths to a flame.

{Poem by Jackson Culpepper}

Same Hands by Derrick Harrison Hurd

Same Hands

Mist stealing away the skyline
shadows of wind-blown leaves
The sun a father and the father a sun
Clever gusts of capes and scarves
hair made breathless and alive
by the hands of destinys sculptors
In whose same hands
are tomorrows
best hope

{Poem by Derrick Harrison Hurd}

One Piece by Bradley W. Buchanan

Excerpted from Feeding the Birds

Birds come, disappear. The worlds we set
Within our own, to appease the stars
We have shut out from our skies, must thrive
As must all things unlike and beyond ourselves.
We feed our loss to the creatures we love:
Stale bread crumbs, scattered on waters, dissolve.

{Poem by Bradley W. Buchanan}

Two Pieces by Amy Hrynchuk

Ocean Of Love

I started my life out swimming in the ocean of love.

In my early years I was lead through the waters
and taught about the different depths of the ocean.
As I grew older I began to swim on my own
and even lead others through the waters as I had been.
I swam as deep as I could for as I could.

After swimming for many years, I began to tire
and made my way to the edge of the ocean.
As I sat along the beach for a year, the questions
brought by the dry land behind me grabbed a hold.
As I began to wonder, I turned my back on the ocean.
On the love I knew and could always count on.

As the years slowly moved forwards,
I moved backwards and further onto the dry land.
The further that I walked, the more lost and confused
I would become with little help from others around me.
Not only had I become lost on the dry land
but I had lost myself in the venture..

Several years had passed me by and I had lost
all directions back to the ocean of love.
I had began to dehydrate on the dry land
and longed to swim in the depths of the ocean again.
I was slowly lead back to the ocean and helped
back into it’s loving and familiar waters.

I am once again home, swimming in the ocean of love.


The Beauty Within

Sitting on the edge of the shore,
the cool lake water laps over her feet.
As the water slowly creeps over her feet,
she pays no attention to the coolness.
Her attention does not go out
to the boaters or skiers on the lake..
Instead it goes out in the other direction.

Through the loud roar of the motors,
the quiet chirping of birds
overwhelm her thoughts.
As she watches the two birds
frolicking in the tree tops above her,
she begins to think about the world around.

Of all the commotion we cause
and with all the destruction that has followed,
the world has changed for the worse.
We have learned to adapt to everything
that we have done to the once
beautiful land that we took over.

Through all the commotion and destruction,
somehow the world’s beauty has remained.
The only way to actually view this beauty,
you have to distance yourself.
Distance yourself from the
manmade destruction that is
taking the beauty away from this world.

{Poetry by Amy Hrynchuk}

Two Poems by Anselm Brocki

Two

Ever since beginning
I have been enchanted
by two worlds—
the one beyond my fingers
and the other within me.
When gaudy sun rises,
it rises in me too,
and when people smile,
they smile inside me.


More Palatable

Although in agreement
with their peaceful ways
of living and high ideals,
a cautious part of my
mind is reluctant to join
the mystics of Buddhism,
early Christianity, & Islam
in their quest for a kind
of nirvana in union with
some divine, which might
last forever only in their
heads, and instead of doing
so argues for a more open,
realistic approach to living
through the promising
explorations of neuroscience
and evolutionary psychology
on how my brain makes
loving sense out of sunlight
on green leaves, appreciates
the exquisite sensual bodies
of all mammals, and delights
at the tang of Concord grapes
crushed against my palate.

{Poetry by Anselm Brocki}

One Poetry Review by Peter Lattu

Reviewing Mary Oliver’s Red Bird

It’s winter here, cold with a biting wind chilling the skin. Snow showers are forecast. Mary Oliver’s new book Red Bird warms the spirit in such cold weather:

Red bird came all winter
firing up the landscape
as nothing else could.

Her dogs are back, Luke and Percy. Luke displays a wild, loving approach to life that Mary Oliver desires as well. Like Luke, Percy wants us to “Love, love, love”. Percy wants Mary Oliver to put down her books and go out with him to enjoy the natural world. In another poem, Percy shows her how to run forward into life.

Blackwater Pond makes an appearance in “Mornings at Blackwater”. Here, Mary Oliver revels in the discoveries that her morning walks bring her. They are a source of inspiration for her. She advises us to: “come to the pond… of your imagination… And live/your life.”

Even with Mary Oliver’s mostly upbeat look at life through nature, there is a downside, as in “Red”. It is a very sad poem about roadkill, Virginia gray fox roadkill. A mating pair of gray foxes were killed on the highway “while the cars kept coming”.

Mary Oliver touches deftly on some current political topics. She highlights global warming in a poem about polar bears. She bemoans the death of youth in war in “Iraq”. In “Of The Empire”, she concludes that our nation has a heart that is “small, and hard, and full of meanness”.

Still, Mary Oliver exhorts us to:

Pay attention
Be astonished
Tell about it

Pick up Red Bird and warm your soul.

{Review by Peter Lattu}

One Piece by Julien Edmund Moss

Hanging Garden Flower

Ah! he is not a common man
Who turns to a flowerless tree.
-Onitsura

Many leaves reside within her garden
Many leaves, indeed; many
Across the breeze the gray river
Golden Bridge, and lady’s laughing fancies
Many leaves, many slender: many
All possessed a smothered envy

Sweet but for the flower…
With its boisterous oranges, yellows, and indigos
The blossom standing neatly in the sun
Who would blame the keeper for a peak while on a run
A cricket lands gently upon his fishing line
Now, the blue moon watches soundly

Snow white-capped mountains shift restlessly behind
Their glimpse will come surely
The willows sing what the wind ordains
While the pond’s low notes support in harmony
Her fringes sway askance within the wind
A late afternoon nap tucked between the folds

The blue plums taste so good this evening
The color of your eyes tantalize- I am mesmerized!
What if the moon saw your face?
Knowing distance wide your beautiful name
The swirling eddies only enhance the aura at once
And once again once I saw you again once

Apricot boughs and ferns seem as nothing
The now-cloudy skies are ever wanting
I could sit here and think and want the more
I that was once so dandy and sprightly
Lie jealous of the folds and forays
Of the lady’s Hanging Garden Flower

{Poem by Julien Edmund Moss}

One Poem by Heather Cox

Lonely Soul

The rivers run deep,
And the waters rush high
With speed and deliberation
Towards my lonely soul.

The water is ice,
Piercing my skin and bones,
But I swing an extra stroke
For every freezing degree.

In this life
You either simply float
Or
fight the current
Or
drown.

O, hollow river,
Wash over my soul.
Steal me to your depths
And keep me company.

{Poem by Heather Cox}

One Poem by Natalie Williams

Mirrors and Tiles

For it seems the way
Of things;
To never see but always be seen;
In a moment,
Or in a dream.
Philosophy gets you
Like a broken thing.

Never quite knowing, this world
Is guided by animosity.
Ferociously it gives us
Tiles for mirrors,
And mirrors for tiles,
Yet all the while
We are misguided.

Out of stride
Damned and shaken,
We are bid and taken
By our fake eyes,
And ears, what we cannot
Should not, must not.
Do.

{Poem by Natalie Williams}

An Excerpt by Gabrielle A. Gonzalez

Excerpted from The Cotton Picker's Daughter

Dried and dried.
It’s still there, the whole thing.
Sowed and harvested, and its not fair.
Be careful.
Many times Mom’s shot a bullet.
Hot,
into the air.
Not caring where it would land,
not even through me,
the prize at hand.
The reason she lives.
The security that shows she can move on.
But damn, damn.
Nothing further for her
because bare feet are bad.
You can only travel so far,
when trudging on glass.
My Mother has never gotten over,
what her Father did to her.
Everything physical
and verbal
is bubbling over
the facts and disappointments
are more clearer and
more hurtful than ever.
I could be a Romantic,
and blame it on Mexican Rhapsody.
Say
“ I hate you Granddaddy.”
Even though I never knew him.
That’s no justification.
Mother needs to know-
that real revenge is living long, happy.
Saying her I do’s and
“ Goodbye Daddy.”

{From The Cotton Picker's Daughter by Gabrielle A. Gonzalez}

One Poem by Alexis Robertson

The Inner Most Grief

Let us not forget the times we had here
Let us not forget the things that changed us
Let us not forget things we held so dear
And please, please never forget the things we discussed.

We are all believers here in today
You are the one that shaped me as I am
I would have flown with you to the Milky Way
But now i most stay here in Amsterdam.

We are together that much is so true
There has fallen a splendid new blue tear
There is to much to say, but I Love You
I am tired and beloved for your fears.

There is nothing left of my inner world
Your hostile communist body uncurled.

{Poem by Alexis Robertson, Age 14}

Two Poems by Mike Berger

Degas

Pastel palette shimmers.
Flickering candles probe
Somber strokes speak.
Darkness dominates.
Shuffling ballet shoes
Slender legs entwine
Slippers have holes
Thin stark smiles,
Are pasted on
Perspiration spills
Music pounds
Dancers move
They come alive
With each brush stroke.


Excerpted from Americans

Food captures me.
It holds me for ransom
I woof it down
It’s never enough.

{Poems by Mike Berger, PH.D.}

Two Poems by Dan Flore

the divorce, still there

I coughed like my father
it jumped out from my subconscious
in that "I'm right, you're wrong" way
like a ragged soldier
who raised his flag


excerpted from rubber dish gloves

the sky is orange tonight
the ditch diggers along the mountains
know the chuckling mysteries have settled in
the laughter's echo is a dizzying crumble
they look to their watches
for her and are
hoping too she will
come out of her over
sparkled celebration soon

{Poem by Dan Flore}

Two Poems by Caroline A. Kyzek

Snow

A gleaming white carpet
Spread across the forest floor
Amidst the barren trees.
This is snow:
A coldness that dazzles


Dance of the Green Eyes

You touch with your hands
Taste with your tongue
And stare with your eyes
You're green eyes into mine

I feel your gaze across the room
Looking at me
And a cherub's song comes to mind

Twinkle twinkle green eyes
How I wonder what you surmise
Up above a world with me
Like an emerald in the sea

Emeralds in a cave,
In the company of diamonds, rubies, sapphires
Shining together like a glimmering dance
Dance with me!

The tongue tango
The mouth mambo
The finger foxtrot

Intense touch followed
By ocular sensuality
Mesmerize me-
Dance with your eyes

The seeing samba
The looking lambada
The watching waltz

Glance over
And look at me
Stare me down
With those eyes
Those green eyes into mine

{Poetry by Caroline A. Kyzek}

One Poem by Randall Rogers

Pretty Baby

you’re my pretty baby
my lover child
the way you kiss me baby
it drives me wild

well we’ll take my car
run away
living on love
Blessed in every way from high above

let’s go to the alter
and say “I do”
because I love you baby
and I think you love me too

{Poem by Randall Rogers}

Two Poems by Ethan Brandt

The Magma Boils

Underneath, the magma boils.
Underneath, the magma boils.
And the ground turns and stomachs turn.
And the ground turns and stomachs turn.
Underneath, the stomachs boil
And the ground and magma turn, turn.

Above it all, the birds fly 'round.
Above it all, the birds fly 'round.
Songs are sung, most unheard.
Songs are sung, most unheard.
Above it, the birds fly unheard.
Songs are sung all 'round.

You stand silent and listen.
You stand silent and listen.
If only all could be heard.
If only all could be heard.
If all stand and listen,
Only you could be heard, silent.

The magma boils and turns,
And underneath the ground, stomachs turn.
You stand and listen.
The birds fly silent all 'round, and above it all,
If only all could be heard…most unheard.


A Song With Her

Do I truly care that I should live,
Now that I go 'cross the sea
Tell me, tell me please, Penelope,
Are things fair as they used be?

My body stays sound as ever was,
My soul is carried by hope.
But my heart listens not to mere faith
How much longer can I cope?

My dear, your voice is my only friend,
Take me away to the Land…
Tell me, please, end swiftly my worry,
How is the town at your hand?

I want my words to take and hold you,
But these men talk too loudly.
Gorging, drinking, swearing, never peace.
When do you come home to me?

My world, I fear I cannot reach you,
Struggle and try as I might.
You are the reason for my struggle.
I sing to you ev'ry night.

Lost One, you drive me to distraction
I can't hear, try as I might.
I know now I must wait, still my heart,
I will listen ev'ry night.

{Poetry by Ethan Brandt}

Fall by Herbert Woodward Martin

Fall

Some trees,
in a wind storm,
are determined
to hold on,
gloriously,
to the last
of their leaves
because of an
ancient and
green foreboding
law that forbids
one to undress
in public,
and besides
it would be
a very natural
embarrassment
if you were
caught unawares.

{Poem by Herbert Woodward Martin}

One Piece by Lemuel Giviens

Blind Emotions

For the good of man, we hold our
head's up high,

For the good of man, we swallow
our dreams and pride, and show no
hostile feeling's, towards others
with great expectations,

For the good of man, we prepare
our self for war when there is no
other alternative solution, but to
fight

For the good of man we would
rather stand together, than fall
as a nation, to the enemy who
is anticipating our every command

Please for the good of man, let's
take our blind folds off and take back
the United States, a country that
has been divided for so long and
trapped mentally by hate and race.

{Poem by Lemuel Giviens}

Three Haiku Poems by A.J. Chilson

Haiku 1

as his golden hair
ran freely against the wind
my body stood still


Haiku 2

a life worth living
is a life worth a poem
to be worthwhile


Haiku 3

Honey, Sweet Honey,
the smile you give by day
lights fire by night

{Poems by A. J. Chilson}

One Piece by Bryan M. Huizi

Vaccine

How do I know you love me she asked.
Because I have built no defense against you.

{Poem by Bryan M. Huizi}

Tell Me True by Aaron W. Hillman

Excerpted from Tell Me True

Shall I be an honest man? What is honesty?
Is it not the human being saying what man
believes? Is it honest to speak in tragedy,
when you know you might hurt someone? If that truth
ran then all the bigots would speak in honesty. So,
now a young voice tells me to be honest and thus
is a command. I cannot fail. I cannot leave.
I must follow where stone statures are sure to grieve.
You cannot blaze upon the earth like a newborn
sun until you have gone through the blackness of space
and are born out of the pressure of that cold, lorn
cauldron. Hone your work to the place where the efface
critic, nay-sayer, will have to seek minute points
and effusion of spirit oils the waiting joints.
Some are ready now, let them live. Upon this earth
a seed will root. Nurture them warmly until birth.

There is no value in words in print. The song bird's
value comes when a few hear the sounds and are moved
by the sounds and are changed by the sounds and the
sounds and the ideas are graven and soul approved
by that few. And when this moment happens, you will
be remembering, I was honest. I, the kiln.

But why do you give me this god-like quality?
A song soars by itself! Asks no one to be free.

{Poem by Aaron W. Hillman}

Two Pieces by Kevin Leal

She Yells at Me

She yells at me in gibberish
Curses me with voodoo.
She has a doll,
But I don't think it's voodoo-related.


Water Glasses

Glasses upside down built one-by-one
Like a castle
Laid at the feet of Maria.

Her accented English
Just the faintest echoes
Across some great land.

{Poetry by Kevin Leal}

Two Poems by Les Cramer

12 May 08

Resented not
Having mashed

Potatoes yesterday so
mashed them today

But didn't
Have any

Peas


Took the #8 from Jeanine's

To Calle Real
Trader Joe's

Then went
To Rite-Aid at

Fairview then to
Osh for

Furnace filters
Walked over the

Overpass and caught
#11 on

Hollister back
To Turnpike

{Poems by Les Cramer}

Three Pieces by Mr. Kent Clair Chamberlain

Marchal
Bright clouds
Hnag low over city
Lamps, as years
Troop on.


Summer 2008

Summer moonlit
Morning. Burma shaves.
Long miles from the Fifties. JESUS
WAVES!


Daymake

After the darkness,
After the longing,
Rising, in meeting,
Hailing rays
Bright with Promise!

{Poems by Mr. Kent Clair Chamberlain}

One Poem by Derrick Harrison Hurd

I Remember You
For Shannon

My parents were in love with her
and she more so with them
and even my brothers knew
that we had proved by living it
that a fairy tale can indeed come true

She is somewhere else now
Or rather I am not where she is
The magic of us
Taken largely for granted then
Came on an ordinary day
to an extraordinary end

It is not so bad to be on the other side of dreams
And fairy tales that came true
There is always good in something new
And, though there were perfect days, honest and pure
That no matter what can never again occur
But, make no mistake…I remember you

{Poem by Derrick Harrison Hurd}

A Prose Piece by Peter Lattu

Mary Oliver’s Poetry

I love Mary Oliver’s poetry. Her poems are deceptively simple and straightforward yet they often reveal profound truth about the human experience.

I have wondered how Mary Oliver writes. From her description of natural settings, like Blackwater woods and pond, she clearly takes early morning walks with her dogs. She sees deer, fox, herons, turtles, gannets, watersnakes, mushrooms, wild geese, egrets… and she writes about what she sees.

I imagined that Mary Oliver comes back from her early morning walks to settle down to write for a couple of hours. In her book A Poetry Handbook she confirms that she does just that: “One can rise early in the morning and have time to write (or, even, to take a walk and then write) before the world’s work schedule begins.”

Writing early is not all there is to her creative process. Her walks are crucial to her creative process, to her hearing her “inner ‘poetic’ voice”. In A Poetry Handbook, she describes her imaginative process at work on her walks:

For myself, walking works… I walk slowly and not to get anywhere in particular, but because the motion somehow helps the poem to begin. I end up, usually, standing still, writing something down in the small notebook I always have with me.

Walks work to make her poems. Her poems display that creative process at work through her descriptions of nature all around her.

Through A Poetry Handbook I have gained more insight into Mary Oliver and her imaginative processes. That book has deepened my appreciation of her life and work.

{Piece by Peter Lattu, December 31, 2007}

Three Poems by Cody Tucker

The Fire Speaks to Us All

Its boards crack and moan
The flames eat their way across
Everything washed in a thin orange haze
A single match started this wrong
I can never go back
I've burnt the last bridge home


Old Love

Your face lingers long after your gone
Burned in my eyes
Will this bittersweet taste ever leave
I walk the streets and hear your voice in the crowd
Dark and strange people surround me
They offer your replacement
And my soul with it
And i settle down to something sweet and sickly
Come join me for one last dance
The moonlight our only companion
The wound festers and aches
My eyes begin to blur
I hear a knock at the door
Despair joins me for a drink
I find a comfortable chair in my head
And take a seat
Come join me for one last dance in the moonlight
Sorrows the melody


The Human Weakness

Desire overwhelms common sense
Right and wrong are thrown out the window
The beast and the man become one
Out of him spews forth vulgar shapes of his life
The others see and join in the fray
Wanting to taste something other than the mundane
They grew old in a day
They lost their minds in a moment of pleasure
The drug became their god
And they couldn't remember their way home
The room was washed in a thick gray smoke
And in it they thought they saw their souls drift away
The pills resembled faces of old friends
And they laughed
They did not partake sparingly
Like a starving man they consumed
Mad cackles filled the night air
The rain that wouldn't cease began to pour
And they forgot who they were

{Three Poems by Cody Tucker}

Four Poems by Virginia Bates

All That Will Be Left

Years after the smoldering debris recedes
Charred bones and fossilized shreds of flesh,
After all the victims with cancer depart,
Their moans and screams lingering about the poisoned air,
Echoes of lecherous, democratic death,
After all civilizations are gone, gone, gone,
Flowers, trees, and birds,
All music vanished into eternal silence,
Earth's tears vaporized to radiated mist,
All that will be left are blind and dying cockroaches.


Hands of a Friend

Your carefully manicured fingers
Are like poems in silken cases.
They are flowers in wintertime.
They bestow beauty to everyday chores.


All the Gods are Dead, Except Mars

All the gods are dead, except Mars.

He sits in his monstrous five sided complex
Across the river
With its two thousand toilets, ramps, shops,
Restaurants
And directs his mighty budget
With three thousand dollars for a screwdriver
And one thousand percent makeups.
Smiling confidently that whatever he desires
The government of we the people will give by
a substantial of democratic vote.
His spirit has reached every corner of the Earth
And now his greed demands extension to outerspace
To the War of The Stars - how poetic it sounds!
MORE MORE MORE he pounds on his polished desk,
Rings of trusty servants in business suits and uniforms.
Insanity reigns from ocean to ocean
And soon from planet to planet
Fulfilling the horror fantasies
Of science fiction writers.
MORE MORE MORE he screams, swilling his gluttonous
appetite for destruction, waste, radiation and death ...
And if I may correct you, Mr. T. S. Eliot,
With both bangs and whimpers .......
How this poet hopes to be wrong.
There is no comfort in such vision.


I Have a Love Affair with the World

I have a love affair with the world
Though occasionally I feel it's unrequited.
I desire one thing,
Say, democracy or justice or peace
But at times it doesn't even seem to know what I'm
talking about.
It's probably a case of inadequate communication,
A common problem of lovers.

There are times I feel older than earth.
Sometimes I feel like a babe in the woods.
Our union transports and we meet in many levels,
Loving and fighting through all the seasons.
Our cloud-like relationship is constantly changing.
Daily discoveries are the diamonds in the jewelbox of my life.
My romance with the world began the day I watched a bird
flying above the horizon,
In the dawn of my childhood,
And it will last until the sunset of my years.

{Poems by Virginia Bates}

i Am byzantium by W. F. Holden

i AM byzantium

In Memory of Geniveve Sweeny

i know now that
Each breath is only wasted–and
it is gone again.
inhale the poison–the rock grinder
This is mirthless life that we now make ourselves

an exhale of life. the alchemy is gone again.
all castes are drowned.
the wolves, eagles, and sheep alike all are reduced
to bones. breathe in dust of mummies
breathe in from the temple by the ears–breathe steel
oxygenate, now, with hatred. There is nothing: that,
we make ourselves

the inhale of friction, together now,
the exhale is waiting. come!
the exhale is here–in the temple
and the chest, let us exhale silence!
let us exhale exile and cunning! and
so I tell you once again,
i AM byzantium.

{Poem by W. F. Holden}

A Piece by John Duncklee

Weeds?

Storm arrived last night
Lightning and thunder
Pelting rain
No start or moon
Clouds
Cool
Startling thunder
Comforting rain
Deep sleep as it left
No morning clouds
Sunrise different on ground
Sparkling drops on weeds
Sit outside
Listen to growing weeds
Garbled conversation
From different kinds
Many languages
Some with tiny, yellow flowers
Others blue
Different shades for different kinds
Garden of weeds
All growing
All glistening with last night’s rain
Happy making chlorophyll
Happy making seed
What is a weed?
An unwanted
A crowder
A pest
A morning glory beautifully clad with blue
A joy to some
A weed to a cotton grower
A being
A Goathead sprinkled with yellow flowers
A weed to one wanting a lawn
A pest to one stepping on its seed
A beautiful bouquet to some
A ground holder to the earth
Choose the word
All are singular
All are different
All have purpose
Humans are also singular
Each different

Are we weeds?

{Poem by John Duncklee}

One Poem by Bryan Forgy

Apex Predator on the Rain Diet

Lips locked against the air shark
A helium lamprey posing as a
Parasitic angel
My fingers like submarines in
The dream semen
Hunting for the coast of America to
Launch a laughing bomb so that
Everyone forgets their problems
But back to the air shark
Swallowing birds and shitting clouds that
Look like a sky circus
The people below pointing up saying
That one looks like Jim Caviezel as
The mangled Christ.

{Poem by Bryan Forgy}

Plunder by Derrick Harrison Hurd

Plunder

There are no thoughts lost to any of us of life
they come back in splices of other peoples films
and cocktail chatter and coffee table books
We loved as passionately as any historical titan
and we lost as much as any fallen angel.
We pursued the dreams that Disney left us
and there is not a dragon we did not slay
we are so lucky to have lived at all,
but to have lived well...
There are no thoughts lost to any of us of life.

{Poem by Derrick Harrison Hurd}

Two Short Poems by Andrew Taegel

Sacrifice

Taking hold of life’s last breath,
claiming what was lost.
One moment to erase our shame,
when life is worth the cost.


Touch

It’s like some foreign mystery
lies just beneath your skin.
And if I only held you once
I’d feel divine within.

{Poems by Andrew Taegel}

Two Poems by Robert Fabre

Ground-Being

Jesus- Ground-Being of Existence/
Message and Messenger/
Light and Redeemer/
Ultimate Freedom.

He turns towards us
And extends God’s Grace,
And we accept- and love;
Message (Messenger) becomes Action/
Faith is Completed (Sustains our Being).


Death Mask

Death Mask/
Caricature of death/
Frightening visage/
Occupier of dreams/
Slayer of mortality-
She sleeps in wonder,
Awakens in horror-
An unwelcome guest,
An obtrusive relative-
One we never welcome
until the door is closed;
And when the light seeps in
And the curtain dims
And the room slowly fades
As the clouds descend
We raise high our arms
To fly,
To fall
to the end of the sky,
Where
the mask
is removed.
And our life begins.

{Poems by Robert Fabre}

One Poem by Denis LeCavalier

Billy Goat

As tuned in,
when he was young
and talented as a criminal;
animal,
wild in the city streets.

He has chops
in the underbelly.
Not a moss pebble,
but a bright star
straining though rationalities just,
and burnt endings
for a pleasing few.

He is most at home
when the sun is down.

And in the night,
slaughter house.
Traditionally off key
and a bit of
the Billy goat,
the ladies love him,
ferociously.

Bad guy
with mad eyes,
seeing stars
in city skies.

Footstep,
a nightly jaunt
his everything,
absolutely.

{Poem by Denis LeCavalier}

One Poem by James Ryan Denton

Slumber, Dear Child

Auroral grass cries tears of dew;
Green headstones
Cloaked with fibrotic strands of mourning,
Laced to withstand incessant floods of pain--

The flower drops a humble face
Afraid to view the dark;
The petal withers from strain
And grasps a neighbor's arm--

The child creeps into bed and tries to fall asleep;
Her soft pure hands rise to her eyes
But the sights are never clean;
Slumber, dear child, all through the night,
Slumber through the day,
Slumber through the rest of time,
Try to stay away.

{Poem by James Ryan Denton}

Fame by John Duncklee

Fame

They called him “Kid”
Long after he danced
Long after he rode
Long after he rustled
Long after he killed

What if they had called him “Mister”
Or just Bill or William?
Fun loving but sober
His true friend, “Thunderer”
Constant companion
Sometimes too close a friend
Personally costumed
Twinkles in his eyes
Loved the señoritas
Because they loved to dance
Hunted down
Captured
Escaped
Reputation established
Not as a dancer
As a villain
A kid villain
Is he still around?
Does “Thunderer” still bellow?
Do his eyes still twinkle?
Or do they stare with menace?
What good is fame If you can’t dance?

{Poem by John Duncklee}

Two Poems by Derrick Harrison Hurd

Monuments Under the Sea
For Andre

Evolution, a heartless game
rendered us humans with hearts and souls
gods played at being men
men played at creating gods
building monuments under the sea
and spinning countless revolutions
of the same cycle in another language
Perfection begs deviation
and thus we grow
and soon will
also go


Pirates
For Kelly

There are blessings that are treated as curses
and curses that bring about blessings
The blessed are simply that
as are the cursed
Gratitude completely evacuates need
and an empty life becomes an impossibility
when the curse and the blessing
are the same

{Poems by Derrick Harrison Hurd}

One Poem by Julien Edmund Moss

An Excerpt of Portraits D'Alaska

4.
O Alaska! Call to the East with your Western territorial voice.
Without you, I should surely not know of the wild,
Though I would think that I knew it.

Call forth with bears, who scavenge destitute motor vehicles,
And your miniscule airports stacked room-atop-room,
And your town which stands nearly as small,
And your highways, byways, triways, but no freeways.

5.
Frontier Alaska, separate from the rest of America,
Call to us, and remind us of Ourselves.

{Poem by Julien Edmund Moss}

Rest by Dillon Shosted

Rest

Set from the path of eternity
A man shelters his young
From the outcasts trembling in fear
Brought in from abuse of his fate
I see no fault in those lingering
But whats to say there will be
An awakening of thought compromised
Into one box throughout life
The man drifts ahead looking for his ruby
Blinded by his burden he shall inherit no more but only the
Covenant prize of living in rest

{Poem by Dillon Shosted}

Poetry by Francee Bouvenir

Be Nature

"I always hold my head up high and never go without a day like I’m about to die."


Woman

Walked alone in the dark; I stared at the statues in the park.
    Woman
Omitted the things are old and never take them back cold.
    Woman
Moments when I’m alone, I feel like I’m stone.
    Woman
Affected after being abuse certainly again I won’t be use.
    Woman
No way I goes underground where no one hear me makes a sound.
    Woman


Be Proud

"I won’t give up on me and hide either, no matter how many times I go through that paradox box; I will fight like I’m on fire even until my last breath."


Dark Side

Day was done, night was gone.
Air so high, I breathe into a sigh.
Remembered my fears had me broken down into tears.
Knowledge is my strength, formidable that my mind acts in length.

Sacrificed when I put my goals on hold, they probably aren’t worth
    as gold.
Imitated when the birds’ flea while they crossed over by the sea.
Dramatically when I hear bells, the sound is different from shells.
Even though when I wants to cry, I stills let the tears roll down
    until they’re dry.

{Poetry by Francee Bouvenir}

A Bit of Beauty by Peter Menkin

Excerpted from Apartment on the Third Floor

Warm, here just roof above,
and
among the trees in
company of hawks

who nest. One hawk
sits
on a branch, lit by engaging
moments of
sun; spring newness amid
the gray manmade
world that impedes yet connects
the eternal life.

{Poem by Peter Menkin}

Water by Joel Frohlich

Water

I am like the water, never the same.
Sometimes icy and cold when the atmosphere around me is frigid,
I become stubborn and unmoving,
But warm me up to a cheerier temperature,
And I flow smooth around obstacles,
Running, quick and powerful like a great river,
Never stopping until I reach the great ocean of life!
And when I am energized still more,
I become the vapor that is so free,
High and careless, floating among the clouds,
In the serene blue sky of paradise

{Poem by Joel Frohlich}

By the Poet Peter Layton

Us, Our Art Nouveau Day At A Beach

I'm down by the wet sucking to the shoreline.
The horizon fills like a vacant gas to the sky.

You and your beauty are not here.

I'll say all the words to myself now holding
the apparent future like a negative thing.

The familiar noodling sound of the eels the
thin sand fin sharks, everything like the tosses
of the light air birds
shrilling at each other, I'll set out
the blanket and its topsy turvy salts
watching, making up things about clouds.
Each one being each one.

{Poem by Peter Layton}

Poetry by Vivian Bolland Schroeder

Phenomenon

The world turns.
Morning breaks.
Night falls.
Nothing's damaged.


Recollection

I don't remember why we were convulsed
With helpless laughter;
What I do remember is
Trying to wipe the lemonade we managed to upset
From your favorite red dress.

{Poems by Vivian Bolland Schroeder}

One Piece by Michael S. Morris

A Cat's Cradle

What was her name...?
But I could not remember...
saying, she was my goddaughter

But I hadn't been back
in thirty years and lost
touch with all those from home

Even though we had telephones
the transmissions across continent
soon ceased and a holy bond broken

We were by the ice cream freezer
two old acquaintances transmigrating
memory from west to east

In our youths, from the same burg
ending up in the same burg, hugging
whenever we crossed paths, saying

Have you seen, have you heard from--
our territories of remembrance
a cat's cradle between our hands

{Poem by Michael S. Morris}

Poems by Peter Layton

The Newness of These Wounds

I still see you in the mirrors of this house.
You somewhat shyly looking.
Your smallest amount of vanity showing.
Which
I'll keep with me.
And the house's mirrors retain you too.
They seeking
around the dust corners the
now quiet quiet left behind items on shelves,
the mum locket, diary, keys
perhaps left discarded, strewn.


Saying Wham

I love to touch the
lusty swells and curves of
a corvette.
And its heavy throated engine ready
to jump to my tamped down foot.

I'll feel
like I'm made of money now,
the engine racing at my touch.
One of the few times I've felt rich is
in the tight contours
of this beautiful beast.

And the cops feel it too,
snapping on their flashing red blue
Christmas tree lights.
Lighting up the road.
I'm lit up.
They'll annoyingly ply me with questions.
Difficult ones deep and philosophic,
Is this your car?


Iron Rust

This place is
exacting
where the run X'es of steel girders
dance
over the pituitary gland of river below.

The air sings.
There are wavering curtains of noise
boulder held waves of tumbling water I
wish so much to stay here
so hold this unanswerable moment.

You in the glass of what I have remembered,
the better almost perfect days
shook loose
to now.

{Poetry by Peter Layton}

On Father and Child

Honor your father and your mother,
so that you may live long in the land
the Lord your God is giving you.
{Proverbs 20:12}

Listen, my son, and be wise,
and keep your heart on the right path.
{Proverbs 23:22}

God sets the lonely in families,
he leads forth the prisoners with
singing; but the rebellious live
in a sun-scorched land.
{Psalm 68:6}

May your father and mother be glad;
may she who gave you birth rejoice!
{Proverbs 23:24}

An Excerpted Piece by Jeremie Guy

Miss You, An Excerpt

I'm sick with your image, yet I refuse to take aid,
I cough up a red goo every day,
For my heart is filled with your love,
I have a fever every night,
For the thought of you makes me warm,
My migraines test the walls of my skull,
For you are all that fills my head

{Poem by Jeremie Guy}

One Poem by Zachary Foster

Ditch Digger

Working all day in toil and sweat
With a pick ax and shovel in the dirt
Is a young ditch digger.
Laboring in the broiling sun
And heat radiating off the grass,
The young man breaks into the sod
And throws the clods of dirt
Into a heap of earth nearby.
By his calloused, soil covered hands
He earns his bread and keep,
Not by his wits
But by strength of will
He makes his living.

{Poem by Zachary Foster}

Summer Fruit

strawberries

the best I can say
is that you’ve got to know
what you’ll eat in the morning
the night before.
I can’t give you any specific examples,
like cereal or eggs or waffles.
the only direction I would offer
would be to eat breakfast before noon.
after that, you’re on your own.
you know who you are when you read this:
you’re the same person who is typing it up right now.
if you eat strawberries, make sure they’re
red.

{Poem by Richard Lopez}

Elegy For Lucille

Elegy For Lucille

Free now, you slip away
beyond familiar stars.
Leaving us to search
among the hues of spring,
the gentle wisps that stir
long summer evenings, and
in the brilliant orange skies
of crisp autumn mornings.
There, and in winter sunsets,
we will find you,
sweet, peaceful soul,
and together remember.

{Poem by George T. Raach}

A Piece by Dan Flore

the conscious scalpels

the conscious scalpels
doctors that cut viciously in the street
believing their moisture is glue
to stick themselves with washable options
places to cleanse their embattled drama once winter love
charisma exudes from their motion
but it itches their fast treading sun glare on skin
the knives get broken
by the pouring hail
the doctors drift into asylums of wonder
their winter love turns into fall
then finally a burst of paths, purples and mornings without nights
there on a wooden road
everything grows

{Poem by Dan Flore}

A Poem by Mary Ann and Bryan Battle

Somebody

Is it right to love somebody?
Is it right to really care?
Is it right to share your dreams, your hopes, and all your prayers?

As she turned to me so slowly and she said to me, “Goodbye.”
As I stood in the doorway with a tear rolling down my right cheek
I asked myself, is it right to love somebody?

Is it right to love somebody?
Is it right to really care?
Is it right to share your dreams, your hopes, and all your prayers?

As she turned to me so slowly with tears in her eyes
and she said to me so softly,
She said to me, “Goodbye.”

As I stood in the doorway with a tear rolling down my right cheek,
I asked myself, is it right to love somebody?

We think we know somebody, but we really do not know him
or her at all.
We learn of them when we are all standing tall.

Everybody is somebody.

{Poem by Mary Ann and Bryan Battle}

A Piece by Sarah Macolino

Autobiographer, An Excerpt

Waiting with your pen and your yellow legal pad for the words of your life to catch up to you.

With a sigh, you realize that they have slipped away already and you throw your pen to some place lost and your paper to the side. You rise from your bench and walk down the road (slightly dusty because it hasn't rained much). You give a little cough because your asthma feels as though it wants to rise above its medicated subservience. You hear a hum as though a bus is coming up behind you and you scurry crookedly to the side of the road, but there is no bus.

How did you get here? You were all set to become the most successful autobiographer on the book market today. You set out from college with a smile, a slight limp from a rugby injury, and a degree in English. You set up an attic room that you were sure would soon fill with your copious notes, as did the garrets of all true writers. You knew that as soon as you lay down for sleep, words would crowd your mind until they exploded from your fingers in a flurry of typewriter keys. The pages would pile until you wept with what you wrote.

Then, as you lay on your cot – because all writers have cots in their garrets – you realized something terrible and shattering.

You don't know how to write an autobiography.

You waited with slightly shaken confidence for something to occur, as it always had before. At the end of three days, you coughed a little bit and left your chilly garret for the warmth of the sunshine and the hustle of human bodies flowing along the heated pavement outside your building. You got a cup of coffee at the next café over and waited a bit nervously, staring at the blank paper, which, so inviting before, now seems to hold something hopeless.

And you waited there, in that café, for something to happen so that you could write the story of your life.

Now you have left your pad behind and you wander aimlessly, thinking detachedly of your garret, so artistic and so meaningless. You love to write, you've always known that, but you've overlooked your lack of story and now look where you are. Your coffee-saturated stomach lining groans and sloshes, your writing muscles are slack and rubbery with disuse.

I Remain

Sound of Your Name

Lovely Lover

I loved you in the warmest time--
when fossils were new;
And dear one, better run and see
How all warm things are you.

I loved you in the hardest time--
When all life was doomed;
I love you--better run and see
How the life buds have bloomed.

I love you, lovely lover
With all your ups and downs
And stops and goes;
I love you, lovely lover--
And how the feelings show!

Dawn's come my way--
Oh, how my soul craved the day--
I'll stay adrift in the haze
And kiss the sound of your name.

{Poem by Michael Kozej}


Widow, Pantoum

My bed is full of silence in the night
except for the fugitive sound of dreams.
His memory ushers in the old delight.
My body floats along a quiet stream,

except for the fugitive sound of dreams
the empty banks, the rushing water sweet.
My body floats along a wayward stream
to places in the past, where we still meet.

The empty banks, the rushing water sweet,
the mighty opening of abandoned doors,
to places in the past, where we still meet.
My memory plunges down descending floors.

Bed pillows substitute for flesh and life
his memory ushers in the old delight,
reminds me I was once a much loved wife.
My bed is full of silence in the night.

{Poem by June S. Gould}

Who I Am

Xiomara

Say it and it comes out dry
As if you're dying and in need of water.
Xiomara, the moon
A grey name, a small sharp rock that hurts your foot.
Like aluminum foil, never stays smooth.
It always crumbles.
You don't understand it
Because you have no idea what it means.
You read it wrong.
Zomara, Giomara, Xomera
Not one is perfect.
Someone who will save the world one day.
Gun, bombs, blood, knives, death
All famous in battle
A warrior.

{Poem by Xiomara Nunez}


I Am...

I am seed under the soil.
I am still nurturing
Like a large tree with branches.
I am pastel pink, soft, smooth, and sweet.
I used to be afraid, but
Now I speak in class.
I used to hold it in but
Now I ask what took so long.
I used to retaliate but
Now I am always the bigger person.
I am a great learner but
One day I will be an inspiring philosopher.

{Poem by Le'quanna Littlejohn}


I'm Me

I am as hard as a shell you can't get into unless I let you
I am a loving person who can be optimistic, but don't act up cause I will go ballistic
I am a camouflaged rattlesnake waiting in the bushes to strike
I used to be single, now I'm in love
I used to be a knucklehead but now I'm a promised head
I make things disappear when they're not going right
I am human now but one day I will really be THE HyBRID
I will break the limitations of the world
Cause baby I'm Me

{Poem by Terell Jones}

Poems

The Swap

One glance across the table
revealing fake vulnerability.
Long, wavy, brown hair,
curious eyes, nervous fidgeting, sweaty palms.
Twenty years apart, age and experience,
he is consumed by lustful thoughts,
desires never realized.

It would be different for her
firm, tight, curves of obsession.
His wrinkles speak volumes.
Opportunity.
One unpleasant moment.
Rent, food, whatever she wanted

Fifty, one hundred, two hundred,
it all depends on the level of human degradation.
Devoid of emotion, pleasure or pain,
numbed.

A simple transaction,
a trade,
his needs for hers.

{Poem by Timothy Duncan}


Cherish the Children

Oh, those blasted prints; I've washed them time, and time again.
Now I sit alone in my silent home, and gaze through my spotless windowpane, and in my heart, it began to rain.

Had I caused pain when I often exclaimed, "get back, get away, you'll get prints on the pane" ? Now those hands are so big and strong, and my son is full-grown.

If only I'd known how much it would matter, and how much I would miss the pitter-patter, the constant chatter, and those tiny prints on the pane.

Cherish your children, for too soon they'll be grown, and you'll feel alone and like your house is no longer a home.

But wait. What's that I hear? A precious new child will soon be here.
I'll put the cleaning cloth away. Those tiny prints can stay and stay. My grandson and I are going to play.

Cherish your children today.

{Poem by Susan Roberts Button}


Dad's Wishes

Mother's belly is like a balloon
About to pop
Nine months like a fish
Floating in the ocean
Born I'm finally free
Dad always wished for a boy
Imagined jump shots and home runs
When I arrived I brought tears
He will have to play
Dress up and Barbie dolls
With his loving daughter

{Poem by Bianka Walker}

Nature

Nature

Peace lies there,
soothing sounds pleasing to the ear.
Her love grows every day,
especially in May.
Crickets love to sing,
beautiful birds flap their wings.
Trees are swaying in the breeze,
darling deer sit quietly.
She watches over their home.
Sadly, humans invade this place,
she pleads her case.
Let them be,
they're a part of me.

{Poem by Laura A. Steeb}

Poetry by Korliss Sewer

Clams

Beneath the layers of linen we dig.
Where all things are soft and warm.

A hush from above;
whispers down below.

Mute is the world
where we prod…

Just affinity under the silt.

{Poem by TrueOpalescence}


Absolute Zero

Suffocating coldness;
skin and spirit broken.
Stiffening darkness
halts my fall.
A slow descent ceased
by this icy abyss.

A beauty held in its crystalline fragrance,
with sharp, jagged edges.
Flesh torn and jaded,
I worship the gloomy loneliness,
and embrace it as my own.

{Poem by Opaque}

Poetry by Kate Ann Kennedy

For Virginia

The weight of the world sits on my chest

On this day, the pain of the world
Manifested itself in the bodies of the young
Inside a stone building
Within a small town
Within the Free World

Sadness sits as a stain inside my mouth
(Inside a room, I feel the blood
I feel the horror
The fright inside those rooms exists,
Even still)

Inside everyone's chest
The weight
Unfathomable
The agony
The weight. The weight inside.
The weight inside the wait.
The waste of it all


Shifting Shapes

You are looking for something
That is mine, no more
Not at this moment
This desired entity has shifted its shape
Flown away during sleep
When I awoke, it was no more
Nor was I

I am merely an extension of myself
This may sound strange to you
I have not even come to terms with it myself
(I hate writing about myself
And the disappearances of
My cells)

My weaknesses are plenty and too many
I am bored with hollowness
And a magnitude
Of useless passion













No Words

I need to fill these pages to feel normal
I cannot.
I feel constricted and conflicted.
Alone in my quest for creativity,
In my battle to find and trap
Beautiful words


Torches

You are seated inside
Upon mounds of memory
And a trail of torture
I feel you here, my man
Your wind fills all of my crevices

And how can we be happy,
Knowing the anguish of our Ancestors? Of the
Torment, which taunts and
Touches the torches of the present? Of our
Future?

{Poetry by Kate Ann Kennedy}

In the Evening

In the evening
as light dies gloriously
and energies wane
time forgives arrogance
and the heart paroles fear
in the moments
unspent in living
true life is revealed
in the passing
of any real and wonderful moment
is born the next to mourn

{Poem by Derrick Harrison Hurd}

My Window

Wildness

The apples lie scattered everywhere, each under its tree.

There is in my nature, methinks, a singular yearning toward all
wildness.

The bristling burdock, the sweet scented catnip, and the humble yarrow, planted themselves along his woodland road, they too seeking "freedom to worship God" in their way.

What would we not give for some great poem to read now, which would be in harmony with the scenery, --for if men read aright, methinks they would never read anything but poems.

We are sometimes made aware of a kindness long passed, and realize that there have been times when our friend's thoughts of us were of so pure and lofty a character that they passed over us like the winds of heaven unnoticed; when they treated us not as what we were, but
as what we aspired to be.

I love the wild not less than the good...

{Words by Henry David Thoreau}