One Piece by Sharon Anderson

Dance Of The Willows

Lithe ballerinas rhythmically sway
Orchestrated by a gentle breeze
Nature's Isadoras
Fluid, unbound, free

With a rush of wind
These master choreographers
Whirl with the passion of
Bolero's haunting tempo

The finale...
Spent dancers
Lanquid and still.

{Poem by Sharon Anderson}

One Piece by Brandon Parr

Covergirl

Sit back, relax, and breathe in the air
And soon we will fix the gray of your hair
Oh, by the way, it’s not air that you breathe
But toxic gases that might make you dream

The marks on the parts which are saggy and old
Will fade to oblivion, like scars on a soul
Oh, of course they won’t, so you’ll have to pretend
And then be aggressive, and then you’ll defend

The reason you butchered your quite lovely face
You paid me your soul, so I could deface
What Providence makes, and can’t be replaced
It sickens me deeply, and yet you complain

That nothing is ever enough

I stretch the skin on the cap of your skull
Over the skin you’d like to be culled
And suture the thread to hold in a smile
The beautiful mouth which now will revile

And though you don’t know it, I’ll now break your nose
And shave off the parts that make you look old
And old you are, and okay that is
But nightmares of past, you choose to relive

Why do you seek the beauty of flesh?
And why do you care what others confess?
Is a slight of the soul, a blemish of heart?
And now I will finish what you chose to start

But nothing is ever enough

Now is the time you’ll wake from your dream
And look at the stitches, the staples, and seams
You’ll wish you were dead from the pain you’ll be in
You’ll scoff at the bruises, and then you’ll give in

And swallow the pills that push the pain down
And maybe you’ll rip out the stitches and frown
On what you have done, what I helped you do
To mangle your body and then you’ll file suit

You’ll take me to court, you’ll hire a lawyer
Your husband complains and makes you feel smaller
Your husband will jest to pump up your chest
And you are convinced he deserves the best

And nothing is ever enough

{Poem by Brandon Parr}

One Poem by James Webb Wilson

Night Sits on the Porch

Night envelops the countryside
Softly squeezing out all colors,
Rounding off the corners of day
Rolling out the darker shadows
Across the Midwest plain .

Night settles in, condensing the darkness
`The solid obsidian mass
Streaked with distant starlight
And an occasional borealis.

Night sits out on the porch
Swinging gently from dusk to dawn
Bringing our senior memories closer
To sit and rest in our laps
As we keep a vigil in the eye of night.

Night closes the nocturnal drapes
Squashing any of our sour grapes
And lets the sweeter wine seep
While we are awake, but others sleep.
Night casts free spirits in the dark
To comfort the squirrels in the park.

{Poem by James Webb Wilson}

One Poem by Josh Rauch

99

99 teardrops fall
Each one stains my face and hands
Clothes suffer one in the same

Deeper and deeper I feel lonely
I only know what is happening
Each beat in my heart is pain

99 teardrops drip
Each one never fails to seep
Blurs and reddens my eyes

Stings my soul slowly
Each drop flickers a piece of heart
I feel weak and forgotten

99 teardrops fall
But the final one won’t
To shed this tear would be hopeless

{Poem by Josh Rauch}

Two Pieces by Ron Koppelberger

Shadowy Flight

Attained in chance and sanction, ravaged by
Rare satisfactions of backward trespass and
Entrance, precise, given in blows
Of distant walnut noise, cracking
In savory delight and shadowy flight.
A twilight nod, uneasy and in
Lilly-white amaranths
Of stone.


Midnight Sure

The design of suffering drama and
Feasting silence,
A shadow in substance and discovery, the sanctified prairie
Tumble fulfilled by the shy ancient
Allay of what’s taken in close comfort and upon
The mantle of affair, brilliance and etched crystal
Beauty, the miracle in midnight sure.

{Poems by Ron Koppelberger}

One Poem by Kristal Flaming

Misleading Alice

Your skin is like something raw
and ripe. The taut
red of an apple
I am not allowed
to bite.

Under my illusion
I think I can taste
nourishment
seeping out.

You sleep beautifully.

I feel you twitch.
Perhaps tumbling
at the beginning
of a dream.
Down the rabbit
Hole. To the space
in between

you and me.

We are a fragile
facade. Carefully paired,
a Goddess and her God.
This image I hold
in my humanlike clenches.

Shift
too close
and I begin to tremble
slipping sobs.
You are engulfed in a land
of contorted figurines
and lucid colorful schemes.

I led you there.

When light
escorts you sweetly home
it’s likely I’ll have disappeared.
For now

I’ll cast a bewitching spell,
breathe with you and wish
to sing a rhyme you know.
One day to be without
transformation and know that

I am loved.

{Poem by Kristal Flaming}

One Poem by James Webb Wilson

Crystal of Dark Reserve

In the midnight crystal of dark reserve
A timid heart must never swerve
In the balcony of theaters there,
In warm aromatic April’s air
Distilled perfume of her mystique
In my imagination become unique
When fantasies at last come true.

There when the lights seem so tender
Two snuggled souls are the kindling
My heart became a master ages old
In a flood so sensual and bold
This ready flush in a redden blush.

Then there behind the ivied wall
Behind the evergreen shrubs in privacy
We’ll share our thoughts and utmost dreams
If Love is all that it seems.

{Poem by James Webb Wilson}

One Piece by Ed Beller

What Epictetus Knows

Epictetus says he will know
You are a good man by looking at you.
Maybe.
I know you can always know a crazy man
By looking at him,
By his eyes looking into an inner distance.
But a good man?
I know more about the eyes of a good woman
Wide, and mild, and love softened
Directing a stranger to the right bus.

{Poem by Ed Beller}

Two Breath* Poems by Patrick T. Randolph

Flower Embrace

Dawn's fingers
Peal back birth—
Petal-kissed Sky!


Walt Whitman

Poet ghosts
on the tip
of my pencil.

{Poetry by Patrick T. Randolph}

* Breath Poems = This is a particular kind of poem that I have created which requires the reader to be conscious of his/her breathing while reading the poems. The syllable count is 3-3-4. Ideally, you inhale the first three syllables, exhale the next three and inhale the last three and exhale the last syllable. The meter is more strict than haiku because you only have a 10 syllable framework within which to work.

Poetry by Darren C. Demaree

Black & White Picture #159

Define the precious
in the stone.
I no longer can.


Black and White Picture #157

When the land went off
the weather vane, took the weather off
the question marking
& slung it all back to the chaos
did we panic as much as we are now?
When all of the air, super-charged
as it is, becomes about guessing
how can we prepare for the sparks
that burn through the low-valley?
If the world is not a rooted system,
connecting weed to tree to vine,
then is it an animal? What new best,
what new burst will come with Belle?

{Poetry by Darren C. Demaree}

One Poem by Jonathan C. Holeman

Unrepairable

Many things I'd like to do.
Holding your hand at the final dance,
and seeing that smirk, and glitter of your eyes.
Tongue between your teeth,
as you grinned at me in the dead of night
over your shoulder, with me behind,
and nothing to cage our lusts.

There was a time when you looked to me,
and the look on your face was pure.
Yet over the years, I'd crushed your heart.
Your will became dust, beneath a starless sky,
and your hatred burned for me so well.

There's never been a place for us.
On Earth, or Heaven, or Hell,
too much pain, and sorrows caused,
some things can never be repaired.

{Poem by Jonathan C. Holeman}

Two Pieces by Ron Koppelberger

Belfry Doves

Into the pause of reflection and storms of utter
Pretense, a careful secret in amusements
Of confession and possession, a nightingale
In sweet songs of contrition, ethereal in bonds
Of unimpeded bliss. The succulent morning-tide
Dew in gentle rolling beads of prismic allure,
Descried as the tears of belfry doves.


The Thrall of Youth

An ambrosial season of wheat
In the course of scarlet alliance and seized shores
Of grain, a tender field of furrowed welcome
Defined by the rare wellspring rush
Of wild beasts and tame entrance to magical calm
And solstice, a serene quiet in the wills of balance
And the attested thrall of youth.

{Poetry by Ron Koppelberger}

Three Poems by James E. Roethlein

When She First Knew a Man.

A sigh
for her husband,
moaning, as he knew her,
her wide eyes, silently asking
for more.


The Flower-Scented Air

The flower-scented air,
masks a road of broken glass and thorn,
and I, the fool,
walked it barefoot for miles,
unwilling to take a safer road,
for fear of the pain of repentance.


Poets

We, the mythmakers and dreamers of dreams,
keep a sleepless vigil
in the lonely watches of the night.
Pacing the floor
in the silent realm of our room,
we give voice to the inexpressible thought,
speaking of patients etherized upon a table
and how she bowed to her brother,
of Daddy; of crystal stairs and the road not taken.
The world may sleep soundly tonight,
knowing that a poet is wide awake.
For it is said the world will end,
when the last poet awake, falls asleep.

{Poetry by James E. Roethlein}

Two Poems by Emily Deardorff

The Home, Seeking Shelter

We are proud of our heat. The desert's clatter of bone. We disagree
with your island--who needs that much water? The point

was not to lose teeth, you see, but to chew dirt and dig
a home for your sorrow's many rooms.

The dogs know this, and burrow down.
But we lose sight of things:

The summit, with the mountain underfoot.
The rain, with a river overhead.
The hot, with no horizon but the blue that the eye
bends back.

A fit started by a vibrant sound, and you like a fitful child suddenly distracted by a spoon catching light. You'll have to be weary and never winded. You'll have to find
a door for your regret and trust--

It's the house I lived in once and, I won't lie, still run to
every day.


Dishes in the Sink

And I suppose you're starved,
and from there the soul would tread softly to

break whatever silence, to admit a bit of bread or milk, and next

the doctor said glow
but you heard go

and did, the hunger of the week
worn in your face. So weakened, you might not have

the strength to seize each moment as it comes, or battle sick-nursing abundance when it's knock-knocking

at your door. He'll ask
for only what he needs. Which is to say

everything.

{Poetry by Emily Deardorff}

Two Pieces by Hanna Leiter

The Colors

All the colors blend in together
Colors that wouldn't go good together
Go good now with others mixed in
Different colors show different emotion
An explosion of color and emotion


Alex

Small, Little, Baby, only six and a half weeks old
All your cries make me sad, but they make me want to smile
And laugh at the same time because of all the cute little faces
you make, so cute

{Poetry by Hanna Leiter}

One Piece by Mitchell Cawley

In Shadow

You always said it was best
To leave it alone

They always said, you never know
What you have till it's gone.

My head follows orders,
My hearts only hand,
As the current flows,
Forever moves the sand.

You put me up to pull me down
How can it be?

The channels run together,
Connecting us as they can,
As the current flows,
Forever moves the sand

If you're going to drown me,
Don't take your hands away
Just leave me there
Forever moves the sand.

{Poem by Mitchell Cawley}

Two Poems by Linda Surratt Troxler

Escaping the Attic

Call me no name other than my own:
Woman –
hear how the sound of it rises and swells like ocean waves—
or else leave me nameless.
Do not call me Bertha, because you think it suits.
Call me Antoinette –
bold, full of life,
wearing red because it deepens the color of my eyes.
Call me Edna –
walking through Kentucky wheat.
Call me Jennifer –
stitching a legacy of tigers.
Call me no other name but mine,
because I have opened my arms,
leaving my attic tower –
not lending the use of my hair –
capturing wind, sun, sky, sea,
winging upward toward the sound of my solitary name.


Crossing into the Wild

I only need to take a few steps
off my front porch
to cross into the wild.

Some ladies,
dressed in cool linen and silk,
sip iced tea in glass sunrooms;
but I spend early summer mornings
and late balmy evenings
mowing wild grass,
wishing for a Ballentyne lawn:
cultivating wild daisies and
dandelions instead.
Tossing fallen brown pinecones
into the wood’s edge,
tugging honeysuckle vines
entangled in underbrush,
taking breaths of sweet perfume
as I pull at stubborn roots,
cutting green life short.

Pricking my finger on a briar bush thorn,
I wait on a prince
to break the spell
as I sleep in old white tennis shoes,
with no laces,
tainted red with clay
and bloodstained leather gloves
that reek of mown grass and gasoline.
Sweat trickling down my forehead
mixes with tears as I
cross into the wild
once more,
footprints leading to the middle
of the wooden bridge in the backyard,
then no further.

{Poetry by Linda Surratt Troxler}

One Piece by Emilie Dec

Megan

She danced as if she was the only one in the room.
Nothing could stop her.
With her short blonde hair and soft yellow dress.
All eyes were on her.
Look at her.
It's her time to shine.
Not yours,
Not mine.
Let her be.
Step back, take a look
At her beauty,
And what she has made you be.
She is gone now,
But we will see her again.
Now that she is free,
She can go in peace.

{Poem by Emilie Dec}

One Poem by Amanda Bernard

Longer

The cool breeze blowing through the trees
The smell of lilacs brush my nose
The only sound coming from the far off crickets
As we swing in the violet glow of the moon
The stars dancing overhead
As the clouds roll by
This is a perfect night with you by my side
Lightning bugs dance over the horizon
I don't want this night to end
I don't want to lose my best friend
You'll be leaving tomorrow
As the sky turns pink
And the sun begins to rise
I lay my head on your shoulder
Holding on for a little longer.

{Poem by Amanda Bernard}

One Poem by Matthew Allen

A Sunny Transition

In a circle that continues,
another cycle comes.
From white-brick walls
To open air and fields.
Water splashed from house to house,
People reveling in the freedom,
Exulting in everything.
With a boundless energy never abating
And nothing on our minds;
We shout
We sing
We dance
We play,
For summer's here
And there's only air;
Only air between us and an adventure.

{Poem by Matthew Allen}

One Piece by Heather Luthy

The Wait

Walkin up
First in line
Glove in hand
Cap on
And the jersey
Your childhood favorite
You get there
The cold iron gate
Between you
And the field
The line
Starts to grow
You hear a
Dull roar
The music starts
Glad you're in front
You will beat them
You will be first
To the field
The autograph
Is as good as yours

{Poem by Heather Luthy}

One Piece by Robert Urich

My Blood Runs Black

Written beliefs, they manifest
They appear through me,

oozing from my palms,
like stigmata

I rip off my skin to find the
blood has been replaced
by ink

From my pocket I take a tool to write,
and I dip it in, on the inside

"This pen is where
these words
live"

I said.

I will dip the pen.
I will dip it again.

And again.
And again.

Until my ink
runs
out

{Poem by Robert Urich}

One Poem by Alexandria King

Wind Knocks My Window

Wind knocks at my window
With its cold and shallow blows
Against the wet, frosty glass
And it sends its wails, shrills and silhouettes
Across my bedroom wall
As I find it hard to slumber
With the bizarre sounds
The wind composes at night
The shadows move stealthily closer
To my puny blue bed
Ready to devour me whole
And spit me out in another dimension
A world more diverse than mine
So I turn on the light to frighten
The fiends away as I yell
For mother who says its all right
It was just a nightmare and tucks
Me back into bed
Sending the demons away
And telling me to go to sleep
And I close my eyes once more
To the wind that knocks on my window

{Poem by Alexandria King}

One Piece by Daniel Colgin

Embrace This

Freedom of mind is something you'll find that
helps you with time in a dark place like this.
The dark is so dark that the beginning will mark
the way you should come back to the original start.
All of us closets stacked full of boxes
filled with happy and hurtful felings all in a row.
Don't you remember all the things you have lived?
For a single drop of happiness how much did you give?
Do you have anything to show besides your unopened box,
the closets, the closed doors with tamper proof locks?
At some point you will open all the things you once knew,
and until that day comes there are things you must do.
You must free your mind of all locks and doors,
you must burn all your boxes all stacked on the floors.
It may seem impossible and unimportant right now,
still you must do it to be free of all space,
then your mind is your own and that you'll embrace.

{Poem by Daniel Colgin}