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Monday, April 20, 2015

National Poetry Month

Poem for the day.

                                       PURRING PERFECT DREAMS

The Cheshire Cat stretches dainty claw-tipped paws,
Reclines, luxuriates on the velvet couch of sky.
A Mona Lisa smile twitches her lips.
She knows
She knows
Knows all
Secrets of the darkness
Flicker in her Chinese cat-glow eyes.
She dreams.
Her body gradually melts into moonlight.
Only her     S                         E      remains.
M              L

Carolyn York

Sunday, April 19, 2015

National Poetry Month

Poem for the Day


                    At  I-95 Cloverdale exit in Winston-Salem is a Shell station.
                        On the hill above is Bowman Gray School of Medicine.
                        On the third floor are cubicles where cancer patients sit
                        for long hours of chemo as plastic pouches of medicine
                       nerve-wrackingly, slowly drip down long tubes
                       pumping rituxan and doxorubicin and bleomycin
                       into veins breathlessly waiting for a cure.

                        Out the broad expense of windows
is a red sign over the Shell station:
                        GET WELL SOON

                        Wearing a cap autographed by his friends,
                        attached to a tangle of tubes and bags
and plugged into a port, my son, age 22,
looks out the window
toward the Chevy Lumina in the parking lot
breathlessly wishing to be on the road.

Carolyn York

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

National Poetry Month

Poem for the Day  April 15

(My apologies to Edgar Allen Poe)

Once upon a midnight dreary as I struggled weak and weary
Over a changed Form 1040 I had never seen before.

Back and forth I did the sums, looking for deduction crumbs
Hoping, ever hoping that I’d find a way to score.

But alas twas not my lot to escape an awful blot
Upon my worldly fortune, Uncle Sam keeps wanting more.

My mind grows dim with sorrow, the due date is tomorrow,
And I must find the answer else I’ll end up very poor.

Can I deduct  those gambling debts resulting from my stupid bets?
Should I try to itemize my bar bill from the club?
What about my one contribution, will that not bring absolution?
Surely I can claim deduction for the new pants that I tore.

Alas ‘tis midnight past, and the time is flying fast, and I must find the answer
To the question: How much more?

You may think my answer funny; I'll just send them all my money,
And request that they return to me all that not spent before.

It is now six months gone by, and as yet there’s no reply,
Could it be that Uncle Sam will grant me no succor?

Then the raven came rapping, rapping
The Raven came rapping, tapping at my window door.
Oh! To be so doubly blessed, a messenger from the IRS!
Surely he has come to tell me that my problems are no more.

And I said “Oh bird austere, do you bring me news of cheer?
If you brought to me a refund then together we will soar.

I am down to bread and beans, for I do not have the means
To buy a decent meal.  Tell me Raven,
 Am I affluent as I was in days of yore?

Quoth the Raven, “Never more!”

Thursday, April 9, 2015

National Poetry Month

Poem for the day

Sweet pine
Black ink sketch on
Bright night sky.
Paint brush
Full of night breeze
And soft spring green.
As it sweeps the air
The night sighs.
Thought flies.
Sound is hushed.
Dream and sleep
Mate now
And wake as one.

Moon glows gold.
Bird sings skat
 And plays jazz song
Bits of phrases found
Tween twigs and grass of nests.
Bird flies and dives
And smiles
And mocks earth’s sounds.
Black eyes laugh
Hearts pounds.
All ‘round.

Leela Ellis

Monday, April 6, 2015

National Poetry Month

Poem for the day.

Squirrel Mountain Zen

Full moon
Silent, serene, eloquent.
Swirling mother-of-pearl clouds.
Winter black tree branches
Brushing sweeping inky fingers
On the luminous night sky.
Wood stove sparking, crackling,
Whispering soft snatches of forgotten melody.
A small figure of a Buddha
Flickers in the candle light.
Vibrant silence
Sentient silence
Abundant, eloquent silence
Prescient silence.
Full moon silence, pregnant with all words ….

Leela Ellis