Poetry

Virginia Watson

Samhain

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Amber moon shadows fall on the watching stones.

Whose passage have touched memories

   shrouded in the womb of time.

 We have all risen from that well

    and seen gods smile and sigh.

The wind sets the Morrigan free,

    to roam in the night of spirits,

    to dance as we remember.
 

Joy Merritt Krystosek

My Inkwell Spills a Pitch Black Pool
 

Where do I draw the line
Withhold myself from dark matters
Of beating hearts . . .
I see anguish etched into my canvas
Tears drip
Through gouache paint
My inkwell spills a pitch black pool
Over my script        my penned depiction
Of life’s churning eddy
          Trial and error
                              Swirl             Down
                                   The
                       Drink

Ray Griffin

Two Worlds

The breathless air is hot and humid,

And the mountains cast in a blue haze.

A hawk soars high above the ridge

As birdsong serenades to my delight.

The air is full of smoke and ash

As homes and buildings burn

While Russian missiles cruise above,

Sirens’ sound and people crouch in fear.

It’s here, amongst the boxwood and the oaks

And buildings built of mountain stone well set

Upon this hallowed ground and tranquil place,

Where I connect with Spirit’s grace.

But there amongst the devastation lie

Their homes and loved ones lost forever.

Their spirit never wanes as the relentless

Bear claws his way across their land.

Let those of peace and plenty ne’er complain
When those in need must fight to just survive.

Patricia Alderman

Selective Amnesia

Some thoughts vary

Others stray

His story changes

Day by day

To suit his mood

And who he tells

His memories

Are where his feelings dwell

Morgan Scott Phenix

At Zen

At bedtime, children decry eternity,

fear gainsaying hope.

Instead, jostling kids’ longing

might nightly open

persistent questions, repeated strains,

tales upon victorious wishes.

Xanadyllic yearning Zen.