Emiliano Martin...10

Louisa Godissart

McQuillen...6

Carol Dee Meeks...5

Marie-Louise Meyers...3

Jacqueline Moffett ...11

Constance A. Trump...15

Lucille Morgan Wilson...12

Michael Bourgo...14

Gail Denham...3

Marilyn Downing...7

Lynn Fetterolf...2

Ann Gasser...16

Mark Hudson...8

Inge Logenburg Kyler...13

Richard T. Lake...9

(Poems by PPS members —Electronically-shared)copyrighted by authors

28 lines or less,

formatted and illustrated by Ann Gasser with digital paintings, digital collages,

and other shared images.unless stated otherwise

PPS members are invited to submit.

Deadline for receiving—1st of each month, poems appearing in order received

Target date for sending out—10th of each month

“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”– The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS, (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)

July2012012012016666

1.

BOEINGS

—by Lynn Fetterolf

Boeings.

I’ve flown in nearly all the seven hundreds

right up to but not including the 777.

Cocooned in their shining metal casing,

I’ve seen the Alps, the pyramids, the circular

lighted streets of Paris, the Tower of London,

the undulating Rhine and the sands of Arabia.

Flight, for me, was a way of life

as common as waking and sleep.

I, like any expat, could rattle off the visits

to many of the airports of this hemisphere.

This was my university.

I learned geography, history,

social interaction from my

seatmates, and occasional terror

from clear air turbulence and storms.

Flying has lost its mystique

in this age of terrorists,

invasive airport scans

and the indignities of

the lack of decorum in passenger’s

dress and behavior.

For all the cherished memories

I have of memorable flights,

I shall now, by choice, stay grounded for

the foreseeable future.

2.

photo from Lynn Fetterolf

WITH A SPRINKLE OF WHEAT GERM—HER STORY

--by Marie-Louise Meyers

I used to like to drown in home-made ice cream come Summer time,

or sponge it on the apple pies mother made,

with a sprinkle of wheat germ for the good of it,

to rectify any damage done

when our appetites provoked our staying strong and lean.

I recall how, with the best intent,

I always relented, no matter how full or plump I had become,

thinking somehow the fat would melt away

with mother’s good intentions,

She made the most of the worm-eaten fruit

from the backyard with just a sprinkle of sugar,

enough to satisfy our taste buds,

the savory warm apples would do the rest.

With what finesse, she would roll out the dough, and

with what self control, peel and cut out the bad parts, saving the good of it

like she did when she discounted whatever wrong we did

for the best of what we had to offer; even when we sprouted defiant tones,

or like Bob, sowed a few wild oats.

Thank you for giving us the best of you,

blueberries and spring water too.

After writing the poem I found this by my bedside,

a Catholic calendar for 1998, the year you died

with a picture of Mary holding Jesus, and angels by her side

with a “Prayer for My Family”

and a few scribbled notes.

The church celebrated your Mass,

I wrote my own, “My Mother’s Garden,”

an original poem!3.

photo from www.kellub.com

4.

BLOWN AWAY IN SMOKE

—by Gail Denham

The time mice have eaten mistakes,

sadness, good experiences, deeds

well done, half-finished projects,

even promises made and forgotten.

They leave only scraps to gather

and toss in a bonfire that burns

bright enough to see a clean

page on which to list today

and today and today. Even the smoke

carries no pride scraps. It blows regrets

away in the breeze, till once again, the air

and the page are fresh.

5.

FIFTEEN PLUS ONE a Dorsimbra

—by Carol Dee Meeks

Kentucky born, this man of modest means,

where decade flew, he courted Mary Todd;

in highest office, curbed the warring scenes

then bent his knees, gave glory due his God.

He was the mold.

He was the clay,

made history

in sixteenth’s way.

But blush of war that cross-foot Lincoln’s eyes,

destroyed the handsome face of president.

Yet lives improved with choices made, by this

Kentucky born, this man of modest means.

© 2016 Carol Dee Meeks

FIRST RACE

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

She prances down the hridle path

that leads her to the track,

and dances through the paddock

with a jockey on her back.

Now comes the parade toward the post,

and the screaming, jostling mob,

The tension in her jockey's hands

becomes a steady throb.

The race is on! The horses strain

to do what each was taught,

And when it's over a handsome piece

of horseflesh can be bought.

Today the track was hard and fast,

the race was quickly run.

The score gets flashed upon the screen,

"Hooray! Our girl has won!"

She pricks her ears toward the stands

whence cornes a mighty roar.

The winner's circle beckons now. . .

her maiden race is over.

6.

from her book”Hoofbeats”

7.

THE INHERITANCE

—by Marilyn Downing

In ancient times I might have been

related to some Druid’s kin.

As days give way to longer night

with ground obscured by frigid white,

I burrow like some barrow wight

indoors, intent on how to shun

the baleful eye of winter sun –

or any sport called winter fun.

My chosen hibernation ends,

as gradually earth tilt extends

the daylight hours with golden rays.

With Nature’s many dividends

I need no robes or Stonehenge maze –

the summer Solstice gains my praise!

8.

THE DWARF OF JULY

—by Mark Hudson

America once was the world’s superpower,

now all our leaders do is just cower.

Freedoms we knew are becoming lesser,

we’re always the target of many aggressors

We bargain with enemies to protect our oil,

then we turn around and drop bombs on their soil.

We give away nuclear secrets to Iran,

and let terrorists misinterpret the Koran.

For the homeless masses an exodus to the states,

only allows them to be a target of hate.

We don’t need to profile or segregate families,

and we need not refuse immigrants as anomalies.

The statue of liberty is becoming selective,

and our government itself is completely defective.

Everybody is politically correct for no reason,

they act like speaking your mind is treason.

We celebrate Independence Day, yet we’re more dependent,

as the government tries to rewrite the amendments.

We’re redefining what our freedom might mean.

Are some of America’s freedoms so obscene?

Is our freedom okay, if we’re the only one we hurt?

Should we all wake up and be more alert?

Freedom itself is a controversial topic,

I’d feel freer to be sailing in the tropics.

To allegiance, many people say the pledge,

but to a lot of us, we are just living on the edge.

And if anybody pushes us off one day,

the floodgates will open--there will be hell to pay!.

WITH NO WARNING

—quote by Richard T. Lake lines formatted by editor

Sometimes

a lifetime friendship

is like a cherished old sweater

you wear year after year,

hugging its toasty warmth

against life’s icy blasts,

counting on it to be there

for you

always.

Then, suddenly

you are horrified

to find it has caught on a nail,

unraveled,

and there is nothing left

but a pile of tangled yarn

at your feet.

9.

photo by Toni Carey

10

NATURE DOES NOT FORGIVE

—by Emiliano Martin

Everything has a beginning

that will lead us to its end.

Abundance…

sooner or later will face emptiness.

Relationships and love

surprisingly come and go.

Victorious armies—

victorious once! Found self defeat.

Even great empires

crumbled to their feet

when the ecstasy of triumph

was overshadowed by grief.

As strange as it may seem,

where there was a climbing mountain

now there is an open sea

of tears. Nothing! Absolutely nothing

is the way it used to be.

Overcome by transformation

in a continuous self-motion

time passes… things change.

Inevitably so do people like you

and me.

photo of Crater Lake

from en.wikipia.org

FRACTURED FRIENDSHIP

—by Jacqueline Moffett

it was just a small rift

that grew into a crevasse.

This longtime loving bond

trusting bond

faithful bond

marked years of shared joys and sorrows.

Is it possible to mend a relationship

that has crumbled over a period of time?

Should I remain impassive

hoping the dilemma solves itself?

No, that solution won't work,

one of us must make the first move.

Eyes closed, prayerful thought,

deep breath, dial number.

Today is the day to initiate the healing.

11.

12.

LONG SHADOWS

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

He was short in stature.

By eighth grade I was half-a-head taller

than my father,

and as I grew he seemed to get shorter.

And he must always have been old

and closer kin to work than most men.

At dawn he hurried out to walk behind the plow,

making straight furrows with grit and pride.

Sunday mornings he read the newspaper

or a farm weekly,

with angry mutterings about prices,

the government and bad weather,

but Sunday afternoons the somber wraps

that bound the weekdays were loosed

enough to allow picking gooseberries on the creek bank

or gathering wild grapes in lard buckets.

I took it for granted

that fathers knew all the weeds by name

and how to plant potatoes with the eyes up,

but now I recall my father also found

the four-leaf clover patch

and knew where the bluebirds nested

in the top of an old fencepost.

Most of all, I remember the night

he showed me the newborn kittens in the hayloft

and how tall his shadow was

in the flickering lantern light.

photo by wwwetsy.com

13

CAMPGROUND

—by Inge Logenburg Kyler

Little dogs, big dogs,

noisy dogs, quiet dogs,

all walking their caregivers

while helmeted youngsters

and oldsters ride bicycles

to the beach

while couples kiss,

and hug,

hummingbirds

visit flowerpots hung on campers

black squirrels

scout for scraps in fire pits

and grandpa chases grandma

because he remembers

how it was.

14.

SUMMER KNOWLEDGE

—by Michael Bourgo

Summer was a freedom

to stand beside a prairie,

to see and to hear.

The butterflies grazed

in a sea of yellow and lilac

that composed July,

and perfect spider webs,

illumined by the sun and

shining with dew,

made networks from stem to stem

on an August morning.

The song sparrow sang without end,

a bunting was full of insistence,

and I was wrapped in learning,

a joy to gather and a grace that grew

until it almost defied all my words..

15.

WORDS

—by Constance A. Trump

Sometimes we may wonder how what we say affects another,

Yet we hurry on our way, forgetting about our brother.

Perhaps he smiles to hide some sorrow and lingers hoping to hear

A word of praise or understanding, alight upon his ear.

Sometimes we may never know the joy or pain we wield.

The power of the spoken word’s often not revealed.

Scorching words sear the soul, the face conceals the blemish,

Kind words wreath that face in smiles and fill the soul with promise.

16.

A TINY TASTE OF HEAVEN

—by Ann Gasser

If anyone should ask what always makes me happy,

I'd have to say ice cream, no contest!

It isn't that other things don't make me happy too,

like drinking in the color of an autumn forest,

savoring the crimsons, russets, golds,

nestled among cool dark greens,

painting them on the walls of my mind

to enjoy in a winter white-out.

And my ears love to savor the satin sound

of true blue jazz--

melted butter notes sliding into one's soul!

But ice cream! Vanilla topped with chocolate fudge,

swirled with strawberry or butterscotch,

or mated with fresh peaches and whipped cream!

Or....for a change-of-pace....Chocolate!

Rich brown chocolate, streaked with marshmallow,

crowned with a maraschino cherry!

If there is one thing that might keep me

on the straight and narrow path,

it is anticipation of Eternity spent

enjoying "Heavenly Hash."

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

July2012012012016666

Inge Logenburg Kyler...18

Prabha Nayak Prabhu...19

17.

Gail Denham...21

Marilyn Downing...24

Ann Gasser...22

18.

SO MUCH FOR THE COUNTY FAIR!

—by Inge Logenburg Kyler

We went to the Fair

there was nothing there

the tents were all empty

the fairground was bare.

We noticed a sign

that we read as we looked,

the Fair is “next week!”

Our gooses were cooked!

19.

BURDENED

—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

There once was a man from Leeds

Who wore countless strands of beads

When their weight wore him down

And his smile became a frown

He wished they would turn into weeds.

photo from lcal-moda.blogspot.com

BED BATH & BEYOND LOSES TO GOOGLE

—by Marilyn Downing

On entering the store’s vast dimensions,

I succumbed to extreme apprehensions.

All desire to buy

flew up to the sky,

cancelling my fervent intentions.

So back home, Google narrowed displaying . . .

I clicked on all pages arraying

countless choices to please

with unhurried ease,

and my panic attack thus allaying.

20.

I HAD A PESKY ROOSTER

—by Gail Denham

I had a pesky rooster,

and oh how he did crow.

He crowed so loud so early,

my disposition, it grew surly.

One day I planned a sneaky plot

for surcease that we sought.

We’d have a tasty dinner stew,

even though we’d chew and chew.

But someone tipped the noisy bird.

My plan I guess he heard.

Now barnyard’s quiet, no alarms,

for rooster’s fled to distant farms.

21.

22.

SOMETIMES THEY ARE “ HELL” PHONES

—by Ann Gasser

When I go to some posh place to dine,

it's eventful--a cause for elation,

and I hate when my ears become involved

in a stranger's conversation.

While savoring oysters with bacon

or canapes stuffed with crab,

I really do not need the nuisance

of mindless cell phone gab.

I would like to enjoy my salad--

its virgin oil perfection,

without hearing her tell her girlfriend

how their ardor precluded protection.

Fillet, grilled just right and succulent,

is a gourmet's greatest temptation,

but it does not go well with the cell-phone details

of a gall-bladder operation.

When the waiter brings pecan pie,

it can be a panacea,

but not when she’s on her phone nearby

discussing her diarrhea.

Please spare me phone fights, the yackety-yack,

I will pay for that protection—

There's an extra tip if I'm seated in

a We-Don't-Allow-Cell-Phones section.