Header photo provided by Janet Pantoja

Poetry of all types……

All pieces are the property of CKM Photography

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Updated 21 jULY, 2019

MARIE ASNER
Illiterate

Marriage is like an alphabet,
separate letters mean nothing,
but, when you put them together into words,
there is only one time to get it right,
and you see this in his eyes, his life is there in pages
I tried to find the right letters, the right phrases.
My face remained the same, the real me, hidden.
I want to try again, but my letters are not in order…
and I only have 25 of them.

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JENNIFER FENN
Released

Red-legged tree frogs
sit still inside Ziplock containers.
like tiny sculptures of endangered species
painted red, black, and yellow.
Rangers open the blue plastic lids.
The frogs’ gold eyes stare
at the lush grass
of Cook’s Meadow,
at the dark gray sentry of Half Dome.

The frogs take their first tentative hops,
then spring amid the rangers’ cheers,
again becoming
Mark Twain’s celebrated jumping frogs,
until they’re  hidden in the grass
of their native land.

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CAROL EVE FORD
Poem

Dawn walking
fills senses
too long sleeping.
Tang of wet earth,
loamy moss, greening buds,
sting of morning air
tingling, then softening with each breath,
crunch of solitary footfalls,
busy chickadees, warblers, wrens, thrush, loons,
praising, proclaiming, preparing.
Sunrise
takes earth’s breath away,
sends soft
prayers of steam and mist heavenward,
catches in lace of spider web.
Bitter winter turns sweet
in my mouth.

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HAROLD ASNER
Playing the Palace

Hear, ye! Hear, ye!
Job Openings at the Royal Castle

Each royal court had its magician
And jester who acted the clown.
As a couple, we chose to audition
To play these two roles for the crown.

My wife’s talent is true magic.
She plucks wonders out of the air.
Not amusing the king can be tragic,
So a jester had better beware.

Hurrah!  My wife was selected
Give the young lady a hand.
My gags, alas, were rejected.
From the castle I have been banned.

I say without anger or malice,
“She’s in. I’m out.” There’s the rub.
While she will be playing the palace,
I have a night gig at the pub.

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CHRISTOPHER MOON
Final Sunset

Every sunrise brings a new day                               
and every new day brings new life. Each
cycle will begin and each cycle will end.
It is this cycle of cycles that never ends
Whether it is the cycle of rain and drought,
the cycles of tides persuaded by the moon,
all the life cycles that surround us are
forever in motion.

Every day a new life is created. Most
are anonymous and distant, but all are
cherished by those who are close. They
enter the lives at different times and
different places, and become part of
families and communities.

Each sunrise that delivers the world from
darkness into the light of a new day will
end with a sunset and again the darkness
of night.  It is this time of brightness, when
the flowers bloom, the rainbows glisten
and the sounds of Natures’s wonders are
at their peak that listening and watching
must happen.

It is at this time when those who have no
vision need help seeing, and those who
cannot understand need help hearing.
If, by our autumn, we have been observant
and mindful and have passed our experience
and wisdom on to those in the springtime
of their lives, all will be well when our final
sunset arrives.

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CAROL LOUISE MOON
Satin Dreams in Evening
Couplet Sonnet

She walks near pines beneath the foggy skies.
The path she walks is lit by fireflies.
She’s come to visit him this early June.
She waits here patiently, and very soon
she hears his gentle whisper on the shore—
a loving, satin voice she’s heard before
in silver waves on seas in satin dreams.
His voice had clarity, but now it seems
so distant as if echoing in caves
beyond the rocks, behind the crashing waves.
She wonders if her mem’ry serves her well,
or if the morning sun will break the spell—
the many gulls that sound a brand new day
will cause his gentle voice to fade away.

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JANET PANTOJA
Creekside Memories

Julip sat by the creek one fall
her friend Clifford gone long ago.                                 
He’d morphed to a butterfly beau.
She sat trying not to recall
how much she did miss him. And oh
the fun they had and the pitfall
of a short-lived friendship. Although
feeling sad, she still was aglow
with fond memories to forestall
having a complete meltdown grow,
when a chill seemed to pervade all.
Thus Julip shivered. She did know
that it was time for her to go.
As she wrapped herself in her shawl,
two soft wings brushed her check just so.

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SNOW GEESE
Carole Forest

I hear snow geese-
a cacophony of chatter.
I lift my face, and high into a
golden-crimson sky
I see them.

Only a moment: great white wings
like a mighty arrow set across the sky.

Gone. Immersed in silence,
left to feel
an abiding love for this earth.

I’ll hold in reserve the joy I feel,
save it for dreary day

and go about my morning
replete with gratitude.

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JENNIFER FENN
Maple
(Genesis 37)

Many hues are in its coat,
much like the one Joseph wore.
Mid-fall winds come. Down, leaves float–
moon shines on twigs clothed no more.
Mud just soils this ground cover
making it much like the coat
mangled by Joseph’s brothers.

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SHARON MAHANY
A Ripening

“My love is like a red, red rose” – Robert Burns

red rose
begins as bud

tightly wound
a top unspring

as trust lets light glisten near
warmth undoes all perceived fear

ambitious passion
unfurls petals

bubbling ecstasy
oozes scent of damask

distilled
attar of love anoints

red rose
buds anew

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GAIL LATIMER
My Wild Iris Rows

In this beautiful Santa Rosa garden,
I am surrounded by rows and rows
of other irises like me. I see many
different types of colored irises.

My name is April Jewel, a light
salmon color. I stand two feet high.
My roots are called creeping rhizomes.

The bulbs are divided to propagate
and are planted six weeks before
the first frost. I am perennial.
My green slender leaves enjoy sunshine.

People come from all over to see us.

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BILL LATIMER
Cedar Waxwings

Welcome to our persimmon tree.
Eat all the fruit you will.
Persimmons are green all summer
and taste sweeter after the chill.

Don’t let the robins bother you, or
starlings soil your feast. Of all the
fruits we grow persimmons
we like least.

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CAROL LOUISE MOON
Limonium

Landscape of salt marsh. At times
Like these, wool-bundled, I walk
Looking for my favorite flower –
Lavender of the sea, which
Lives in salty soil, with its
Lovely blend of purple-blue.
Life is good, here by the sea.

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VINCE STORTI
Shells and People

On a driftwood beach
a woman’s slight shiver
a man’s patient wait.

She points at
tide-pool shapes—
where beds spread

and mussels
are arranged tightly-
patterned shapes

twisted in tones
of tans and blacks and
sun-bleached whites

clustered around
mollusk worlds
where tumbling tides

push at forms gripping
against ocean’s surge—
that constant wash

slam sucking waves
with roaring splash
and scurried flood

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CAROL LOUISE MOON
Strolling Shadow at Nine Bells

The alley street light shines tonight;
illuminations on the fence.
I see his shadow as he strolls
the graveled alley at nine bells.

We missed our chance at wedding bells,
to add my shadow to his stroll.
Illuminations on the fence,
a yellow street light shines tonight.

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SHARON McGARRY
Hospitable

Hurricanes hardly ever
Happen in California.
Heart stopping earthquakes, or else
Hard to endure droughts sometimes
Hit us. But most of the time
Heavenly weather persists.
How truly blessed we have been.

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JANET L. PANTOJA
Voices From the Past

I visited with them today—
voices that had been long ago silenced
by death and time, now only memories.

Voices that had been long ago silenced came
alive again with a two dollar Sony Walkman!
I heard them speak just as before.

Alive again with a two dollar Sony Walkman—
Mom, Dad, Uncle, Auntie, Great Aunt Nell.
I heard their voices on cassette tapes…

Mom, Dad, Uncle, Auntie, Great Aunt Nell—
laughing, joking, telling stores, family history.
Dad played the piano; Kathleen sent greetings.

Laughing, joking, telling stories, family history..
moments captured then hidden in a shoebox.
Babies’ cooing, children’s voices, family pets’

moments captured then hidden in a shoebox
were now revived, re-lived and remembered
with joy, sorrow and a longing to see those

whose voices had long ago been silenced.
Alive again with a two dollar Sony Walkman—
Mom, Dad, Uncle, Auntie, Great Aunt Nell,
laughing, joking, telling stories, family history—
moments captured, then hidden in a shoebox.
Now revived, now re-lived and remembered.

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CAROL EVE FORD
Imperceptibility

days lengthen until
sleepless leaf cells,
feeling sunlight on their backs,
tasting sweet sap
trickle up umbilical
capillaries
from deep parental roots,
swell along the
frozen branches
even as winter’s last snowfall
covers their promise
one last time,
lighting
softly
flake
by flake
along dark
knobby boughs,
stacking up,
a twig wide,
an inch deep
on every branch.

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CAROL LOUISE MOON
Quagga

Quagga, zebra-like. Extinct.
Quick as that, he’s here and gone—
Quivering on the world’s edge.
Quarantined from the gene pool:
Quotient zero. I dream of
Quicksilver eyes as he melts.
Questions remain; quench my thirst.

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JANET L. PANTOJA
My Dad’s Desk

is a secretary—
standing tall, erect
in elegant mahogany
on ball and claw feet
with flame-carved finial top.

Slant writing front drops
exposing cubby holes,
slots, tiny drawers,
secret compartments…
mysteries that lie within.

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CHRISTOPHER K. MOON
Of Valkyries and Demons

The golden cat lay curled in the dark corner
not chased, not afraid, just awaiting eternal sleep
his time had come, earlier than desired

Never before, and never after seen
the sleek, ebony feline shape appeared
pausing only for a moment, to collect

Was this the famed dark harbinger of death
or the chariot master on task from Freyja
searching for a driver for her chariot to the heavens

The golden cat’s brother now stands where he once lay
awaiting, awaiting his time to fend off the demons
or accept the Valkyries escort, when his time comes

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VINCE STORTI
Trees

Within this forest
a monkish moment intrudes
time spreads away from
silence in rustling
newest hour’s reply.

Scents bustle through
this glade.  A curious mind
holds these terse meanings
as gestures among trees.

Posted 2 February, 2019

CAROL LOUISE MOON
Patio Garden

Every morning dew collects
in a garden filled with pollen
evident in sticky green specks.
I note the last petal has fallen
off the rose.  The jay is callin’

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