Thursday, June 12, 2008
Poetry from Writers in the Sky Newsletter
Press a button
Snap a shutter
Captured in time.
Of reason and rhyme.
Telling a tale of
Shining bright fortune of
Through the heat, in the cold,
More revealing than sunlight,
More precious than gold.
In frolic and mirth,
What a picture is worth.
Dennis Martin has written thirteen plays—several of which have been presented as staged readings in the Baltimore Playwright’s Festival. Dennis has written over 800 poems and self-published a book of poems titled “Love and Passions” available at www.iuniverse.com and major online bookstores as well as six other poetry collections and 3 novels available at www.lulu.com/dsmartin. Read more about Dennis at http://www.iwritesome.com or blog with him at http://iwritesome.blogspot.com.
By Hal Manogue
In A Boat Of Dreams
My Thoughts Row
Seeking To Find
The Shore Of Wholeness
With Yesterday’s Fears
Block My View
Caught In The Current
I Row In Circles
My Mind Lost
In Search Of Itself
My Hope Of Success
Conformity Holds My Desire
In An Anchor
A New Wave Of Thought
Sinks My Boat
Into An Altered State
Where White Caps
Push Me Upward
I Find Myself Floating
In The Mist
Of Another Reality
A Connected Consciousness
Is Kissing My Lips
The Salt Of Oneness
My Lifeless Body
Over My System
Cleansing And Clearing
My Trapped Vision
A Bright Light
Warms My Body
My Skin Vibrates
I See Myself
As A Wave
That Carries Me
To A Sea
From the 2008 Collection of Short Sleeves A Book For Friends
Any Given Night
By Jan Bossing © Joelton, TN 2008
He’s lookin’ at me in a certain way; sees how hungry I am.
Thinkin’ it won’t take much to tune me up; thinkin’ he’s the man who can.
So he’s watching me, watching him; gives me a grin.
I nod and scoot over; he moves right on in.
He’s not really good lookin’. And now, he’s not even young.
But in a certain light, on any given night, he knows I can pretend he’s the one.
He gets my name, at least the first; introduces me around.
He takes a sip out of my drink; sets the glass back down.
He watches my eyes when he talks to me; and he laughs when I do.
If the band gets a little loud, he leans in and whispers too.
He was prob’ly never good lookin.’ And now he’s not even young.
But in a certain light, on any given night; I can prob’ly pretend he’s the one.
He touches my arm and nods to the floor; I tell him I don’t dance that much.
He tells me to just relax; he’s tryin’ to decide where to touch.
We don’t cover that much ground; we mostly just move in place.
He takes the backs of two fingers and brushes them up my face.
Ya know, he was never good lookin.’ And now he’s not even young.
But in a certain light, on any given night, we can both pretend he’s the one.
There’s a dark little place at the back of the dance floor.
‘Bout as far from the bar as it is from the door.
In about a minute, I’m gonna make my move.
Just as soon as I decide what I really want to do.