Poems by Adults

by Irene Cantor, 2024

Cloudless blue sky, day alive and bright,

Savagely altered into gray night.

A President calmly teaching his flock,

Innocence stolen before nine o’clock.

Towers almost touching the sky,

Cruelly felled as we wondered, “Why?”

Our people, though shattered by the vast devastation,

Were strengthened by Rudy’s determination.

Seeing our President, bullhorn in hand,

Inspired Americans to take a stand.

Old Glory waving proudly from cars East to West,

As our generation would be put to the test.

September Eleventh Two Thousand and One,

An ordinary day when it was begun,

But changed in an instant by that act of war,

When we were reminded freedom’s worth fighting for.

 

by Alison Quinn, 2024

The keen golden-silver blades

of my old uncle’s fine scissors

point eagerly forward

as I trace and cut out

puppets for the children.

 

How many times he must have

held these gleaming handles,

eased and smiled

as his own stellar scenes

were outlined, clipped into view,

pointing to friends and fellows,

while the strewn-muddled

broadsheets edging his life

fell far from his thoughts.

 

A luminous hold he gifted me

as he celebrated my childhood

and cherished my growing character,

teaching me the essence of

holding on to scenes of beauty or meaning,

and to the juxtaposition of colors,

and to the coexistence of bewilderment and treasure.

 

This treasure of his legacy in my hand

outlines the drive to find and form

and reveals a rare tableau

of clarity and grace.

For even when ragged edges remain,

shadows and fringes can be strong.

His absolute love shapes me still.

by JoyAnne O'Donnell, 2024

Spring is dancing with flowers

to gather with colorful showers

rainbow streams

within the orange warm sunbeams

tulips and daffodils

bluebells ring spring

reflections from the good blue sky

within the green valley

natures best alley.

 

by Barbara Progebin Graffe, 2024

The March wind blows on gray, chilly days

As shriveled, brittle and faded orange leaves

Fall on the softening, tan blades of grass.

Small green buds start to appear

At the end of bare tree branches

And pretty, purple crocus

Begin to grow as their petals

Peek out of the softening soil.

Some days clear blue skies are seen

And others gray skies are the day’s color.

Birds return to sing their beautiful morning songs

As geese come back honking.

The clocks spring forward bringing more light to the day

And the night sky appears much later in time.

While the sun gets warmer and stays with us much longer

Children’s voices shout with delight and

The echoes of “Play ball” are heard

And scooter wheels are rolling fast on the sidewalks and

streets

Spring is back with all of its growth

And life has come full circle.

by Jamie Hettema, 2024

• I’m finding that Viroqua often comes to mind

 

• A babbling Brook, a beaver dam, a quiet slice of time

 

• A song bird sings

 

• The beauty a buttercup brings

 

• A rock formation, intricate and divine

 

• The way a vine can climb

 

• The soul is soothed, the mind released

 

• To sights and sounds sublime

 

• When I stop for just a moment

 

• Serenity fills that time

 

• The folks are kind and genuine

 

• Accepting and in admiration of the earth

 

• It’s peaceful here, I feel held dear

 

• And well aware of my worth

 

• I’ll carry you home dear Viroqua

 

• Deep in my heart and mind

 

• And hope to bring your simple wealth

 

   To all encountered mankind

by Jenna Levine, 2024

Like a Furious geyser,

Waiting to explode,

He waits as his head fills with heat

 

His mind becomes a tempest,

A storm overflowing with rage.

He’s completely taken over.

 

Dark clouds swirl,

Encasing him deeper and deeper

Into the tantrum,

 

But it’s more than just that,

It’s pure,

Unrelenting emotion that’s built up.

It’s something that’s never let out,

Never expressed,

Never talked about.

 

At this point in his life there’s nothing else to do,

But to give in to the tenderness,

To allow himself to succumb,

And feel.

 

And before he knows it,

A single stream forms down his face,

As she holds him in her arms.

 

This stream turns into a waterfall,

Not filled with anger, or fury,

But rather relief.

by Barbara Progebin Graffe, 2024

I paint with blue pens and a keyboard that is back lit

I craft my markings on heavy white paper

Or thin pages filled with butterflies or flowers.

These pages are filled with printed letters and others with curves.

 

My paintings are seen by my eyes first

And then eventually by the eyes of others.

These markings flowing from left to right

As I fill many pages or just one.

 

When I read, these markings are given sounds and inflections

So that others can hear my different voices.

Ones that may be loud, others that may be screams

Or some that may go up and down like a roller coaster

And the gentle voices that reach from my heart and soul.

 

I am a writer of poems and essays

That spill from deep within me and pass from my lips.

I share by voice of words with all who will listen

Hoping they enjoy my beautiful paintings to see and to hear

For, I am an artist of words.

by Anne Kelly-Edmunds, 2024

Words

cut from the whole cloth

of everyday life

stitched together

with precision

into art

by Joe Costanzo, 2024

by Anne Kelly-Edmunds, 2024

The first Daffodil
Opens
Presents its fluted face
To morning’s sun
Still
March’s wind sends
Shivers
Through Rhododendron’s
Waxy leaves
Flipping some
Upside down