Poems submitted in 2022

by Jennifer Reedy, 2022

I am old

I am not skinny

My thighs are too thick for my calves

My belly hangs over my pants

I don’t care

I put on my pink canvas shoes anyway

I am learning ballet

I plie’ and bend

Yet struggle to rise and releve’

There’s fondue, to melt, like cheese & chocolate

Tondue, to stretch

Saute’ to jump

Music plays and my sore body creeks and pops

Balance

Hold

Breathe

Move

Lift

It’s exhilarating!

I strive to be as graceful as an elephant.

by Anne Kelly-Edmunds, 2022

September’s full moon
dressed in harvest hues
rose about the eastern horizon.
She beckoned brightly as I drove.
I followed until she lit
the foot path to my home.

October’s Hunter’s Moon
shone midnight bright
through out windows.
She woke me with the call:
Come out of doors.
Feel the moist air on your skin,
the damp earth beneath your feet.
I followed, witnessed her shining
arc towards the western horizon.

by Anne Kelly-Edmunds, 2022

Tight buds open,

        arch toward freedom.

Crimson wishes bloom,

        unfurl with hope.

by Charlotte Heotis, edited by Peter Heotis, 2022

I strolled along the sandy beach

My tracing the ocean could not reach

But when I look behind

There were only the sands of time.

So, it is with earthly things

We come, we go

Tears only memory we know

Rage and torment are for naught

And only peace and love not forgot.

by Linda Sleszynski, 2022

At long last

Quiet,

Still

Difficult to be

Still

Can’t Concentrate on just being

Still

The worries haunt

Still

The memories taunt

Still

Nature is called forth

Still

Heart rate slows

Still

These years have been a test

Still

So much unrest

Still

by Linda Sleszynski, 2022

Not long ago

did I feel the possibility of hope

as Spring I knew was coming

and my dear snow-crusted city

would turn from shadow to light

and gray to blossoms of crocus and narcissus.

The others did not want to hear of my worry

of the madmen

and the threat.

Still I held that silent ache.

It gripped me in its embrace.

Each day would I move my eyes

to circle my apartment,

this symbol of my adulthood.

I scanned my treasures

as well as my necessities.

What to take

if there were no choices?

What could I bear to leave behind?

Always did my gaze fall upon

my most treasured possession;

an antique perfume bottle.

It was my grandmother’s

and my mother’s befor eme.

It had the delicate curves of a woman;

the color of red currants,

and a faint scent

remained inside its depths.

As the threat

and my ache both expanded

each day I added another necessity

to my suitcase:

wool socks, gloves and hat,

two hand-knit sweaters

and thick tights,

some toilet items

and fruits and nuts.

Would I be a coward for leaving?

The others wanted to stay

with their guns

and fight if it was needed.

At the first sign of fire in the sky

I carefully wrapped the perfume bottle

in package paper

and among my woolens

I protected it.

I wrapped myself warmly as I could think

and began the long trek to the border

praying they would not think lower of me

for leaving.