(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..)

February2013201320132013

1.

Maureen Applegate...10

Marilyn Downing...9

Ann Gasser...11

Nancy Henry Kline...7

Richard Lake...4

Marie-Louise Meyers...12

Jacqueline Moffett...3

Prabha Nayak Prabhu...14

Susan Nelson Vernon...5

Loretta Diane Walker...6

Carolyn L. Williams...2

Lucille Morgan Wilson...8

Charlotte Zuzak...13

TRANSITION FROM EAST COAST

TO WEST COAST

—by Carolyn L. Williams

Arctic snowshoes would sure do

to skirt around the ice igloos.

At my back door, snow’s piled four feet high.

I stare at the mounds and give a sigh.

Winds keep blowing more powder about,

closing paths I once shoveled out.

The township’s plows keep up their pace;

snow banks too high to see a driver’s face.

The car key I dropped I’ll find next spring,

when the birds at the feeder are on the wing.

The ice will melt off pine’s beaded branch,

and I’ll venture out to my garden, last chance.

After the house sale, sunglasses mask a tear on my face.

In December, I marvel at camellias and orchids

blooming in this new place.

Redwoods, magnolias, palms,

eucalyptus whipped by heavy rains,

boulders jarred loose block traffic lanes.

Weather reporters caution motorists all morning;

since I don’t drive now, I can tune out the warnings.

Flash flooding re-routes the workers’ commutes,

while a rainbow overhead leaves them mute.

Eyeing the pigeons on the pavement and ducks on the pond,

walkers share a lunch break or strengthen a bond.

photo from Carolyn

2.

UNIVERSAL FEELINGS OF LOVE

—by Jacqueline Moffett

Sitting in the family room, I reminisce of times gone by

Of different types of love experienced over many years

Mother comes first, this love lasts a lifetime

Never wavers, never ends, even in death

Next comes love of siblings, sometimes shattered

By their lack of judgment and poor life choices

We muddle through these times, showering these poor

Souls with doses of affection, hoping for attitude changes

Friends are the shining light of our everyday lives

They appear without notice in times of joy and sorrow

Ever conscious of our wants and needs

Never faltering in condemnation or praise

Husbands and wives produce a different love

Eternal, never wavering, constant

This feeling of care and concern brings forth an

Intimate embrace, a smile to a tired face

Days grow short, years pass, old age beckons

We are near the end of an exquisite journey

In the sunset of our lives, we chose well

Memories of everlasting love still ignites passion

3.

AND MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP—2

—by Richard T. Lake

Till Twenty-Fifty-Seven, like Scrooge I saved

the frequent miles my spaceline gave.

The value of that massive cache

might cause their trading stock to crash.

I’ll barter for an astral ship

to fly beyond our planet’s grip,

into that void beyond sublime,

to breach the bounds of space and time.

My final quest I’ll thus preserve,

by sailing solar winds with verve,

for somewhere past the cosmic deep

I’ll join the stars in timeless sleep.

NFSPS 2007 FIRST PRIZE

© Richard T. Lake

4.

WINTER

(form; pirouette)

—by Susan Nelson Vernon

Even the mildest winter,

its crystal tentacles deep in the earth,

frost-painted dawns and nights,

sequesters me indoors,

curled up in a rigid ball on the couch.

Curled up in a rigid ball on the couch,

wound with cozy blankets,

warmth surrounds me

like a soft spring breeze,

whispering promises of a thaw.

5.

RESOLVED

—By Loretta Diane Walker

As of midnight, this last year is archived

with past centuries and this new year is an untamed cub

with an appetite as big as wonder.

How hungry it is in this newness,

chewing at time even as confetti litters the sky.

But it can only eat what each day has to offer.

And we in our joy stripe its back with promises

and good intentions.

Oh, to see it mature, run wildly with hope!

I’ve filled a bowl with resolutions:

to be more, do more, give more and never forget

I am better than my last failure

and greater than my last success.

6.

DAD'S WORKBENCH

—by Nancy Henry Kline

Too big and clumsy;

No space in the house we're moving to.

I remove the vise to keep it for my son.

My neighbor and I stagger under its weight as we carry it out

to the tree lawn for the scavengers.

I watch from the window.

I am fifty eight. I remember when I was nine.

Dad's padding the tops of my crutches with soft cotton

and blue velvet so they won't rub my armpits raw.

Building a cage for my Boston terrier, Susie, so she can stay

in our motel room on vacation.

Sanding my stilts until every splinter is intimidated.

When I walk on them my self-image is as tall as I am.

I recall myself at twenty-two;

an enthusiastic fourth grade teacher.

He's making an abacus, so my students can learn to carry

and borrow. We excelled in math that year.

A brown Chevy station wagon pulls up to the curb.

A man comes to the door and asks,

"May I have the workbench? It won't fit in my car.

May I chop it up and take the pieces for firewood?"

"Take them."

He returns to his car and gets out an axe.

I turn away from the window.

7.

THE PINK DREAM

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

When daytime harshness was muted

and twilight breathed more kindly

through uncurtained windows,

the faded quilts were transformed

into satin comforters.

The wall hooks became spacious closets

filled with rich velvets

and filmy chiffons waiting to be chosen.

Those were the muslin years,

yet hoarded pennies

and long lamplit hours

produced the pink graduation dress,

a satin and lace dream..

Its wearing wrapped her shoulders

in new confidence, made the hours

shining and vibrant as the fabric.

A decade later,

dress and dreams outgrown,

the awareness came:

pink was her least becoming color.

8.

HIGH-RISE REAL ESTATE

—by Marilyn Downing

Mogollon-Style, circa 13th Century

At the base of the Gila Cliff Dwellings, pause ….

Listen to winds whispering through

pine and aspen and sage

Listen to echoes of feet shod in plaited yucca,

scaling the rocky cliff

Listen to memories of Mogollon voices

as the people plant corn, beans, and squash

in the valleys

Scramble far above the clear-flowing Gila

to seven natural caves unchanged

for seven centuries

Climb a timber ladder to enter rooms constructed

within the sheltering caves, facing southeast,

cool in summer, warm in winter

Walk on stone floors where short brown dwellers

prepared grains, baked bread, roasted game

Imagine families molding pottery, weaving blankets,

sleeping in safety far above threats of marauding tribes

Before your descent, pause ….

Gaze out the arched opening at the turquoise sky,

sunlight filtering through forested wilderness ridges

Return cautiously down the tortuous path

to the Gila River bed, paved road, and automobile

to whisk you into the 21st century.

from a Gila Cliff Dwellings

National Monument photo

9.

WATCHING

—by Maureen Applegate

The leaves have fallen –

trees are bare –

dark limbs twisted caricatures

of letters and shapes

in clusters along the fence.

But see – against the tangle –

one white spot

a feather breasted oddity –

The hawk perches with

unfettered view –

sharp eyes watching the field

for food.

10.

CONFIDANTES

—by Ann Gasser

Houseplants

make splendid confidantes.

They are always ready

in their pots.

You do not have to drive

to see them

or pay to park,

and they are never

too busy to see you

night or day.

You can tell them

ANYTHING

and they will not wither—

they love a little good dirt

and will never ask you

how you feel about that.

They will never tell anyone

your secrets,

not a bloomin’ word,

and best of all,

they do not charge

an arm and a leg

or your first born.

A sunny window,

water when they are dry,

an occasional treat

of plant food,

is all they ask.

11.

MARQUETRY

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

How tediously he form-fitted the veneers together,

a mosaic of mixed wood, mahogany, maple, and oak.

In-laid bookends of snow scenes spanned the gap

from dawn till dusk, in-grained to the smallest crack.

Not everyone was seduced by his crazed style,

so many fell by the wayside after his wife died

till he met a companion on those long hikes, canoe trips,

and swims in sun-filled nakedness.

She ran away, he caught her essence in his exacting way.

In moments of Divine Interlude,

he captured the love which eluded him

in carefully pieced together forests of imbedded color.

“Marquetry,” they called the precise art he practiced.

It’s what the surgeons understood in the self-same design

inherent in the fine veneer of skin grafts

as they pieced together his face and skull

after the sun had tattooed its brutal pattern.

How ripe was the golden flow of her naked beauty then

surrounding his bed making body and soul whole again.

12.

STARTING OVER

—by Charlotte Zuzak

The Christmas trim is boxed away,

the trees deposited for trash pickup

as it seems we forget what we just celebrated,

moving on to sales and returns.

Valentine’s Day where love is theme of a

more erotic quality.

The cards are out the day after Christmas

for friends, family, and family pets.

Chocolate is the timely purchase as we

fight the pounds from Christmas.

The gym is full of all ages, the skinnies

want skinnier, the elderly to live.

The personal trainers are in demand for

about a month of trial and error;

the parking lot jammed as handicapped

spaces lose out to those much stronger.

13.

UNLEARNING

—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

Life was so simple and so was language

before curtains

became window treatments

before pens

became writing instruments

before undergarments

became intimate apparel

before TV cabinets

became entertainment centers

before “seen it all, done it all”

became “been there, done that”

before ‘round the clock

became 24/7

before your blunder

became a systems failure

before being hypocritical

became being politically correct.

Language was once so simple

and so was life.

14.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

February2013201320132013

Carol Dee Meeks...25

Marie-Louise Meyers...23

Sandra Polvinale...22

Carolyn Williams...18

Colleen Yarusavage...26

15.

Maureen Applegate...20

Marilyn Downing...19

Ann Gasser...17

Nancy Henry Kline...24

Inge Logenburg Kyler...21

Richard Lake...16

I’m in a pinch, as you can see.

I’m taller than I ought to be

for being where I’ve gotten stuck.

I overlook the standard truck.

The overhead was over-low,

a fact my driver didn’t know

or I’d be farther down the road,

not waiting to be backward towed.

My tractor swept beneath the span

not knowing of the risk at hand,

not knowing that my trailer edge

was higher than the concrete ledge.

A stilling clash, a grinding sound,

my trailer top has come to ground,

my wheels, arrested to a halt

(the laws of motionless at fault).

My forward headway now is naught,

so wedged within the tunnel—caught!

You cannot move what cannot move,

a fact, my impasse serves to prove.

And with the awesome concrete whack

my trailer top is crinkled back,

which pins me to the tunnel’s roof—

a still-life of a measured goof.

MEASURE UP —by Richard Lake

My driver’s pulled a dreadful stunt.

I can’t move back. I can’t move front.

He put me in the spot I am.

He made of me this traffic jam.

Photo courtesy

of Channel 5

16.

KINDRED SPIRITS

—by Ann Gasser

My dog has it made, he sleeps or snoozes,

with the carefree abandon of one who boozes.

He never has to prepare his meals

or shop the markets looking for deals.

His food is always provided by me

at no cost to him—he gets it free.

He gets a check-up each year, no surprise,

goes oftener if the need should arise.

For this he pays nothing, not even co-pays,

and nothing’s required of him all of his days.

He lives in a house with more space than he needs,

does zero upkeep, and never pulls weeds.

If he makes a mess, he will just sniff and shrug

while somebody else replaces the rug.

He lives like a king, no expense whatsoever,

while I work my tail off—I’m not so clever.

And a sudden thought occurs to me—

there hundreds of humans like him in D.C.

Their perks are as lavish as their ambitions—

those mangy dogs we call politicians.

17.

SOLAR POWER

-by Carolyn L. Williams

"Hey, Lady, you ripped off the solar panels with glee

when my husband ran a newspaper ad in the spring "For Free."

They'd been stacked up before the gap

that had originally been our garage door flap.

Then you drove up in your Honda in luck

and tossed them into the back of the truck.

They had passively warmed with the sun's rays

three tanks of water for hot showers each day.

Since the glitch some predicted is long since passed,

could you, would you return the solar panels really fast?

I know you ate tons of greenhouse tomatoes for meals

after you showed up in my driveway with wheels.

Now that winter's chilly winds once again are coming our way,

and snow and ice will for a few months probably stay,

won't you please save me from the blast

and I'll forgive you for the last.

Woolen mittens and knit hats to the sleeves I'll pin

and wear my red longjohns both outside and in.

No calendar girl draped in cashmere scarf will my outfit be

Shivering without solar panels; electric heat's not free.

Perhaps that mother-in-law had it right:

she moved in with family in the dead of night.

Gardening and canning she kept her tongue still

she showed you she wasn't quite over the hill.

Around the Millennium despite many fears

our computers stayed on track afterall through all the years.

17.

TWO MONTHS AFTER CHRISTMAS

—by Marilyn Downing

‘Twas two months after Christmas and all through the house

some creature had stirred and it wasn’t a mouse.

I returned from a day of pleasurable travel,

and soon found my nerves had begun to unravel.

I walked through my house inspecting each room,

my heartbeat increased with impending doom.

The nice new poinsettia plant just wasn’t there...

I looked all around for it and wondered where...?

Then I saw other ornaments tipped over, scattered.

Nothing valuable gone, nothing that mattered.

I reached for the phone... I felt that I must

call on the police force I knew I could trust.

They told me to “vacate” the house right away.

I started to do that when to my dismay,

the intruder, bushy-tailed, gray and furry,

dashed through the room in a terrible hurry.

I went to the window and threw up the sash,

but he disappeared in a scampering rash.

What came down my chimney was no Santa elf,

just one of God’s creatures in spite of himself.

Three policemen arrived (did I need more than two?)

“It’s a squirrel!” I said. “I saw it race through!”

They entered the house, I stayed in the yard.

The squirrel, outnumbered by my stalwart guard,

soon leaped out the window and scampered away

The three cops were grinning... what could I say?

except to be grateful for setting things right,

I thanked them profusely, and wished them good night.

19.

WETLANDS

—by Maureen Applegate

Clabber dabbers prick and poke the dirt

diggering for luscious sloamy snails.

Dipsy-divers skim the water’s skirt,

screechy redwings step on catty tails.

A ticker-tape of footprints on the sand

leads the willy watcher’s eager eye

where hoary heron lonely leggy stands

And perky piddle paddlers swim nearby.

Finding treeny treasures in the grass

culking sweetly singing yellow flowers.

Recalling lithy laughter from the past

whiles away some sticky summer hours.

As long as fortress wooden fence secures,

the sanctuary of the pond endures.

20.

THE ROAD RUNNER

—by Inge Logenburg Kyler

There it goes again

a figure darting in the shadows

of overhanging leafy trees

noon blinding sun

evening twilight

drenching downpour

heavy white snow

city streets

muddy country roads

darting, leaping

house to house

the faithful

under appreciated

garbage collector!

21.

THE POST VALENTINE’S DAY LETTER

--by Sandra Polvinale

John, my Deere,

I hate to write this after our romantic (?)Valentine's Day

but honestly, John, you were way too mechanical.

You will probably plow right through this and forget

I caught you red handed with Cherry Pie at that party last night.

The way you stared at me, you were like a deer in the headlights!

And everyone knows that nothing runs like a Deere!

Well, you know John, the grass is always greener

on the other side, and I met a fine man named Pete Moss

with a little age on him. The Moss family has cultivated a

relationship with me—very earthy, unlike you!

And so it seems to me, our date was mower like

the St Valentine’s Day Massacre than a test mow

through the park! And another thing...

your remarks were sooo dull. Sharpen your blades!

You may be a quick starter,

but I am in this for the long run.

I thought nothing ran like a Deere, John,

So KEEP ON RUNNIN!

Your X Funny Valentine,

Anita Mann

PS: I never appreciated your jokes about me "needing a man!"

PS2: I used to tell my friends you were NOT a dirty greasy dip stick!

PS3: But they were right!

I was wrong!

22.

THE GREAT WAVE

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

He nourished a wave so lush

with exquisite strokes of brush,

volumized till it grew and grew,

tamed each unruly curlicue.

Like Hokusai's Wave stiff with pride,

it finally reached crown size

with that greasy kid stuff.

Girls tried to muss, boys to crush,

when it sprang a leak, they raised a fuss.

Everyone waited with breath bated,

but the Marines never hesitated.

A jar head was born,

on the day he was shorn.

23.

GRANNY

—by Nancy Henry Kline

I don't see Granny often. She lives far away,

but she danced on a video I got yesterday.

Some grans dye their hair, but mine likes hers white

'cause she's young at heart. We catch fireflies at night.

Granny is smart; teaches courses, workshops,

and at Christmas time she makes cleartoy lollypops.

Last summer Granny bought licorice ice cream.

It stained my new tee shirt. Mom wanted to scream.

We blow bubbles, fly kites, bake cookies, plant seeds.

(I strung her a necklace when she sent me some beads.)

Granny rides horseback; likes to scull, waterski,

and go white water rafting. Next year she'll take me.

My Granny takes risks; she writes naughty rhymes

and reads them in public, but only sometimes.

She also writes books, editions of one

especially for me, her only grandson.

Granny can even speak Pennsylvania Dutch.

She taught me some words, but I haven't learned much.

Granny and I both share the name Henry.

It was her maiden name, and my middle name's Henry.

At bedtime we talk of the joys of our day.

Gran tells me a story; bows her head to pray.

Then she hugs me so tight, and when I close my eyes

she tells me she loves me, and sings lullabies

she sang to my Daddy when he was a boy.

My Granny is special. She brings me much joy.

24.

HOLY INTERVENTION YIELDS MUCH

—by Carol Dee Meeks

Clayton is a busy man and works hard across the land,

yet on a cloudy afternoon, during the month of June,

an old preacher joins his side, and asked Clayton for a ride.

“I’m in a hurry sir,” Clayton replies with a slur.

“I’ve planned a fishing trip, have no time to worship

with you now; my friend awaits me at his scow.”

“Can I come along? I promise not to prolong

or offend you and your friend. We’ll enjoy

the recreation while in awe of God’s creation.”

“There’s a problem preacher man. We drink beer out of the can.

It’s our only day off work, and we fish without our shirt.”

“Can you take the beer and freeze it?”

The preacher asks with holy wit.

“I don’t think I’ll be in a pickle if I eat it like a popsicle.”

Now ole Clayton swallows hard

as he puts his friend on guard.

The trio takes the trip together

on a day with splendid weather.

Then they catch many fish,

as they discuss their favorite dish.

The following Sunday morn

Clayton joins the Church-bell horn.

They high-five as they departed,

and remember paths uncharted---

on a pleasant day’s retreat,

sharing, a special savory sweet.

25.

STRANGE DOINGS IN THE FRIDGE

—by Colleen Yarusavage

There’s a naked orange in my fridge!

I don’t know what happened to its coat.

The orange sits proudly on the shelf,

showing off for all the kitchen to see.

The orange’s fridge-mates are disconcerted.

The wine is blushing.

The tomato has a red face.

The cucumber is no longer cool.

The potato has averted its eyes.

Their embarrassment is palpable!

This discord cannot last.

How to restore order?

I take a knife, cut the orange into slices,

and eat my way to peace and harmony!