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studio > writing
> poems of friends
Poetry of the people
Mostly
sent in letters, a poem is a jewel, sparkles with the person
you know
A.
Schultz
B. Conover
C. Bonnett
D. Clymer
E. Pettit
F. Keeping
G. Saska
H. Winwood
I. Gray
J. Beaver.
K. Rock
L. Hanes
M. found piece
N.
O.
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Manatee
Brian
Schultz
What manner o' man do you wanna be,
A man o' war or a manatee?
The dugong is da guy for me,
placidly eating and floating free...
© 2006 Brian B. Schultz, ecologist, to whom this poem
came while he was snorkeling with the manatees in
Crystal River, Florida, 12/27/06 [Mary made me do
this; sorry -- BS]
Note: Dugong is a relative of the manatee
gakked from Mary E.Carey's blog: About Amherst
Wishing A Ghost Dog
Garrett Conover
For Martin
Boomer
you true son-of-a-bitch.
Stayed that way
to the end
when your missing master
didn’t come home for days,
and never would.
I don’t begrudge you
biting me the morning
I dug your grave.
No way to know
who beat trust from your bones.
Left one ear crimped close
to your skull.
That was before those who
would be friends
took you in.
No one now to try
to love you through the fear
your teeth and voice can hurl.
Weight of danger
your chain contains.
I wish from you
a guardian ghost
to watch about this grove.
In a wondering way
I hope you know it was me
behind the charge of buckshot
that stopped your heart
and lungs,
that didn’t allow some
anonymous vet to stalk
you with ambivalence
and a jab-stick
tipped with a lethal
lack of care.
Then you would know
I placed you on the knoll
above your home place
and the trail to mine.
Your head is looking north,
upstream.
Balsam boughs keep dirt
from your fur,
and an unfinished bowl
of food is with you.
I catch myself
pausing now and then.
Bending ears for the sound
of your tremendous voice,
no longer annoying
and too loud.
Nothing to heed
in the glade
to say this is where
you barked out greetings
to our friends gone missing
for good.
© 2003 Garrett Conover
Garrett lives with Alexandra in a wall tent on the
shores of the Big Wilson Stream in northern Maine.
They are registered Maine woodland guides. Read more at North Woods Ways
Wind In The Timothy Press, Summer 2004,
http://www.windinthetimothypress.com/BackIssues/Conover.htm
A Track through the Wood 12/10/05
a narration of a photo album see album here
Richard Bonnett
I laced a track through the woods this fine morning,
skied up a brook which the snow was adorning.
The water meandered and beckoned me on
to a home long abandoned that one time stood strong.
The walls had crumbled, though they once had stood high.
Now hardly noticed by those passing by.
The long morning shadows on the snow through the trees
bestowed the illusion of white fantasy.
Birds eating berries were frightened away
while a lone winter bloom pretentended to pray.
I skied by a church that begged me within
to enter and rest, consider my sin.
Those in the yard had expired their lease,
Under a blanket of snow they were resting in peace.
Angels on signpost were giving their blessing,
and I’ll state right now, twas a tad bit distressing!
A little trespassing is risky alone,
Alas in this case there was nobody home.
I skied past a hunter shooting into the wind
or perhaps at snow bunnies, I did not ask him.
Now finding my track at the end of its loop,
I finished the day, contented and pooped.
© 2005 Richard Bonnett
Untitled
Chris Clymer
mind and body joined as one,
peaceful as the rising sun,
gently rising in the wake,
of final and deciding fate,
spiral eddies in the air,
skin is soft, skin is fair,
silence, silence, serenity,
the door's unlocked,
and i am free.
© 1997 Chris Clymer
Untitled
Chris Clymer
rain on a hot summer day rises, steaming from the ground
as asphalt cracks and ice cream melts and the people
look
for shade. Drinks spill and glass shatters as they
scurry
inside with their gaudy beach blankets in their hands.
The
roof pounds with the force of the mighty unconquerable
rain.
And as it slowly rises from the ground, three old men go
quite insane.
© 1997 Chris Clymer
Inspirational Gridlock view book here
Megan Michelle Pettit
Eyes closed,
words fall across my horizon,
without meaning.
At times,
your voice fills what I thought was empty.
There is a lack of inspiration,
of Motivation, (to be)
of Understanding
Who, What, and Why
we ARE
(who, what, and why) we are.
There are some days, though,
that I look across my horizon and I see
exactly what I was meant to.
The grid swirlls and swells to fit.
nature works for a reason.
patterns
colors
to form
perfection.
© 2006 Megan Michelle Pettit
What Is Winter?
Glennys Keeping
Winter is hours of lush falling snow.
Winter is snowmen with stick arms and carrot noses.
Winter is snow domes and icicles, too.
Winter is a way of saying I love you.
© 2000 Glennys Keeping
What Is Summer?
Summer is the sun's warmth with heavy air and the
buzzing of the bees.
The grass is green, the flowers bloom and the tree
shades us from the sun.
But there are places that are not like this at all.
Some places always see snow.
It doesn't go.
© 2000 Glennys Keeping
For Michael
Teresa Saska
He was the glad dancer of
rallies and drumming circles.
He would find a tambourine and leap
gaily around the space we made
as we watched in wonder.
I knew him briefly,
but fully because he
poured his life on a platter
with organic lettuce and
community market spices
and every detail.
I would see him
around town and
think maybe I should
catch up with him,
or at least
choose a daisy
for the vase.
Now I feel him
everywhere, his warm face
staring into my mood,
smiling to cheer it.
When I feel all right,
it's because I think we
only dreamed this up.
Not that he died,
but that he ever lived.
And we were all
silly to believe
an angel could be real
until the pistol crack
woke us,
mercifully.
Shot us all
in the part of the brain
that lets us believe
in such miracles.
© 2005 Teresa Saska
Envy Me Most
Holly Winwood
Envy me most
When I am able to touch water
And your hand is too scared to put forth.
Envy me least
When I am scared to speak
And your voice echos in valleys.
Envy me most
When I communicate with wind
And your skin is too senseless and thick.
Envy me least
When I wake in despair
And your heart leaps over sorrow.
Envy me most
When I become one with the willow
And your feet avoid all rooting.
Envy me least
When I am bitter and trite
And your thoughts are sweet and green.
Envy us not
When we look at each other
And know nothing but what we resent.
© 2003 Holly L. Winwood
Grey's Grays
gray wolf
Route 1 flows by in the old canal bed
used to be full of water
now cars and trucks
yuppies, rednecks, police, and other morons use it to
get to and fro
curtain of pale blue rolls back the lead gray shroud of
rain clouds
sunlight
...feeble, but gaining strength...
Gray day...
endless water...
drips and drops of acid
Grey like a soggy, wet blanket shrouds the december sun
from our view
the car tires are snakes hissing their water-logged
rubber selves...
forest of umbrellas and trench coats feebly cover the
constipated business peoples...
watch them scuttle and scramble amidst the puddles and
splashes...
Rain slashes...
wind from off the Delaware river whip up the streets of
Camden...
the walk is wet and messy...
Gray day!
everything humid and soaked
the sky is unforgiving
car tires hiss and stream upon the puddled asphalt
Lazere is here...
walking the lonely sand roads...
twisting, and snaking through the dense pitch pines and
oak...
the soft sigh of the wind, cold and dry, hisses through
the pine boughs aloft...
Sitting here slogging away while the rain comes slashing
down...
smackering the windows...
dirty rivers of water...
car tires hiss and stream.
Four inches wet and soggy
Frosted morning...
sun light low in the frigid sky...
blue heron dips it's sword beak into mirrored glass
empty, droplets of water catch the golden light
fish is lucky.
Crazy busy and chaos has
its
arms round me.
Good lightning storms over the ocean
sitting on the beach at night
very still and quiet
waiting for the ghost crabs to emerge...
© 2004
Tim Gray
Window Pain
John Beaver
The Windows are paning
The Whoopings are craning
And I am insaning for you.
The Railroads are training
The Neurons are braining
And I am insaning for you.
A bottle in front of me?
Or a frontal lobotomy?
It's the question we all must face.
It always amazes me
How mousy I need to be
In this rat-race we all must race.
The Dranos are draining
The Full Moons are waning
And I am insaning for you.
© 2001 John Beaver
Was It The Wind
Big Daddy Rock
Was it just the wind of my lonely soul,
Fanning the flames of my hearts desire?
Or do you really exist somewhere,
Are you a phantasm in the blackness of my pain?
As a solitary wolf cries for his mate,
Do you appear a shadow in the night?
To reopen my spirits gate
With your touch so light and ethereal
I know not if it was real
But at thought of it
Yes my soul did heal.
Into the great beyond I extend my hand,
A safe place for your spirit to land
If you are real, I send pure love
To help heal your hurts of the past
And give your heart rest at last
Maybe it was just the wind
© 2008 Big Daddy Rock
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Black Choppers
Big Daddy Rock
Black choppers, now fill the sky,
Constitution for me, has gone awry
Can't find freedom, In the land of the free
Secret police have their sights on me
Dark of night/silence, are my friend
Even Rome crumbled in the end.
People to uphold, the constitution swear
Not understanding, what they declare
Because I write about the things I see
Our government wants to silence me.
Laws drop freely, from a fool's roll call
Lining their pockets, not giving their all
Speaking out against them, is now a crime
The first amendment, no longer sublime
Have to expose their bullshit lie
Got to split, Black choppers in the sky
© 2008 Big Daddy Rock
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Where Is My Friend
Big Daddy Rock
In the times when my heart feels sorrow
I look ever onwards, at the morrow
The pain I find in shortcomings of others
Would not be, if I had my druthers
I will not squeeze them into a mold
For it will make their heart grow cold
Harming another, will not make me feel better
nor will violence, or and angry letter
In the hope of dawn, the light will shine
The love I need, today may be mine
Ripped and torn, my heart is battered
My faith in love, is still not shattered
Each day I get closer, to the end
All I ever asked, is to be my friend.
© 2008 Big Daddy Rock
Haiku-matic One
Anne Hanes
Cats can't pick roses;
we haven't thumbs.
But who else
will catch bugs for you?
-----------
Haiku-matic Two
For you I caught this
Insect—it has quite long legs.
Please eat it quickly
© 2008 Anne Hanes
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