Poetry by Sheila, Michael D, Kim, & Sherry

Transformations
by Sheila Moore

In her mind, opposing urges swirl
around clocks with no hands.
Celestial dreams transform reality
into creative ecstasy.

Blinding whites give way to
deepest blues. She descends into
black – lost, scattered amongst stars.

No stroke of midnight, god or mirror
will forewarn of future dreams;
no mother, prince, or magic potion
can spare her from ensuing falls.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Secret Photos, Forgotten Letters
Old photographs:
by Michael Dekel

everybody moved but
shadows stood still.
This young woman
a blur of silver grays
and black edges

held that little child,
his curly locks, short pants
an old custom almost then—
but neither cares anymore,
both still—Vera’s shade
under summer trees

hidden deep inside a photo
album from a time after…
Her white letters name:
Billy, Danny, Dottie.
A letter in a shoe box
teases her absent husband

about a walk in mountain woods:
her breath taken away when
around a curve came the young,
muscular, cute…
…rabbit.

Around another corner,
something darker,

fallen or pushed
down the stairs,
miscarriage,

death.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________


Dark Sky

by Kim Troike

You told me you would not go.
You told me you did not want to go.
Why did you have to go?
Why did you have to go?

Dark sky you’ve come to his face.
Peaked mountain to bring him down.
A life unfulfilled torn away from love.
Tomorrow, a call, to a mind which elicits, no sound.

Instant, drops of rain, upon the orange flames.
Cold sharp glass cuts the memories.
Mangled metal flies higher than the plane.
This dark fire ending no one sees.

Her heart of yearning stopped in time.
The love inside her moves, to feel.
What has happened, this life will never see.
This dark fire ending, death so real.

Statue body frozen eyes slowly melt.
Disbelief shadows unbearable pain.
Her trembling hand holds comfort to life.
Mist clouds the eyes, drops flood like rain.

No dark fire, nor dark sky.
Burnt grass and trees are all she could see
As she ascends the peaked mountain top
All that was left was me.
All that was left was me.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When You Love a Wild Thing
by Sherry Blue Sky

When you love
a wild thing,
you’re rekindling
your kinship
with the wild.

Every cell
in your body
remembers
when you once
lived free
upon the land,
when you
lived
the Old Ways
we once
used to
understand.

Part of you
remembers
when you
hunted the deer,
and part remembers
when you were
the deer
being hunted.
Both sides
know fear.

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