(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.)

September2018201820182018

1.

Becky Alexander...4

Maureen Applegate—14

Elizabeth Bodien ...16

Michael Bourgo...15

Gail Denham...10

Marilyn Downing...7

Lynn Fetterolf...11

Ann Gasser...18

Mark Hudson...8

Inge Logenburg Kyler...6

Richard Lake...3

Emiliano Martin...5

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...12

Marie-Louise Meyers...2

Jacqueline Moffett ...9

Lucille Morgan Wilson...17

2.

THE ROCKETTES

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

How much reawakened

by the sensations

which travel through their brains,

their motions not token,

but links in an unbroken chain

that claim them,

till they doubt their own bodies again.

Months and years in the making,

personal traits routinely forsaken,

perfected Marionettes making

for their precision steps taking.

Their high kicks seeming to spring

from legs without beginning or ending,

but blending with each other

when they enter the stage

of Radio City Music Hall,

for a captivated audience who waits

hours for their duplication,

their unwavering manuscript

from an age when feminism

had its magic appeal.

No holds barred for women today,

they are no longer caged,

but still they remain on stage

No false starts

just an unbroken chain,

an exchange of hearts?

RIGHT MINDED, LEFT HANDERS

—by Richard Lake

Here’s to the world

of left-handed folk,

who just might say

it’s God‘s coolest joke!

Pure genius or nut case,

depends on the guide.

Teachers, with rulers,

will help you decide!

3.

(From Richard as he and Toni flee

HURRICANE FLORENCE:)

Hard rains will come and big winds blow;

the fiercest storms are packed with woe.

But in this fight, fight to survive,

to thank the Lord, ‘cause you’re alive!

4.

ANOTHER FACE(an ode to Norman Rockwell)

—by Becky Alexander

It was always your humor

that drew me into your paintings.

How we howled when the Post arrived,

scanned through old copies,

belly down on the linoleum floor,

giggling our way through the pile,

seeking out your pompous grown-ups,

freckled kids, puppies and frogs.

In your Triple Self Portrait,

I alter my opinion: there you hunch,

your back to the viewer,

peeking into a gilded mirror,

sketching your face, proud, high,

above yourself, cocky as a grin.

You are not merely funny, Mr. Rockwell.

You are a born comedian,

the stature of Foxworthy, Carey and Myers,

If only we could have felt the stroke

of your stand-up routines,

along with your paintbrushes.

5.

THE STEP DOWN

—by Emiliano Martin

If we take the time

to measure the distance

between the smile

of abundance

and the frown

of emptiness…

in most cases

we come to realize

that the height

or length

even the width

is only one step

down.

6.

PURPLE ASTER TIME

—by Inge Logenburg Kyler

When fields are sun dusted in autumn gold,

I wish that all of fall could be on hold.

The goldenrod and purple aster blooms

when put in vases to cheer up the rooms

do not hold up when picked, as if they know

they are more beautiful if left to grow.

And so I must content myself, it seems

to store these favorite flowers in my dreams.

7.

(Adapted from:

On the Road,

CBS News Item)

GOOD NEWS ENDING ON NATIONAL TV

—by Marilyn Downing

We had a surprise visitor that August afternoon,

unusual any time of year on our Idaho farm.

She wasn’t quite alone, but others with her

kept a bit of a distance, near a van down the lane.

My husband, sweaty in his overalls, from a day

on the tractor, approached the woman – to offer

help or advice, if that’s what she was after.

“I found you, Dad” she said, her voice trembling,

“On the internet. I’m Sally – all the way from Texas.”

Ed gave her a long look before he said, “My girl?

The baby I left fifty years ago? Just look at you!”

I watched as Ed gathered his wits about himself,

wrapping the visitor in an awkward hug, calling to me

over his shoulder, “Anna, this here’s my daughter

I never thought I’d see again, here all grown up.”

I knew I wasn’t his first wife and I knew him as a good

Dad to our three sons all out on their own farms now.

I watched Ed hug his daughter again saying,

“So many years! And I’m gonna make it up to you ….”

A TV camera crew filmed them for the feel-good feature

the station uses to close daily woes of the world.

I turned to go into the house and start supper.

8.

TEMPERATURES AND TEMPERS

—by Mark Hudson

Summer is almost over, I never thought,

I'd finally be glad to see it all end.

The heat, and all the anger it brought

might've caused needs for making amends.

Heat and headaches, being quite rude,

are a result of humidity and sweat.

As this summer begins to conclude,

I don't want to end it with many regrets.

Many people are ornery as well,

manners not showing upon their face.

Blood pressures rising, I can tell,

pressure cooker—the human race!

When I use restraint of my tongue,

it means I won't have to make amends.

saying, "Thy will, not mine, be done."

I will more likely keep my friends.

The heat makes me just want to explode

giving people a peace of my mind.

But karma will always be down the road,

I think it's better just to be kind.

And winter will be here,very soon,

so the final days of summer, let's not ruin!

9.

CATS ARE COMPLEX CREATURES

—by Jacqueline Moffett

Once you befriend a sickly stray cat

you have lost your independence.

Kitty now owns you and your home.

There is absolute truth in that

your bed is now her bed

to nap or sleep as time permits.

Your pillow is now her pillow

on which to lay her fuzzy head.

She will eat and sometimes taste,

depending on the circumstance.

Unconditional love is her forte,

pink tongue licks your tired face.

For all her myriad faults, you will find

the pleasure of her adoring company,

curled upon your ample lap,

kitty soothes your restless, troubled mind.

10.

TUNES

—by Gail Denham

”A careless song, with a little

nonsense in it now and then, does not

misbecome a monarch.”

—Horace Walpole

Stroll this path, I tell you; the poplars

spin leaves toward your head and they

sing tunes you heard ever so long ago.

We danced to that song. Our legs

were limber. They didn’t know

years, as we do now.

Wander this way, seeker. Use imagination

and memory to propel you into a small

house where linoleum the color of rust

rushes everywhere, hears your voice,

records footsteps.

You can dance a little. Small steps

that only scritch the lino surface,

shuffle dry dirt into the kitchen where

Mom pulls pan after pan of cookies

from the old white enamel range.

11.

LORD OF THE SAND AND SEA

—by Lynn Fetterolf

Lord of the sand and sea

Pour your blessings over me.

When life seems to pull me low

Help me fight the undertow.

When like tides I rise and fall

For your comfort I will call.

When disasters o’er me roll

Keep me focused on my soul

Lord of the sand and sea

Pour your blessings over me.

12.

A GATHERING OF EAGLES

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

The eagle waits and watches for daylight on the cliff,

and the sun to warm the mountain e're he rises over it.

He rests till early morning when the valley thermals start,

then ends his time of waiting, renewed in wing and heart.

With confidence he shakes himself and arcs his tousled head,

as currents lift him skyward with his mighty wings outspread.

Thcn the eagle, robed in splendor, holds himself aloft with

ease, as he dips and soars and curtsies to the music of the

breeze.

Lest the lesson here be wasted in the telling of this poem,

think of those who love the Lord, robed in white and heading

Home. May our spirits, like the eagle's, wait for morning to

arrive, and the day Christ calls them homeward, may our eager

spirits rise. Lifting up to meet our Savior will be something then

to see, as we lift off like the eagle headed high above the trees.

All our waiting will be over when with wings of faith outspread,

we rise quickly up to meet him, separated from the dead.

Then the night will fall behind us as we see our Morning Star,

and we'll dip and soar and curtsy as we cross that mighty bar.

We will know him in his glory as we step onto that shore,

and enter life eternal in that glorious Evermore.

from her book

“Above the Evergreens”

13.

THE FRST DAY

—by Colleen Yarusavage

This is a poetic form named “Fib,”based on the Fibonacci math sequence

which is 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13. The form uses the sequence for the number of

syllables in each line.

“No,

wait,”

I called.

“Don’t leave me.”

He turned and looked back.

The big smile on his face told me

that he was ready for school, even though I was not.

fibfibfibfib

14.

Two examples of a “Fib” poem

MOVING ON

—by Maureen Applegate

If

I

had known

you would stay

would I have still moved?

dared to start new life for myself?

acknowledged the truth that you had already moved on?

SONG OF BONES

—by Maureen Applegate

hot

hot

summer -

cicadas

rattling their bones

grass turning brown beneath the sun

cows huddled beneath the one tree offering cool shade

fibfibfibfib

15.

MYTHOLOGY

—by Michael Bourgo

It was an unfortunate night--

awakened at 3:30 and sleep elusive,

no matter wishes or needs.

So I surrendered, left my bed

and suddenly, found an inspiration

(however beyond my boundaries)

to venture outside to the patio

and witnessed a miracle,

saw a sky crammed with stars,

the entire creation before me,

a bright and shining revelation;

and there was the Perseus cluster,

that great gathering of lights

toward the eastern heavens.

That story came back to me

from a favorite childhood book,

and what would I not gladly give

to live that boy’s adventures,

to conquer the gorgon Medusa

and rescue the fair maiden,

to earn the charms of Andromeda?

Alas, it is far from likely:

I remain prosaic and earthbound,

but in moments like this

imagination will suffice,

and brings the peace to my spirit

that comes with such deeds;

and soon I was able to sleep.

MY BLUE

—by Elizabeth Bodien

My Blue

has settled in again

its lassitude so wearies me

gives no reasons

but crawls through crevices

of barricades against it

not friend but familiar

it keeps a storehouse

of sorrows and tears

its treasure is numbness

no end in sight

I cannot befriend it

this unwanted guest

I must wait it out

for now settling in

it intends a long stay

16.

17.

DUST TO DUST

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

Long weeks, months I’ve waited,

wakened from imagined warmth

of your hand on mine, felt

your steady breathing in rhythm with my own,

hurried home with scraps of news

about a mutual acquaintance,

listened for your chuckle

at our grandson’s latest foible.

The door, locked from the outside,

the darkened house when I return,

even the damning dates

chiseled in granite six years ago

have not squelched that leaning forward

beyond reason and matter

until this morning

I found your favorite shirt

fallen on the closet floor, cold wrinkles

covering a fine layer of dust on your shoes.

I stare at the empty hanger.

The waiting part of me

yields to reality and I begin

filling boxes for the Salvation Army.

18.

PLAYING I AM GAUGUIN--

( OR MAYBE JIM CROCE)

—by Ann Gasser

Let the sun beat down

on turquoise waves,

let the sand

be as white as alabaster;

let gulls cry overhead all day

in undiluted cyan blue

as the tireless surf

pounds its endless timpani.

Let the day end

when the sky bleeds crimson,

turns to saffron,

fades to twilight mauve,

and a white moon

comes out

to light my hands

while my mind

paints wondrous scenes

of hibiscus and birds of paradise.

Let me be like Jim Croce—

wrap Time in a bottle,

drop it into the sea

where lace waves glisten

above a coral reef.

And if someone

should find the bottle,

don't let them send a rescue ship,

just be happy for me.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

September2018201820182018

19.

Becky Alexander...27

Michael Bourgo... 21

Gail Denham...24

Marilyn Downing...26

AAnn Gasser...28

Richard Lake...22

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...23

Prabha Nayak Prabhu...25

Lucille Morgan Wilson...20

ROLLIN', ROLLIN'

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

Winter's grudging hours of daylight

lull me to an early bed,

where I dream of summer's coming

and long evenings ahead.

Then, as summer's days are fleeting,

I begin to chart the things

I shall do in winter when the hours

are longer than the spring's.

Each departing season leaves me

stunned at projects left undone

As I am making plans and lists

I hear that treadmill run.

20.

21.

A TRIO OF LIMERICKS —by Michael Bourgo

There was an inventor, Ms. Baxter,

who created a marvelous waxer,

but now she is fearing

an awful shearing,

for surely the Feds will tax her.

A Wimbledon champ named Dolly

was masterful at the volley.

She scored not one ace,

but thanks to her grace,

she turned out the winner, by golly!

Said Broadway wannabe Rhonda

(she could act but was no Fonda),

“It might be groovy,

to make a movie!”

(And we hope she’ll do well out yonda.)

22.

INSECT OF FRIGHT

—by Richard Lake

A praying mantis, a stick of green,

was strutting his stuff where he could be seen.

He stood in the sand,

jumped up on my hand,

and somehow I managed to stay serene!

23.

BEAUTY QUEENS

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

The harvest season has arrived,

And sweet rewards are seen,

Lined up on every pantry shelf,

Like rows of beauty queens!

24.

THREE A.M.

—by Gail Denham

Eyes closed, still I could see beyond

the lawn outside and rippled pond

which, gleaming white, stretched far past dark

forbidding trees that line the park.

I dreamed I danced through moonlit mist

while ripples by the moon were kissed.

It was a pleasant escapade

to watch a young me on parade.

I thoroughly enjoyed my spree

until the bathroom summoned me.

25.

INCORRIGIBLE—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

There once lived a man in Kiel

Who could not curb his urge to steal.

When he usurped a yacht,

he said, “No I did not!”

And prayed he’d turn into an eel.

26.

THE PROCRASTINATOR

—by Marilyn Downing

Little Miss Tardy postpones all her worry

until she must act in a flustery flurry.

She shifts into gear

when a deadline is near

so her hurry and scurry are blurry.

She started to make her fabulous curry

to enter a famous chef’s jury …

but she couldn’t get more

spice from the store,

so she went raving mad in self-fury.

FALSE BRAVADO

—by Becky Alexander

Our yellow cat known as 'Old Lass’,

who mousies and rats could amass

at the sight of a snake,

her courage proved fake—

and she hid behind three blades of grass!

COURTSHIP BEFORE THE INTERNET—AND SINCE

—by Ann Gasser

His first step was a furtive glance across the crowded floor.

He scanned each face until he found what he was looking for.

His blue orbs met her deep brown eyes, he felt his pulse beat fast,

a strange exhilaration that each “single” hoped would last.

He watched her as she chose a seat—not too far from the door.

She spied him in her mirror and his heart was thumping more.

And now it was her turn to lead in this romantic play.

She turned her glance full face at him. He calmly turned away.

A jukebox played a slow-dance tune—a “for-all-lovers” song.

His elbow rested on the bar—his heart-strings sang along.

She watched him unobtrusively, well-schooled in this sweet art,

then nonchalantly tossed her curls—a timeless female art.

He introduced himself to her and hopefully sat down.

At first she seemed indifferent with a pout and pseudo-frown.

But then she smiled magnanimously, shapely legs now crossed.

He marveled at her classic grace, she spoke and he was lost.

He told her she was beautiful, and she began to purr—

a kitten stroked with compliments, his words were cream to her.

What fun to play this little game—a favorite on cruises.

But we learned to be cautious—it's not fun when one loses.

* * * *

Things changed a lot as years flew by—”Courtship?” they ask—What’s that?”

Both genders now display tattoos and rarely wear a hat.

Today's generations emphasize “ME”—they tend to be frequently moody.

Those who “couple”usually split, and we watch the result on “Judge Judy.”

28.