Maueen Applegate...5

Marilyn Downing...10

Lynn Fetterolf...3

Ann Gasser...11

Emiliano Martin....6

(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.)

August

2014201420142014

1.

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...9

Carol Dee Meeks...7

Marie-Louise Meyers...8

Jacqueline Moffett ...4

Lucille Morgan Wilson...2

THE KUDZU VINE

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

Roots creep through red powder soil,

greedy fingers clutching each other

to anchor the sprawling green profusion.

The warm Mississippi earth relaxes

under new shelter, foil for the rain torrents

that slash the slopes

and leave gaping wounds.

The vines race along fencerows, climb saplings,

mound shrubs, claim the countryside

in a stealthy noose.

A stifled dogwood surrenders,

another formless pillar

beside slim oaks already

regimented into a green colonnade.

A young man thrashes about

in the entanglement, mutters curses.

He was once the child whose black bare feet

kicked up clouds of brick-colored dust

in the sheer joy of being a boy in summer.

Now he trips, falls, lies winded,

resigns himself to a slow, careful

picking of his meager way,

hopes smothered in overgrowth.

Kudzu vines, meant to stay eroding soil,

suck away life, consume vitality,

produce the labyrinth that traps

another generation in poverty.

2.

3.

REVISING DICK AND JANE

—by Lynn Fetterolf

Dick and Jane no longer run,

they boogie on down.

They’re now christened Michael and Jennifer,

their dog, dubbed Michelob, not Spot.

Little Mew Mew (Puff) has been replaced

by a sleek black pig named Kharman Ghia,

or perhaps a parakeet named Song.

If pussycat were still around,

her name would be Francoise.

Daddy doesn’t come home for dinner.

Dinner is gulped at Mickey D’s.

The old man e-mails from some other continent.

Mom nukes her low-cal Lean Cuisine (gourmet).

Michael chills out in front of the boob tube

or like, you know, he’s into computer war;

while Jennifer dons blue nail paint,

black lipstick and a micro-mini. She’s

getting ready to hang out at the Mall.

Grandma is on a Caribbean cruise.

Cookies are purchased at Mrs. Field’s,

and the whole world is glued to the Internet.

FRIENDS -by Jacqueline Moffett

Friends resemble diamonds in a tiara

solid, will remain there forever

through joy and sorrow,

they make their presence known

Life can be an uneven journey when

your mate has left this earth

friends make you feel welcome

and insist you join their social circle

Phone calls, their letters filled

with news of vacation travel and

grandchildren, make me smile

friends become a part of my existence

A toast to my friends and neighbors

I'm so glad we met and in your hearts

you found a space for me

our lives are now entwined

Here's to the future:

May we continue to remain friends,

and prosper in this land of peace

and opportunity, the good old USA

4.

5.

THE ACCUSER

—by Maureen Applegate

Lest I forget how often I’ve failed

remind me of all of my sins.

Recount the days, when remiss in my ways,

my judgment completely derailed.

Your memory surely is sharper than mine

it telescopes into my past.

Like the moon drawing near, craters ever more clear,

my wrongs are not hard to define.

But I know the outcome I’m going to find

when you finish your long diatribe -

the gentlest Grace, that helped me save face,

will be that which I keep in my mind.

photo by devotionistsf.org

FISH IN THE SEA

—by Emiliano Martin

I have heard that at sea

fish seek the stars

the moon

and come to the surface

when the mood

is felt.

Vibrant of energy

they playfully blow kisses

of enthusiasm

and make bubbles

of desire

wishing to once more acquire

togetherness.

I have heard that at sea

the sky and its light

filter through the waves

intensely…

while the night

is time for solace

in waters of black

and cold.

I have heard that at sea

fish seek the peace

of their own

and find it deep

in love,

between moons of ivory

that come and go…

inspiring the lovers to write a new song.

6.

photo from favin.com

7.

POET FOR ALMOST A CENTURY-

(With Respect to Mr. Robert Frost at JFK Inaugural)

—by Carol Dee Meeks

He writes familiar words of rural life,

of rural life in ordinary muse

he writes: ‘bout social themes and moods and strife

as stanza’s speech fills parchment lines that ooze.

His pen is talent, draws respect from peers,

he farms, he teaches writing night and day.

His work is honored, pleases readers’ ears;

four Pulitzer Prizes boost his resume.

Yet, basic language pens to classic lines,

he sells young classic lines, for wad of cash.

In England his reviews are fine like wines,

where wine is sweet and egos never clash.

From memory, in ice and cold that bites,

Inaugural - new words - how he recites.

PHOTO FROM THE new Yorker

8.

LONGWOOD MEADOW IN SUMMER GARB

--by Marie-Louise Meyers

The rapid pulse of flowers is almost overwhelming

down the formal brick walk where every bud bursts,

where riotous colors play havoc, asking too much

of discerning eyes not to examine and touch as we go by.

We are seduced by the meadow's "Wyeth charm" composition

with freewheeling color spinning sunshine like a color wheel.

An open vista looks as if an artist's brush has not retouched,

but found perfection in the uninhibited landscape.

No conscripted flowers marching all in a row,

just a naked stand of beauty, ever-rising crescendo--

flashes of yellow as brown-eyed Daisies touch down

to Hourglass Lake where Iris bluets and damsel-lilies are

highlighted by the blue dasher dragonfly.

Even fish co-mingle, bewiskered cat fish, blue-gills and bass,

and the occasional snapping turtle ready to consume

the creatures that don't hide in time.

Fountains erupt when least expected,

a meadowlark punctuates our mood.

My son breaks the quiet saying:

"This is my favorite place at Longwood."

He longs to climb the magnificent American Beech

where light flows through ladder-like branches

with a grace all its own,

and too-busy minds can serenely contemplate life.

9.

MILO

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

It’s a bright winter day as my orange Somali cat

softly pads his way down the stairs.

He stays a moment at my side, then meanders

several feet away to lie in the afternoon sunlight

flooding through the window.

Soon his sides rise and fall in contented rhythm,

his tail gently swishing back and forth.

I smile, content with my life here on the hill.

Sweet dreams, Milo. Sweet dreams . . . . ©Louisa Godissart McQuillen

10.

SPRING CLEANING

—by Marilyn Downing

When I explore my memory's attic space,

I come across a myriad hopes and dreams

abandoned in my conscious daily chase.

Much cobwebbed knowledge hangs from dustybeams

while acts, facts, dates, and names once gleaned from books

are heaped in careless piles with childhood schemes.

But cherished memories tucked away in nooks

await my touch. A holiday's stored pleasures,

revived through customs, photos, words, or looks,

replenish random joys with added measures.

Remembrances that time cannot efface

are carefully re-stored with lifetime treasures.

Forgetting broken hopes, I will replace

discarded dreams with memories that embrace

familiar joys stored in my attic space.

TO MY MISCHIEVOUS MUSE

—by Ann Gasser

Sometimes I'm unaware you’re always there.

You dwell in some sweet secret place, inside.

And you enhance my thoughts with your own flair--

you scatter inhibitions far and wide.

You are the sunshine in my shadowed thought,

the neon brightening my darkest night.

You find the special words I long have sought,

and turn them slyly till they fit just right.

In silver silences of midnight hours

your wit bewitches me within my dreams,

You spin a web of words like fragrant flowers,

and life is not the travesty it seems.

I dance with you on life's uncertain rim--

you call, and I obey your every whim.

11.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

August

2014201420142014

Ann Gasser...17

Mark Hudson....14

Richard T. Lake....16

12.

Maureen Applegate....15

Marilyn Downing...18

Lynn Fetterolf....13

13.

A

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F

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SUPERMARKET ABC’S

—by Lynn Fetterolf

is for apples, so juicy and red.

is for sweet scent of baking bread.

is for carrots, crunchy and crisp.

for the donuts I cannot resist.

is for eggrolls at the Chinese food court.

for the great fruits displayed, every sort.

is for Grapes. I prefer pale green, please.

is for honey, food from the bees.

is for icing to decorate cakes.

for the jellies that I used to make.

is for krackers. Wrong spelling, I know.

for the lotions that make my skin glow.

is for meats arrayed in their case.

for soft napkins for cleaning my face.

is for olives, both Spanish and Greek

or the pizzas. I forgot them last week.

is for quince jam and milk by the Quart

is for rye bread and rolls of each sort.

is for seafood, shrimp, crab and cod.

is for turkey, the breast or full bod.

for umbrella I didn?t obtain.

for my vehicle out in the rain.

washing powder and dishwasher soap.

the toy xylophone for Grandson to grope.

is for yesterday?s baked goods on sale.

marks the end of this tired shopper?s tale.

14

FOURTH OF JULY LEFTOVERS

--by Mark Hudson

On the fourth of July, I attended two

fun-filled, food-eating barbecues.

The first one gave me leftovers to take,

but they originally gave me a stomach ache.

A couple of days after the fourth of July,

I opened the fridge and let out a sigh.

My macaroni salad fell down on the floor,

it fell face down and I couldn't have more.

So I grabbed two hot dogs to microwave,

these are leftovers I sometimes crave.

But they fell on the floor, like the macaroni,

I picked them up off my floor like a homie.

I ate them myself, without even cleaning,

eating these leftovers--quite demeaning!

Then I wondered what happened to the steak,

it seemed to be missing, how much could I take?

I thought, "Let's see, I used my green bag."

Yes, the steak was inside, it made me gag!

How long had it been there? It sure smells!

I threw it away! Now in Wisconsin Dells,

another vacation--more over-eating.

Summer can sure be diet-defeating!

15.

“SAY WHAT?”

—by Maureen Applegate

There’s never a “cow”bird with cud to chew

and never did “cardinals” play cards.

“Mocking”birds flatter through imitation

and explaining the “titmouse” is hard.

How can I trust that a bluebird is blue?

Are woodpeckers wood-pecking birds?...

if “nuthatch” hatch chicks, not some wooded fruit,

and hummers forget all the words?

You won’t see a “gold”finch covered in gold

or a “killdeer” chasing big prey,

so I’m often bemused how birds got their names

when they don’t match the words people say.

THAT'S FOR SURE

—by Richard T. Lake

While Miss Mousie

is at the shore,

her Ricky Rat

won't shave no more!

16.

ECSTATICAL SABBATICAL

—by Ann Gasser

I love exploring a dictionary--

especially one that's compendious.

The kick I get from semantics,

is slightly more than tremend-i-ous;

Some people may say words are merely theoric,

I find they make ME feel supremely euphoric--

a little bit dreamy--phatasamagoric,

the same as a high from too much paregoric!

It's the simple little things in life

for the simple people like me,

and I find I am happy as a clam

with my unabridged diction'ry.

Etymologies truly delight me---

I'm intrigued by synchronic linguistics.

They can thrill me and really excite me--

unlike Math or boring Statistics.

If I'm ever wrecked on a desert isle,

a victim of nature's wild force,

my dictionary could keep me content--

(plus my furry best friend, of course!)17

THAT “SINK-ING” FEELING

—by Marilyn Downing

A clank - a whir - and I am faced

with tasks auto-mechanic.

I call Repair with even voice ...

Then I begin to panic!

My company's due within an hour

and I am outright manic.

18.