(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..)

January

2014201420142014

1.

Maureen Applegate...14

Gail Denham...9

Doris DiSavino....5

Marilyn Downing...10

Lynn Fetterolf...2

Ann Gasser...11

Imogene Hunt...4

Katie Khan...12

Nancy Henry Kline...7

Marie-Louise Meyers...13

Prabha Nayak Prabhu...3

Susan Nelson Vernon...6

William W. Vernon...8

A BACKWARD LOOK AT NEVER NEVER LAND

—by Lynn Fetterolf

Lana Turner, Dottie Lamour, Veronica Lake,

“the sweater, the sarong and the peek-a-boo blonde,”

reminders of that halcyon era pre World War II

when America was so innocent.

Everything changed December seven 1941.

Our naïveté turned to shock

and sent our sons to war.

Overseas, our GI Joes made solo love

to pinned up Betty Grable or luscious Rita Hayworth,

then dreamed of attainable girls awaiting their return.

Their battles came alive in urgent voices:

Walter Cronkite, Edward R. Murrow, John Cameron Swayze.

Our tongues stumbled over alien names like

Bastogne, Bataan and Tarawa.

Back home every child learned

“loose lips sink ships,” hoed victory gardens,

sacrificed their cast iron toys

to Boy Scout scrap drives and could identify

every enemy airplane pictured

in the Plane Spotter’s Manual.

Life wasn’t so much simpler then

but complications seemed more solvable.

Neighbors looked out for each other

and Americans were welded

into one great national identity

the likes of which I’d dearly love to see again!

2.

photo from beautynewsnyc.com

3.

SHATTERED DREAMS

—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

When fruits of labor prove to be bitter

Suspicion points to those who were in tow.

Did they, while seeking glory and glitter,

The seeds of hatred and resentment sow?

CHRIST IS BORN

—by Imogene Hunt

Christ is born, kneel before Him,

bless His presence in this place.

Christ is born, kneel before Him,

thank our Father for His grace…

In this stable, from this manger

Holy Light fills up the night,

Blessed Baby, Blessed Jesus

is our hope for Heaven’s sight…

Christ is born, kneel before Him,

fill your heart with Holy Love.

Blessed Jesus, Blessed Baby,

Blessed gift from God above…

Join the chorus, join the singing,

Hal-le-lu-jah, and Amen!

Christ’s Love begins its winging,

filling all the hopes of man.

4.

*This song is based on the music of the

hymn... “Christ Is Risen;” lyrics by

Imogene Hunt...sung as a solo

Christmas Eve 2013.

THOUGHTS FOR A NEW YEAR

—by Doris DiSavino

May those who mourn find comfort

in remembered joy.

May those who rejoice

be ever mindful of those who mourn.

May we hold each other closer,

love each other more dearly.

May we find room in our hearts

and at our tables for just one more.

May we create Peace in our homes

and in our lives.

Only then can we hope to celebrate it

in the World.

5.

6.

(In response to painting

#1, Town Nocturne, by

William Kocher)

BACK STREETS

—by Susan Nelson Vernon

Escaping the rush of Main Street

I slip into the alleyway.

The familiar fades for the moment

into the stillness of the dark.

The soft patter of footsteps disappears

down an unknown passage-

a fellow traveler

finding his way through the night.

In this private anonymity

the forgotten passageways

of my own dreams come alive.

A gleaming mantle of snow

diverts my attention to a pile of wood,

stacked and stored for future use,

while in the distance a hazy clock

reminds me of the hour.

Time to move on, time to move forward.

No more loitering in the background.

For too long dreams have been

stacked and stored for later.

Later is now.

7.

STAR NAME: PASTOR PAUL JONAS HENRY

Star Number: Bootes Ra 14h 22m 53s D53 49'

—by Nancy Henry Kline

Your Christmas present sparkles in the sky.

A star named in your memory today.

I saw it through a telescopic eye

in constellation Bootes, star charts say.

I know the wise men tracked another star that led them

to the birthplace of their king.

Like Artaban, I've traveled long and far.

My jewels are gone. What gift have I to bring?

Ten trillion stars set galaxies alight,

but yours the beacon that will guide me on.

Though apprehension tries to blind my sight, its trail

of stardust pilots me to dawn.

Celestial light emboldens my faint heart.

Your star, Dad, binds two souls death cannot part.

CRYSTALS*

—by William W. Vernon

Long have I labored into the night

under a microscope’s glaring light,

searching for faces that grace a form,

and finding axes they will adorn.

Images and forms appear to me

as crystals I know, with symmetry.

Some are colorful gems of note,

others lackluster in places remote.

An internal structure crystals must display

with atoms and molecules in distinct array.

Faces are parallel to these planar sheets.

Aggregates of faces are crystals complete.

Mock crystal shapes may often be found

in everyday items the world around,

like food items in boxes of varying size,

or crystal-like paintings, pleasing to eyes.

8.

*on a painting by Joan Kolker

“Homage to the imagination” #11

LIVELY STORM SHOW

—by Gail Denham

Love those tall pines,

leaning wildly toward each other,

making nice with fierce winds,

massaging their thin trunks

No holds barred;

nodding now

over smaller young saplings,

omitting nothing, training in

perfectly robust behavior,

perpetuating their dance, embracing the storm

9.

TETE-A-TETE

—by MarilynDowning

Whenever we meet face to face,

we’re like two old friends,curious

about the time elapsed, amused

by changes etched in crinkled lines

around the eyes, the tilted smile.

Sometimes the questioning begins …

How are you doing this morning?

Did you survive the loss or shame?

Do you remember that other time?

When each day brought its promises

renewing challenges and hope?

Expanding circles of family and friends.

So, if each time we meet, the circles

shrink, they gain in symmetry and

strength. You may just smile at mild

conjecturing, old friends are we, parting

from the bathroom mirror to venture

singly into the waiting day.

10.

11.

A VERY GOOD THING

—by Ann Gasser

My son's friend, Mike, has Olfactory Disfunction,

In plain words that means he can't smell.

Doctors can't say why, might be from stress

when his wife Mary took off with a Venezuelan

whom she married after the divorce. Or maybe

something changed in Mike's brain, although the scans

show nothing.

I can't imagine how sad it must be

to not smell lilacs bursting into bloom,

the clean fragrance of sun-dried sheets, or the

spicy aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls on Sunday morning.

Mike's mother was a Christian Scientist who always

found some good in everything, and I can imagine

what she would say, probably is saying as she

looks down from Heaven on her son.

He has a thirteen year old dog named Oscar

who smells like "skunk meeting rotting fish."

Vets have tried everything--even “Din-o-bite”—nothing works!

No one else could tolerate Oscar, would have given up,

but Mike can't smell him, and it's a very good thing,

'cause Oscar is the only one who loves him now

and keeps him company in that big old house,

that Pacific-size bed.

12.

EVENING SHADE

—by Katie Khan

In winter’s evening shade

the Leyland Cypress wears

a shawl of white.

The moon, almost full,

lights up the snow

and fills the night.

In Love’s cold breath

and silence rare,

my reverie becomes a prayer.

FAILING BUT NOT DERAILIING

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

We drift from handshakes and kisses,

the clock ticking away, the fire flickering,

we've run out of lines scripted for us,

listing from side to side

like a boat floundering, no longer tied to a mooring,

no longer immune to the tide.

But what do we know of Death or even Life?

In our circle of graduates of ‘55 at Reunion time,

scrolling down names and ambitions in the Year Book

no longer partitioned by trades or college dreams,

fewer and fewer gaps as we grow older.

One with stroke written all over her robotic frame

buoyed up by a husband who bears her pain,

braced to go into a straight-legged stance for picture-taking.

We hold memorials talking of their impact.

How many we saw before surgery,

remembering them when they were fancy free.

"Write a poem about being 75," our Hostess says,

so I comply.

"Seventy-five, Failing but not Derailing."

I try to instill an indomitable spirit inside.

We've come to be a dwindling resource,

more and more families linked in remorse.

How painful the intercourse between friends has become,

knowing next year, one of us might succumb.

13.

14.

A WINDOW ON WINTER

—by Maureen Applegate

Don’t say that January brings the blues

or that your view from frosted pane is bleak.

Just cast your gaze on cardinals in the yews

and hawks that called for mating all this week!

For inspiration you must look beyond

a wind that sets the tree limbs bickering.

The window with its painted feathered frond

is gateway to a world awakening.

The New Year brings the azure skies alive

as lines of geese and swans return to feed.

And see? Those rhododendron buds survive!

They hold the springtime promise that you need.

Do not lament the passing of the year

when just outside your window life draws near.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

January

2014201420142014Marie-Louise Meyers...19

Susan N. Vernon...18

15.

Marilyn Downing...20

Lynn Fetterolf...16

Ann Gasser...17

16.

JUST SUPPOSE

—by Lynn Fetterolf

Just suppose I gave you a rose

and when you smelled it

it stuck up your nose.

So I gave you some grease

to make it release

but the rose in your nose

just started to grow.

Now two months later,

wouldn’t you know

you get a bouquet

every time you blow!

17.

A PETRARCHAN SONNET TO TELL THE

SAD TALE OF MY POETIC MASTERPIECE,

CIRCA 2000

—Ann Gasser

A veil of deep gray blanketed our room;

my over-caffeinated mind still skipped

and skittered; maverick thoughts popped up and slipped

across perimeters of gloom and doom.

Some pranced and danced, some almost seemed to zoom

like midnight rockets, 'til at last I flipped

and said, "See here!" With firm resolve I gripped

the reins of runaways and tried to groom

them into words on paper in the dark.

With ball point pen I wrote while my husband snored.

This poem would be great!—My best I think!

Insomnia has perks--I'd felt the spark

of inspiration--not to be ignored.

Next morning, what a jolt! That pen had no ink!

AND ALL THAT PIZZAZZ!

—by Susan Nelson Vernon

Switch on the bright lights!

Bring up the footlights!

Tap your spiky click-clack entrance,

form flashy chorus lines of dance!

Put on your top hat and haberdashery!

Pour down all your style and flare on me!

18.

19.

PACHYDERM PINK

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

I've owned a pink pantsuit with floral design,

30 years if it's a day!

It's unique as a personal manuscript,

why I've kept it I cannot say.

Mother changed seams 'cause it never fit right,

and if one's eyes would squint or slant,

they might think that they were seeing

a human size pink elephant.

So many times I thought that I

was going to throw it out

but decided to save to wear when I

became a wee bit stout.

It began to develop those terrible pills

that no matter what one tries to do,

still cling like burrs and drive one mad

while they hang to the fabric like glue.

Last week I pulled out that pantsuit again,

(I had one of those dreary days

that left me feeling a Gloomy Gus,

thought the pink might relieve my gray haze.)

But a young matron whom I met at the "Y"

said, "I love your outfit. I think

you should wear it more often. It's really 'You,'

I would call that shade 'Pachyderm Pink!''

So today it is bundled off to Goodwill

and my closet will do without it.

No more will I think I may wear it again,

I'll be far better off without it.

CLASS RIVALRIES

—by Marilyn Downing

Picky Persnickety

Little Lord Fauntleroy

Dressed in the finest blue

Velvet and lace.

Finicky fashions bred

Animadversity

In every urchin with

Dirt on his face

20.

movie poster from doctormacro.com