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Here's where you'll find every poet and poem posted on Poetry Patchwork. The most recent issue will be posted at the top of the page.
June 2004
Arthur Yuwiler - Fred Fox - Ann Berry - Doug Dvorkin - Phil Roberts
May 2004
Ann Berry - Doug Dvorkin - Maureen Musumeci - Carol Wood
June 2004
End
by Arthur Yuwiler
Someone carved this horse of bone
Someone made this face of stone
Someone, now unknown.
Caught by someone's roving eye
Caught by love as you and I
Caught and wondered why.
We play our little games on earth
A time for love, a time for mirth
And pay with death for our birth.
Arthur is a fellow member of the San Fernando Valley Branch of California Writers Club, and he's been hiding his poetic side until now - and I'm delighted that he's decided to share it with us. Look for more of Arthur's poems in the future.
The Dime
by Fred Fox
As a boy, penny pinching
was etched into my soul.
"Though we can't afford it,"
my mother would say, "here's
a dime to spend at lunch time."
That dime could have bought
a banana split.
A nickel could have bought
an ice cream frappe.
My mouth still waters at the thought.
After school I returned that dime.
"You are a good boy,"
she would say to me.
This charade was repeated daily.
It made me feel virtuous, proud - then.
Previously published in Fred's 1998 book,
"Kaleidoscope - The many facets of an Octogenarian."
Writing is actually Fred's third life; his first was playing Solo French Horn with Symphony Orchestras and a studio orchestra, and the second was as a faculty member of several L.A. Universities. He has had his poetry published in RATTLE. Poetry, he says, is an adventure to face every day. Look for more of Fred to come!
Hell
by Ann Berry
It hangs around
Somewhere out there...
A giant grey-misted fog
Waiting,
threatening,
expanding.
Hair raised,
ears pricked,
I pace and whine,
cower and hide.
The darkness continues
its steady approach
using backroads
I don't know.
It enters through
defenseless
secret chambers
weighty,
death-gorged,
it teases me
(ants on a staked dog.)
Foul odors flush the back of my neck.
Jackhammers rip!
Open a rhythmic heart.
I'll surrender
for a while...........................Hell is Here!
We're lucky enough to have another of Ann's rare poems again this month. Look in the May issue on the Archives page for another of Ann's poems, "The Circle."
Quick Images on an April Morning
by Doug Dvorkin
if the machine should fall dead
bury it on sight
my hand yearns to speak with prison
obsessed with fire
it is a hand of fire/hand of 'this busy monster mankind'
where foot bound prisoners
walk the desperate streets
contemplating the sun
friend, foe, or brute
the loners the losers the quick
of hand
in all fairness
the lepers too dreamt of messiah
salvation at what cost
we're full of dying empires
cheap dying empires and lethargic sunlight
searching for ghosts in the 'machinery of night'
I saw the greatest mind of my generation
leave his eyes on the road
his voice in the trees
Spent a summer on rooftops
dreaming of skulls
and watching traffic
eat itself off
the freeways face/fighting with my face
as the summer sun sent
dark waves of laughter thru my flesh
Doug's poetry is again shared with us by his father, Ron Dvorkin, who hosts Poetry Readings in his son's memory. Doug's poem, "Beerstains on the Mad World" was posted in the May issue, and can be found on the Archives page.
CONTEST THEME:
A Time To Remember Fathers Day
By Phil Roberts
When I was a little boy I never knew what to expect
Now I look back and realize why I get so much respect
Once a son, then a husband, father, grandfather and soon a great grandfather
Why is it that this journey of life was kept a secret to me by my father?
Perhaps he feared if I knew too much I wouldnt give it a try
There are lots of questions to which I ask why
In any case with all the trials and tribulations and ups and downs
One thing is apparent LOVE has kept me smiling with few frowns
Being a son with a father to look up to brought lots of joy
And then a husband which gave me a wife to enjoy
Then becoming a father gave me lots of responsibility
And a chance to really show off my ability
Becoming a grandfather brought a new perspective on life
With little ones around there are special moments for me and my wife
So on Fathers Day I will give thanks to God for all he has bestowed on me
My wife, children, and grandchildren who make up my family tree
A poem for Father's Day by my brother, which he shared; not an entry.
May 2004
The Circle
by Ann Berry (A Mother)
Mothers of the world:
Deliver your infants with
love's service in mind.
Give the gift of forgiving hearts
To all the children.
Use the power of a lullaby.
A child can sing a different tune,
Heal old wounds,
Renew a fading heart.
Children of the world:
Parade your toy soldiers
without any guns.
Embrace a laugh, hold it high.
Pass joy in a circle, share it with
all who come by.
Citizens of the world:
Pray for wisdom in your
church, synagogue, or mosque.
Exile retribution.
Banish bloodshed.
Comfort your grieving enemy.
Youth of the world:
Lead your parents; cry in their ears.
Beg for peace!
Save your parents from pain and grief.
Save all children from a tradition of revenge.
Bury the burden of hate.
(2004)
Ann's writing history includes an award in the short non-fiction category from the Texas Manuscriptors Guild, a children's musical, staged monologues and various poems. She is also an actor and director.
Beerstains on the Mad World
by Doug Dvorkin
I must have written
a hundred poems about her
beerstained and torn to shreds
I doubt however that she can
quote a single line
she blissfully avoids my reflection
is perturbed by my snoring
and pokes a long finger
in my blunt belly
when she enters the room
“you’re always leaving a mess,”
she says
“and when I walk in you run
out of the room and play with
the cat. “I’m not your mother,” she says
“.....and what would you like for lunch?”
Doug began writing poetry at fifteen, and later took a course in writing at Vista Community College in Berkeley. He died at age twenty from a drug overdose, never seeing his daughter born one month later on what would have been his 21st birthday. In Doug's memory, his father, Ron Dvorkin, hosts a monthly poetry reading at the Barnes and Noble in Encino, where he shares his son's work.
Breath of Sun
by Maureen Musumeci and Carol Wood
In the gold that is the sunset
Say goodbye at last to day
Breathe the promise of tomorrow
Breath of sun
Over mountain top and tree
Glide twixt sky and earth and me
Bathing earth with golden glow
Share silent beauty
With all below
Maureen Musumeci says "I had so many 'adventures' as a child. I was the star of my own made up universe.' Sherecently returned to one of her first loves - writing - and we're lucky she did! She's hard at work on her first suspense novel, and you will find her stories in the "columns" section at www.hazelst.com
Carol Wood divides her time, and then she dices it, and then she sticks it in a blender and juices it. Besides being a poet and photographer, she is a webmaster, editor, printer, graphic designer, speaker and writer. You can find her work on www.hazelst.com
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