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| The Touchstone Poets |
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| Granddaughter Drawing a Portrait With a black crayon she sketches inside a circle two small slanted bars for eyes, two dots portraying the nose the half moon of a smile. Minutes after gets up from the carpet where she lies belly down - five year old climbing the sofa to touch my hair. Back to her masterpiece scribbles a few S's at the top of the circle, joins it to a triangle. The tip of her tongue sticks out as she adds to the picture long straight lines. She calls these: arms, legs. Nothing moves in the room except the artist who continues to work intently looking down, from time to time, at the drawing, then up at me: "Stay still Gram." ~Tina Costa Eddie The Eagle The one-man team with friendly, boyish grin epitomized Olympic spirit's flame. His quest to ski and jump, not just to win, enamored all the world and brought him fame. No special trainer strived to mold his style, no custom helmet crowned his make-do suit. No snowy slopes adorn his British Isle, no obstacle discouraged his pursuit. He is the best among his countrymen when jumping on his skis from lofty heights. He earned the title World Class Citizen inspiring us to dream of daring flights. With modesty and courage in his heart, success was his, achieved by taking part. ~Virginia Frey Square Sonnet with Epigraph and Epilogue "Beauty is revealed as momentary coincidence." -- Danzr Von-Thai Prithee, Why Am I writing this if not scared to death to write because the news about the war and plague is so fast-breaking that it must be heard all the time to know what to do to save your life and maybe your loved ones that to write this is not just suicidal but tantamount to treason punishable by firing squad; however, in the end it is more beautiful than yonder flag waving or the last smile from thy grandchild. ~R.U. Outavit |
| Pronounthement A poem should be "pithy," he lithped. ~David Killam An Ill Wind of Winter He looked at me, those vacant watered eyes. Escape that gaze? impossible to do. It was as if I was the one, he knew, Would stay my step, my hand extend his prize. My thoughts were weighted, was this kindness wise? These coins would buy cheap wine, I knew that too. But he was once a member of the crew, A seaman then and always, till he dies. "My luck is down, my ship has left me here. Lord bless you mate. I sailed in better times. I'm aged now, in you my youth I see." I bade him well. My ship is at the pier. I'll leave this winter's chill for warmer climes. Time races time. Might that poor soul be me? ~Richard Perkins Cacophony in Praise of Frozen Bread city pigeons cold pigeons covered the sidewalk in a communion of eating they flew swung up like one big feather between begging echoes of a tired tin cup to ceremoniously land claw to claw beak to beak adorning the storefront ledge kitty-cornered on the street beak to beak, then claw to claw their wings release them dodging trucks and infant strollers until they land and feed again one white-winged dances above their feast to the music of leaves and the rhythm of feet ~Kasara |