Skyline Winter Poetry Bash

"Runner Up" Awards in Skyline Poetry Contest!

 

 

 

FAST FORWARD

by Pam MacBean

 

Wind biting my cheeks,
tossing, tangling my hair
as I walk fast forward
through October's ending
of crunchy carpets of brown,
whining branches praying
to a cold pistol-whipped gray sky.
Tiny ice spheres start to
pack the meadow
like bouncing styrofoam balls.
A dusty road varnished smooth.
Our flock of puffed sheep
hop away to cuddle in
sweet hay in dark refuge
of slanted barn.
I turn toward fire,
wool afghan crocheted with love,
the meeting of warm flesh to flesh.

 


 

CHASING WINDS

by Edward Motketsan

 

Ancient keeper of fate

traverses a serendipitous world

half a life pursuing

struggle without a glimpse

Destinies discovered and vanquished

he moves unpredictably

the chase for the next munificence

guided by changing winds

perhaps it is he who is following me

and I only need to pause.

 


 

ABOUT THE DOVE

by Micki Peluso

 

I've written much about Noelle

Shamelessly bared my very soul

Epodes of sorrow, epoch in Hell

Each one a grievous episode . . .

    But I forgot to tell you about the dove

 

Abyysmal pain her leaving caused

With searing hurt and nights insane

A man oblivious to laws

A driving drunk, a country lane . . .

    But I must tell  you about the dove

 

My son it was, I think, that day

While walking home from work

Perchanced to see it as it lay

And stooped to pick it up . . .

    Within his hands, a sculptured dove

 

It was the day I chose her stone

Inscribing it with all my love

The granite, stately, stood alone

It's face imprinted with a dove . . .

    Holding a rose dripping a tear

 

My son walked slowly up the road

With wonder written on his face

And mutely handed me a rose 

Exactly like the one I'd placed . . .

Upon the tombstone of her grave

 


 

MUSKRAT MINK

by

Barbara Lois Fullard


It's highly idiotic
and ludicrous to think
I'd venture to a pawnshop
to buy a muskrat mink.
Brown amber was it's color,
a rustic rodent link
enwrapped me one cold winter
on rainy days did stink.

In the mid 1960's
when shabby was so chic
old-fashioned, worn, plain, vintage,
antique, refined I'd seek.
With lining, copper satin,
mock royalty, not meek
I donned sophistication
with clothes that were unique.

Well dressed among the snobbish
professionals and peers,
chinchilla, fox, and sable,
crowned porcelain veneers,
muskrat among the high brow
got no applause or cheers.
I held my head erect,
walking passed the snubs and sneers.

At parties I would venture
in chiffon flowing dress
with plastic "Cinderella" shoes
I was hot. I confess.
To save on transportation
I rode the late express
The subway was quite empty
I felt no sharp distress.

For comforting me always
where on the train I sat
snug tightly on my collar
without a matching hat
I proudly wore that warm coat,
not ermine. What is that?
Wrapped ' round my party dress was
the mink I called muskrat
.

 

 

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