Poetry

Haiku
by Gerald Starlight, Roosevelt Island

Autumnal passage
Of the yellow leaves in flight
Return to silence.

Stirrings
by Maureen h Spisak, Huntington Station

Was it the melody of the
morning birdsong
floating on the fringes of my dream
forcing me awake, though
my body yearned to sleep?
Through slitted eyes a picture rose
from the gray fog of my mind.
I could see the blue pink sky
splitting open
spilling out the new day’s light.
As the birds’ hymn began to die
a memory of another time,
another sky,
slipped across my wakening mind.
The horizon’s rim, bleeding red
the morning I learned
my mother was dead.

Did You Really Know Cowboys?
Kathleen Picarelli, Bay Shore

In a room full of couples
she shared stories of a life
once rich and extraordinary
filled with travel and people,
fascinating and new.
Wide-eyed and exhilarated
they were stunned by her
experiences
and wanted to know more
about a life they could have had.
Instead, they took the safe route–
stayed close to home, married,
and raised families,
while she sailed from one port
to the next
navigating life like a ship
lost at sea,
drifting endlessly, until she
completely lost her bearings.
Even still, anchoring never seemed
to be an option.
Unaware of the price one pays
for chasing dreams and
imagined beauty,
they probe for more details:
"What was it like to live here and
there, this way and that?
Did you really know cowboys and
men with more than one wife?"
"Oh but I did," she replied.
Loving the attention, she dared not
disappoint.
"I knew wranglers, Native people,
and many others
who loved the land.
Artists and adventurers,
Mormon ranchers even.
Restless souls who lived hard
and deep
never settling for what came easily.
I even had ice cream with a
tribal chief once."
Feeling exalted, she regaled them
with one story after another:
of river trips through
rugged canyons
and mountain meadow hikes;
of colorful Native dances in
ruins of the ancients,
horseback rides on windswept
mesas,
and quiet hamlets tucked away
in treasured landscapes,
where she experienced the serenity
of small town life.
The couples leaned even closer
so they wouldn’t miss a word.
With wistful eyes you could see
how they wished
even one story was their own.
When the gathering came to an end
she grabbed her bag and wrapped a
lone brownie to eat at home
late at night when she should
be sleeping.
She became aware she was the only
one leaving the party alone.
She realized sadly, that perhaps
after all
one story would have sufficed.

Bury Me
by Gloria g Murray, Deer Park

BURY ME
with poems
so when all that is left are bones
words will cover me
like sheets
over a sleeping body

Poetry
by Alison Jolicoeur, NYC

Who am I without these things
Without the losses and the gains?
I exist beyond this place
Beyond the pleasure and the pain.

How can you define
That which has no name?
I am the eternal fire
The inextinguishable flame.

All these things, they limit me
And fill me with desire.
It must be time to take a leap
And lift my spirit higher!