God
By Ilse Kramer
You are my raindrop
You are my summer cloud
You are the glimmer of dew
You are a tear of joy
You are the dust in my road
Ty are my fast fading dream
You are a page in my journal
You are my question and answer
You are the word
You are the silence
You are the seed of life everlasting
You are the moon and the sun and Orion
You are the hand which sings
As it holds my hand
The Orchestra of Summer
By Ilse Kramer
Come don’t be moody, lovely June
Just listen to the flowers
Each is an instrument
Part of the orchestra of summer.
The could have wings
The trees like risen skeletons
Have come alive
Like Lazarus
The children chirp like birds
The clouds have wings
Come fly with us
The clouds are calling.
My Beach
By Ilse Kramer
Can you hear my voice?
Can you hear the cry of the gull?
Can you hear the tune of the wind?
Can you hear the sound of the sea?
My shoulders are burnt,
Almost the color of rare
Red pieces of sea glass
Found by me in the sand.
The sun has reached
The highest point
So have I.
It is noon, and even the sand is hot
The ice in my has drink
Has dissolved
A child’s yellow ball
Is carried along by the waves.… [Read More]
By Liam Newberry
You hear everyday
Of those who give up,
Living their lives like
Mediocre shmucks
Contributing nothing
And leaving behind
Nothing but a faded
Husk with no mind
These people, they make up
The population of cities,
Villages, towns,
Boards and committees.
Lifeless souls on a quest with no end
Working towards something
To which their arms can’t extend.
They wander, listless,
A hopeless parade
Pretending their lives
Are more than charade.
But some, some have lived,
As God intended,
Forming their lives
Beyond the pretended.… [Read More]
by May Cornelia Grant
Haiku: 17 syllables
traditional Japanese format
crafted October 11, 2017:
at Central Congregational Church Lecture Series Kickoff
By Barry Bayon
Passengers come and go,
Bags and parcels in tow.
Music through station loudspeakers soothes,
Only to be interrupted by announcement of train news.
“Attention please: Train # 1837, the 4:15 arriving from Boston making stops
in Kingston, Old Saybrook, New Haven, Bridgeport, Stamford, Greenwich”.
The announcer voice trails off only to come back on.
“Thank you for choosing Amtrack” and the voice was gone.
People waiting on benches work their smart phones,
While others are drinking or eating alone.
Riders scan the train information displays
For the latest communiques.… [Read More]
By Barry Bayon
Station gleaming,
Platform teeming,
Riders streaming,
Train bell ringing.
Brakes bleeding,
Train proceeding,
Speed increasing,
Sights fleeting.
Passengers texting
Conductor ticketing
Children fidgeting
Scenery soliciting
Train slowing,
Station approaching,
Bags collecting,
Passengers expecting.
Brakes screeching.
Destination reaching.
Passengers meeting,
Friends greeting.
(inspired by the sculpture by Robin Kolb entitled “Patience”)
By Barry Bayon
I look out into the street
from my window.
It is late and the city is asleep,
the cars parked, the sirens silent.
It is my favorite time, my quiet time.
It is a time when I can gather my thoughts,
separate my memories and my plans,
restore my body and my soul.
I share this city,
as I share this dwelling space, with strangers.
We approach each day with hope
for a better life, a better world.… [Read More]
(inspired by a 1930 painting by Edward Hopper)
By Barry Bayon
Long shadows play across the sidewalk this early morning.
The street is deserted, the shops are shut.
The reddish granite buildings with the green storefronts,
Are silent as if asleep.
No one is waiting to get in,
Except for a hopeful cat.
No hair will be cut today,
And the barber’s pole will not turn.
Soon the newspaper store will open,
And people will buy their paper
Fat with comics, advertisements,
And stories of baseball heroes.
A block away the cafe is already serving,
And people will sip coffee and
Rustle their newspapers,
And comment on the state of the economy.… [Read More]
The JourneyBy May Grant
We start a journey joined in image.
Do you sense me, strong,
behind you?
The camera captures one still icon.
Can you dance with me
beside you?
Veiled by you yet visible alone,
do you grasp how I
enshroud you?
Hands paired, hopes matched,
do you see your heart
inside me?
© 2015 May Cornelia Grant
May Cornelia Grant has been writing all her life, non-professionally. Her articles have appeared in numerous small magazines and newspapers.
