yellow bushes and
daffodils
yellow bushes and
daffodills
spring air and bird
yes
birds
I dare mention birds to you cynics
birds singing
and spring
We made it through another drab
hungry little globally warmed winter of
solitude.
Spring rises eternally with new hope
***
Resident Poets
45 and Alive Poem by Andy Derryberry
45 and alive
45 and alive
too young to stop
too old to worry
45 and alive
can still be angry
just not all the time
45 and alive
got places to go
know where I”ve been
45 and alive
still finding who I am
know a lot about me
45 and alive
can do a lot
have done a lot
45 and alive
know happy and sad
had plenty of both
45 and alive
like to compete
in competition with none
45 and alive
miss the yesterdays
can”t wait for tomorrows
***
My Friends are Dead Poem by Andy Derryberry
My Friends are Dead
My friends are dead
The ones that are breathing
Have the dull glazed eye
Of a run over skunk
My friends are dead
There’s a lot of talk
But nothing’s said
And nothing’s heard
My friends are dead
Beaten down so flat
That they’ve become
Part of the pavement
My friends are dead
Before their time
From maladies
Of their own making
My friends are dead
Hardly shadows anymore
Of what they once were
A dwindling memory
My friends are dead
From self-inflicted
Wounds and not
The malice of enemies
My friends are dead
Because living got
To be so terribly
Terribly hard
My friends are dead
Because all the stuff
Wasn’t an answer
Just a big pile of crap
My friends are dead
Because too much thinking
Is a kind of sickness
A masquerading disease
My friends are dead
Bugs on the windshield
Of the speeding
SUV of life
My friends are dead
The songs are still there
But they can’t sing
Anymore at all
My friends are dead
I’ve heard it all before
Over and over
Again and again
My friends are dead
Piles of rocks
Pounded to pieces
By unknown hammers
My friends are dead
My friends are dead
My friends are dead
My friends are dead
My friends are dead
Echoes in the cavern
Of my head telling me
It”s lonely in here
***
Grass Poem by David Michael Jackson
water flows over rocks
bubbles from stone to stone
there is no stopping it as it flows slowly past me like the winds
yes the winds whisper
whisper softly
for me and the grasses sway for me
they are calling to you
this war
this war
this war
can you hear them calling
these grasses they grow
they grow silently swaying over our heros
this war
this war
this war
this poem
this poem
this poem
brushes of color
can you see it?
can you hear the grasses swaying for you
can you?
***