Walking to the car
in the Cancer Center parking garage,
basking in the glow of a positive scan result,
they pass a little old lady
who wanted to talk.
Her emotional story
about her daughter’s recent death
and her new responsibility to raise her granddaughter,
living in subsidized housing,
lacking the money
to purchase the granddaughter’s medication
or provide dinner that evening,
crying convincingly,
and answering their questions,
they reached for their wallets.
 
Eighty-five dollars later,
they walked away
as the old lady blessed them in Jesus’ name,
a hundred times, if once.
 
They felt good about helping
for a few seconds
until they began wondering if they were scammed.
 
They debated all the way home,
alternately feeling good then dumb,
finally deciding it is better
to be trusting
than doubting,
and concluded that in either case,
she needed help
and they gave it.
 
The discussion ended
with no clear understanding of where the truth lay,
but accepting of the outcome,
believing that it is better to trust than to doubt,
sharing their good fortune that day
With one who needed it as much as they did.

4/4 time —> tetrameter structure
Contemplative first lines as suggested by opening and repeated music
phrases, stanzas addressing climate change, with positive memory/message
reflecting latter music phrases.
HB arranged intro before A, and dramatic gliss before C.
When I meditate in scented space, [after intro added before
A]
polluted air nowhere near,
memories of yesteryear
return and pervade every dream.
When I see the melting icecaps [at B before harps]
and rising sea levels cover
lands we once cherished as our homes,
our courage will find us shelter.
When I think what may come to pass
from tearing typhoons, hurricanes, [at C after dramatic
Iguazu gliss and before harps]
I treasure gentle rainfall calling [at D accompanying harps]
me in from childhood gardens.
When I think what may come to be
from fearsome, fierce forest fires, [at C after dramatic Iguazu
gliss and before harps]
I warm to remembering cool calm,
perhaps under a peepul tree. [at D accompanying harps]
When I see polar bears cling frantic
to cracking Arctic ice floes,
I dream of Monarch butterflies,
migration and safe hibernation. [at E before harps]

When both we and the world circle endlessly, [at F before
harps]
we must then share all that we have,
to restore a contented, humane
civilisation on earth.

__________________________________________________________
​Jane is a retired physician (Cardiologist), writing poetry about the natural, and reflective of her holistic approach to practice. Published in Consilience with poetry communicating science, she has enjoyed the cross-genre challenge of writing to interlace with harp music, and performance with recitation for charity.

                                           

that one autumn--
that cruel come-early autumn when
the river became our enemy and
leaves went straight to brown--
the valley itself was in mourning,
weeping for promises broken


stillborn crop bargello,
sinister as snakeskin,
coarse as corn mash,
sloughing off windswept hills,
submerging vain hope,
choking even pestilent vetch
into whimpers


that one autumn
eviscerated spirits:
nascent folioles fell too soon,
returning to the vacuum of sodden earth
in slime-laden dun cadenzas


(it was said that an acre died
for every fruitless tear
consumed by the merciless torrent)


that one autumn –
a deluge, deaf to prayers:
when the rain and the rage subsided,
we harvested stone …




_________________________________________________________________
Rich Follett, the Poet Laureate of Strasburg, VA, has authored Responsorials (with Constance Stadler, 2009), Silence, Inhabited (2011), Human &c. (2013), and Geminations (with Constance Stadler, 2023) through NeoPoesis Press, and Photo-Ku (2016) through NightWing Publications. Rich is featured in the ODU Virginia Poets Database at 
https://digitalcommons.odu.edu/virginiapoets.
Information and publications at www.richfollett.com 

Canal water rushes across a terrain,
burrows through towns.
This hurricane hurries colliding clouds.
Something unseen howls.
Each life lost, be it palm tree or human,
has been hounded by a hullaballoo of wind
or a commotion of waves
or a building gone lunatic,
its planks, its lose material
tossed, skied in a hurly-burly.
Dumbfounded animals huddle
in a hell of waiting
for the booms to cease,
for far-away normalcy to find its way
back to the utopia that was.
Electric poles are shocked.
Rumbles rumble below earth crust,
under the density of what has crashed,
beneath the weight of the tragic.
Lashes of rain whip from the sky,
a sky that hovers, invisible,
and has become one gargantuan cloud,
a bruised sky that is far, far from celestial.
 
 
 ________________________________________________________________
Austin Alexis is the author of Privacy Issues (Broadside Lotus Press) and two chapbooks from Poets Wear Prada Press. His work has appeared in Rattle, Lips, Dash, Poets 4 Paris (Local Gems Press) and elsewhere.

The lighthouse stands on jagged shore,
Its beam a finger through the night.
Salt-laden winds around it roar.


Inside, the keeper tends the light,
His calloused hands on polished brass.
The lantern turns, a constant sight.


Below, the waves crash and amass,
Their foamy fingers claw the stone.
How many ships have come to pass?


He winds the clockwork, hears it groan,
A rhythmic pulse that marks the hours.
Up here, he’s terribly alone.


The night stretches, the darkness towers.
He wonders of the lives out there,
Guided by these borrowed powers.


Does his light truly pierce despair?
Or is it just a feeble spark
Against the vast, uncaring air?


The keeper climbs down stairs so dark,
To check the stores of oil and wick.
Each step, a duty to remark.


Time moves slow, yet all too quick.
Dawn will come, then dusk again,
An endless cycle, sure and slick.


What purpose in this vigil then?
To stand against the void so black,
A human will against nature’s den?


He ascends, takes his usual track,
To watch the light sweep across the sea.
Perhaps some ship will signal back,


A fleeting connection, wild and free.
But likely not. The night wears on,
And he remains, just him and he,


In lighthouse tall, where he belongs,
A simple note in time’s long song.


________________________________________

Rowan Duncan (b. 1977) is an American writer from West Texas. His writing explores themes like Nature, Existentialism, and the darker aspects of the human mind.

Stay strong
Storms will pass
Destruction will clear.
Hold on to the promise. 
A sun rises each day
Sometimes hidden by clouds
But soon light breaks through
And hope  arises. 
Remain undefeated always
Storms pass, victory is near.
There is no failure when hope prevails.
Stay undefeated, stay strong.


_________________________________________________________________
Mary Ellen South is a retired educator who also had an entrepreneurial career. As a young widow, she found respite from her sorrow by sharing the written word. She has been writing poetry for more than sixty years; her works have been published in a variety of media. She is a member of both the Rehoboth Beach Writers Guild and the Maryland Writers’ Association, and now resides in Maryland where she was born and raised.

The storm has passed.
Clouds still hover,
but a rainbow spans the horizon
shining hope on tomorrow.
 
The test results are positive.
Prayers and positive thoughts
have worked this time.
 
The roadway is cleared.
The accident caused no casualties,
but there are roadblocks up ahead.
 
The shooting hit too close to home.
Your fear is your enemy.
Caution guides you forward.
 
The game is over.
Your loss is your win.
No one lives without being challenged.
Strife engenders strength.
 
Sip your sorrow.
Drown your pain.
The storm is over,
but it will come again.


________________________________________________________________
Debbie De Louise, a retired reference librarian, writes two cozy mystery series. She's also written standalone novels and a book of cat poetry. as well as stories, and poems that appear in over a dozen anthologies. Debbie recently moved from Long Island to South Carolina where she lives with her husband, daughter, and two cats. Learn more about Debbie and her books by visiting her website at https://debbiedelouise.com

There’s five miles 
Left In the day 
We’ve got time he’d say 
I never saw it that way 
As I watched the hours fade 
​

Troubles two miles out I’d shout 
The winds kicked up 
The sun won’t shine sky is grey 
We’ve a couple hours time 
He’d say 


It’s upon us Now on us 
Carnage Death 
Where’s the rest I’m afraid 
We’ve little time he’d say 


The day is gone 
Nothing’s left 
Prone prostrate alone he’d lay 
Tomorrow’s here to stay he’d say 

_________________________________________________________________
John Jay Tucker- Born/raised in Far Rockaway Queens NY and Baldwin L.I.  A graduate of St. Agnes Cathedral H.S. Rockville Centre NY A grandfather who enjoys being a sub teacher at Lawrence Woodmere Academy, attending poetry events and is published in Bards anthologies, Nassau County Voices and Performance Poets Association Literary Reviews. 

On the cusp of the tempest
Fear rises with the waves
A furious vortex of nature
Raging across roiling waters
Utter destruction and desperation left in its wake
Soon the harrowing storm subsides
Deadly waters slowly recede
The sun invariably rises once more
Amid the chaos, a cadre of kind hearts and helping hands
Countless acts of love and compassion
Bringing hope and faith
Reassurance that all things can and must be endured
A time to rebuild is at hand
God never abandons his people.
 
 
_________________________________________________________________
John M. Doherty is a retired deputy sheriff. He lives at the beach with his wife in West Fenwick, DE. His work has been featured in a number of Local Gems anthologies, and a self-published novella Darlene and the Deputy is available on Amazon Kindle.