April was National
Poetry Month, and for 2009 the Osterhout celebrated with a series of poetry
readings.
POEMS
BY LOCAL AUTHORS
(Click on name to jump to that poet’s work)
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Crushing prime young talent
valiant though forth rushing
Unequaled to assailing mob
mobility languorously careening unevenly
Exemplar of antiquity-Pericles-after all
after the fall-golden age-golden locks-all examples
Varnished golden age put to spear
Speares skimpy allotment MTV varnished
Woozy-waddle-wriggle-wiggle wobble
blighted by the glitz writhing anguish
Talent doltish strumpeting in baneful sight
shortsighted gull duped by capricious bent
Titillating humiliating lassitude asunder
blunder thunder through cultural addling
Tactless reasoning-alarm provoking of perverted gain
gainsay necessitating evolution to benevolent tact
Entertainment to enjoyment sake ebullient
ambient gracious essence triumphant…
Beethoven’s Fifth resonates-BOOMING
Mephistopheles flees-we rejoicing
Understanding and peace sovereign
By George Below
Othello’s Blemish
A Rose on hand sublime comfort assured
When pluck’d, the Promethean flame extinguished
The vital unity forever untied unsecured
Once in high esteem, now humiliated undistinguished
The hands once in high regard
The hands her honor to forfend
The hands stifle truth to discard
Stumbling hands fail virtue to defend
A vile malignance the cause
That smothered love’s embrace with a Judas kiss
Oh gullible dolt, you show no pause
But march to depart into the screwed abyss
By George Below
Why
The cause
That binds hope
Faith now in need
The sorrows come in full
Because vile times are at hand
For greed abounds to money woes
When the banks do_lie with the govt.
Then the time is to worry for freedom’s sake
More jobs’ and 401-K’s shrink to loss
A sign is AIG with influx and bonus
Anguish and anxiety on the rise
A revolt to the politic
The only fit way
Too vigil
Now
Cheerful in life as a genial rejoicing soul
Peace be still the soul to revivification
Affection of the heart thrives heated
Cupid’s arrow pierces passions
Feel_loves ardent flushing
Yearning ardor endows
Permeating fervor
LOVE
Penetrating sight
Too benevolent riddles
Signals_loves flame afire
The heart beats heated aflame
Simmering to a boil loves embrace
From affliction to loves astringent kiss
Gleeful to love and too be loved glowing
By George Below
Choose
From onset knocking at deaths door
Machinations of the mind contort
Clouded vision prevails unfettered
Van Gogh intrigues yellow and blue
starry starry night; starry starry night
Beethoven thunders across the heavens
Da Da Da Daaa…Da Da Da Daaa…
All is Relative…All is Relative…
Blood coursing at the speed of light
The dreadful adventure hastens---
Pessimist Optimist both
stabs at freedom sweet and sour
stress, strife, and struggle are the storms to survive
Each ecstatic moment explodes
Choice: surrender or surmount
Consent to the sinking abyssal malaise
Course the fetored Stygian darkened shore
Mayhem, like rising waters envelop
Murmur the sound unbearable
Aloof sea of multitude turns deaf ear
A Mighty Fortress is our Salv_
Cast aside serfdoms chains assured
Confidently tread in the Waters of Life
Resolutely touch the Face Divine Triumphant
Kiss_Kiss_Kiss_the Fervid BREATH EBULLIENT
By George Below
Mouse’s Ear
Aroused from a splendid slumber
Arise reveries reality beholden
Another year passed-now fifty-six
Awake the pending thrill & sorrow transfix
My soul all a flutter
To young to surrender
To old to aspire
Out the door with my Dream
And all in a titter
With scarcely a twitter
Scarcely a stir of air
The morn Sun uncovers
Oh true blue majesty
That rivals the still azure sky
Yellow heart inviting
Space and Time muted
Clothed in abysm
Oh still Universe of infinite jest
In an instant unity quenches
Oh so resplendent
Forget-me-not sublime
Unsullied heavenly flower
Transforms my unsteady gaze
Nub that consumes malaise
Cast into the eternal stars
Hear the Angels sing the Constant Hymn
The sound stability to my limbs
With steadiness in my voice
And surety to my soul
In this very moment
Love abiding I pray on a mouse’s ear
By George Below
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Society's serpent suckles Sylvia's suicidal saturations
And purges them onto a poetry platter
These parallel lines do not flatter
Half a lifetime ago the she-poet was locked in the zoo
Placed there for people with nothing better to do
But watch the serpentine suckling get his fill
On fertile feminine fragrances still
Nourish the natural right
Suckle the sweetness
But do not bite
This is a time when all can dine
You can get yours and I can get mine
In all my female splendor
Call me liberated,
Don't call me a whore
I leak sex with the pen
Though it comes from my mind
Be amazed as you watch the serpent unwind.
By Rachael J. Goetzke
orange fruits are sweet
The moon mocks me
Its sinister smile
Echoes off the blood orange ocean that
Brands my toes
With the truth of
emptiness
Will I whisper words of wisdom to my womb
while I brand the page with my somethingness
Because everyone wants to be something in the silence...
If the moon were an orange I'd eat it to stop the shouting of the stars.
By Rachael J. Goetzke
Writer's Anonymous
The amber-colored honey
Slays the tongue and shames the body
And oozes truth, a breaking dam of
Elixir that turns wallflowers into sunflowers and ghosts into heroes
I drink your words in deep like the drawing of the tides
Taking it in, taking it all
I exhale my ships of thought onto the rippling surge
Setting them free
To spill the sweet nectar on the salty shoreline
Get drunk forever on the honey of the mouth...
...then ask for a refill.
By Rachael J. Goetzke
Autumn Requiem
Silence deafened the day
The leaves danced to the ground--
Kamikaze pilots in a perishing pirouette
Dive and plie among the trees The gentle breeze
Sang a song for you
My childhood friend slipped her hand in mine
The warm colored my hand with comfort
As the fading day drained the color from your once green eyes
The single rose shattered the silence as I set it on your cedar bed
And the benevolent moon strolled up on the scene to bid the fallen leaf goodnight.
By Rachael J. Goetzke
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in Northeastern PA
Try to describe us; we're the people in the "Valley with a Heart."
The title suits us to a "tee."
In our community, Luzerne County, we share and play our part.
It all begins with neighbors who get along so well.
When you love your neighbor, like yourself, it's an easy story to tell.
We learned to care and help each other in the "Flood of '72";
With common agendas and pains, despite our status, it made our feelings
So brand new.
As time went by our pain grew less;
With help from neighboring states and prayers, we overcame the mess.
As we now look back and remember it all;
The love in sharing our common pain made us stand strong and tall.
Somehow, these feelings seem to last;
Even though our world is moving very fast.
I know the past we'll never forget;
And all the great friends through our disaster we met.
I know faith in God pulled us through;
When we were disheartened and very blue.
I wish the world could be like our valley;
Then we'd have peace and love and not a war in which to rally.
As we prayed for our valley, let us pray for our world;
Then into a war with no cause, we will not be hurled.
(Written 2/27/2003)
By Janet Hyatt
We Remember Our Heroes
Each Memorial Day we honor and salute the brave;
We can’t forget it was for us their lives they gave.
Their love for their country and freedom for all;
Makes us humble and thankful and on our knees fall.
With prayers of thanks, for the lives they gave;
Out of love and respect, we attend many a grave.
We’re proud to be Americans because of the late friends;
We proudly salute them and make our amends.
Oh, to be so brave, for your country to die;
It makes my heart breathe a sigh and I begin to cry.
I can’t help but compare this great love
To that of our God, high above.
God loved the world so much, that he gave his son’s life;
He did this for us, so we could have eternal life.
Just like we celebrate Memorial Day;
We celebrate Easter in the very same way.
It’s all about great love and the sacrifice for it;
I just love the concept, I simply adore it.
These honored dead have not died in vain;
We al enjoy peace and great lives, because of their pain.
By Janet Hyatt
05/24/03
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It lives
Thorns nipping at my palm
I need not question what it is
Its velvety arms reach high above its head,
Twirling in the rays of high noon sunlight, inaudible, yet aloud
Whilst I twirl its neck between my fingers, I think of my one true love
Her crystal eyes, her crimson lips, her auburn hair gleaming in the sun
My heart leaps, my throat goes dry, my eyes narrow as I stare into the sky.
Its sweet aroma brings me back to Earth, tearing me from my trance
I raise it to my face and let it tickle at my nose
The fragrance is so familiar, from nights spent in bed
My sweet nothing curled up beside me, her perfume filling my senses
Leaving me in a binding spell, entranced yet full
Of life
_R_
_O_
_S_
_E_
Her name is Rose, this is a rose
I hold it in my hand, or it holds me instead
Visions of baby’s breath and a shoe full of rice rich within my mind.
Petals of the sweetest flower strewn across the aisle
Whispering silence fills the garden which I have made my own
The rose gives me reassurance as I look up at my bride
Rose, Rose, my love for a rose
Is what I say, handing the symbol of love to my love
And then come the words that are meant for my Rose
Simply I DO
By Justin Jones
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I'd left the door unlatched for Little Red
when suddenly it was something
about eyes, ears and teeth.
He didn't even chew, jaw unhinged,
hot breath beating on my neck,
leaning over me like an open oven.
His stomach is like a cave,
dank and dripping with the
substances that will devour me.
I think I left my glasses on the
night table. His heart beats above me
like a knock on the door --
it is a knock on the door!
I could feel him burp and
Adjust his pregnant belly.
Oh, Little Red, may you catch
in his throat. I try to rock and scream,
to pluck and play his ribs.
Little Red, clot stoppering his
bottomless hunger.
That will teach him.
By Amy Kaspriskie
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The Native American flute
hauntingly calls me
to a past I have yet to know.
Yet all too well
I recognize
the abandonment
the loneliness
the betrayed trust…the tear-laden eyes and broken heart
But the oneness with God
and Nature
calling up so many spirits
are perhaps
the hope
that pleases me
and allows me
to continue listening.
It is lonely
but not alone.
It is sad
but not hopeless.
It is betrayed
but still reaching
from the marrow of my bones.
The haunting Native American flute
always beckons me
to reclaim who I was
find who I am
and stand proudly,
even if alone
but in my own light.
It proclaims that all of life is a season
withering and dim,
new and green,
alive or dieing
our times will come.
Its song is cyclical
of feast or famine
laughter and tears
harsh winters and parched summers.
The key is to move with the flow
of the river
the wind
the flute in the music
and witness the shades of grey.
Let this wisdom carry me away
from infancy to adult
to senior to passing.
Let it comfort and protect me
as I lapse from one season to another
one life to another.
The haunting flute
calls me
sustains me
while saying it is time to go.
Move on.
Let go.
Be free.
By Robyn Sterling Kochan
I look at my bed covers ---
a war zone
of raging hormones
desert heat
and nightmares.
Tossing and turning
like a turbulent washing machine
but I do not arise feeling sparkly clean
drenched instead with sticky sweat
and a frothy clouded head.
The sheet and blanket are tangled
jungle vines
twisted
as a tornado,
my mental state is in equal disarray.
Peace.
Peace.
When will it ever come at night?
When will I be able to sleep well again?
Like a baby ---
unaffected by its surrounds
secured by its mother’s rhythmic heartbeat
and deep breathing.
Breathing.
What a chore ---
doing it correctly.
And noticing its erroneous pattern
only unnerves me more.
My eyes are awake now…
my mind is nearly racing
and I haven’t even risen yet
to greet the new day ---
refreshed and welcoming.
How I long for deep, refreshing sleep.
How I want to regenerate my body
when I am suppose to.
For now, I must commit to the minute details
of taking sleep aids on time ---
my surrogate soft petals of comfort
to clear the heady air of smoke and fire
and close the curtain on all thoughts…
hoping to drift effortlessly to sleep
like a calm sea darkened by night.
Carry me to rest
as the waves lap the shore.
Carry me to rest
not the vivid land of dreams
that keep my nights so active.
Take me to a quiet place
a nondescript, calm place
where I can awake totally rested.
It is not much I ask
to be reborn each night.
It is not much more
than a cry for sleep.
By Robyn Sterling Kochan
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I’m hurting on the inside
And I cannot explain why.
Something within me died
And it doesn’t feel any better when I cry.
I want to punish myself
For all the misery I caused.
I want to erase my inward pain
Prompted by my mistakes and flaws.
When can I look beyond myself
To see the love and grace that is offered to me?
When will I feel the touch of God himself
And pour out my grief for pity?
But it is not pity alone that I need
But rather faith, hope and love to succeed.
By Glenda Joy Race
Ruin to Recovery
In ruin I search for what was lost.
My mind wanders in desperation.
I am no longer trusted
And I trust no one:
Everything I do is watched
Everything I say is counted against
me.
And everything I think
Is out of control.
No one can control my thoughts
And there’s no stethoscope for the brain.
I am afraid no one will understand
What I say, what I mean to say, when I cry.
I need care, help and hope:
Care from people willing to listen,
Help from those willing to take action
And hope from those who found it within themselves.
Will hope somehow recharge the energy
Between the synapses of my brain?
For there is a gap between the heart and the brain
Somewhere in my mind, and I’m looking to find
A helping hand that will guide what I do
And a listening ear that will hear
Whatever matters are closest to my heart
And calm those rampant tears.
For once the storms of fears are still
The candle of hope can be lit again
And from the ashes of ruin I will
Choose to make recovery my plan.
By Glenda Joy Race
Perseverance
You say I’m stubborn
But I say I persevere
Through trials and tears.
When I am tired
I’m called lazy and shiftless.
But I must confess
Things are not the same
Since this illness struck my mind.
I need someone kind
Who will understand
I’m not making excuses.
I wonder who says
That dreams are only
Products of overeating?
It’s love I’m seeking.
What makes it so wrong
To want to have what’s “normal”
And to have a goal?
I need to be loved
And appreciated more.
I desire to soar
Out of depression
That mocks my goals, hopes, and dreams.
Life’s not as it seems
But there is some hope:
Faith’s not an illusion
Nor a delusion.
In faith I will walk
The path of recovery
As hope sets me free.
By Glenda Joy Race
Truthful Thinking
Positive thoughts won’t change reality
Or make the bad things in life go away
But I believe the truth will set me free
Someday…
Nothing in this world is perfect at all
Though it’s tempting to look for the ideal.
In this search I often stumble and fall,
And I know my scratches and bruises are real.
But so is the strength to begin again
As I stand and take in a breath of
air.
I am hurt, but I am also human.
I will search for someone who will care.
A caring friend is one who’s true,
And the truth of love is nothing new.
By Glenda Joy Race
The Story of Amy Harding
Her family came for freedom and to farm
Along the Susquehanna River Valley
Not knowing her children would come to harm
By Indians bribed by the Tory.
Amy joyed in freedom's declaration
For she did not want the rule of a king
But only trust in God's provision
For food, shelter, and each simple blessing.
For close by was the Baptist meeting house
Where grace, truth and simple-child-like faith
Were taught and shared with all who met there
Including her children, for whom she cared.
But freedom had a price that was greater
Than she would suspect that July morning
As Benjamin, Stukley and Junior
Left the fort for farming and hunting.
When Junior returned there was fear in his eyes
Enemies shot and killed his brothers
Pain, sorrow and grief were voiced in her cries:
The deep despair of a loving mother.
Their bodies were guarded by two Indians.
Who knew if they wanted more victims?
The Indians were killed just in case.
So the boys' bodies would be buried in a decent place.
As Amy prepared the bodies for burial
She may have wondered what freedom was worth
Till she let Heaven give peace to her soul
And the strength she needed to go forth.
By Glenda Joy Race (Granddaughter of Maggie
As I Learn
As I learn obedience,
I will earn respect.
As I learn truth,
I will earn wisdom.
As I learn love,
I will earn appreciation.
As I learn faith,
I will earn hope.
As I learn forgiveness,
I will earn friendship.
As I learn contentment,
I will earn satisfaction.
As I learn to work,
I will earn the words “well done.”
As I learn humility,
I will earn acceptance.
As I learn pure thinking,
I will earn peace of mind.
As I learn to give,
I will receive a gift.
As I learn compassion,
I will receive mercy.
If I learn everything there is to know, I will earn nothing.
But if I learn one thing to help someone grow, I will be a blessing.
By Glenda Joy Race
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