Every Day Poems

A Poem A Day

poem

The Low Hanging Sun by Nolo Segundo

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The Low Hanging Sun

The Low Hanging Sun
by Nolo Segundo

I went to take out the trash,
the good trash, glass and paper
destined for re-incarnation
and as I stepped outside,
the air cool and pearly white,
the low hanging sun smiles,
throws a late afternoon warmth
over my body, a blanket of silk.
For a moment I stopped to think,
then thanked the low hanging sun
for being there, the last defense
against a cold deep unto death….
In our immense Universe, wall-less,
ever expanding, is mostly night,
utter and fearsome darkness, all
pitch-black and cold, a coldness
beyond comprehension or life—
so the light and heat of every
myriad star is precious, precious….

Nolo Segundo, pen name pof L.J.Carber, became a widely published poet only in his 8th decade in nearly 140 literary magazines in 10 countries and 3 trade book collections: The Enormity of Existence [2020], Of Ether and Earth [2021], and Soul Songs [2022]. Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, he’s a retired teacher [America, Japan, Taiwan, Cambodia] who has been married 43 years to a smart and beautiful Taiwanese woman.

The Shaman by Larry D. Thomas

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The Shaman

by Larry D. Thomas

He gazes
with the eyes
of an ancient god.
For thousands
of years,

he’s seen
himself
as a sibling
of the beast
whose blood

and flesh
have nourished him.
He regales
his brow
with the plumes

of birds, which,
when darkness
falls, roost
in his skull
as dreams.

He wakes, rises
from his mat of straw,
and clothes himself
with his hallowed
robe of daybreak.

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Larry D. Thomas, a member of the Texas Institute of Letters, was the 2008 Texas Poet Laureate.  He has published several award-winning and critically acclaimed collections of poetry, most recently A Murder of Crows and Uncle Ernest, both of which were published by the Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago, in 2011 and 2013, respectively.  His New and Selected Poems (Texas Christian University Press, 2008) was a semi-finalist for the National Book Award.

THE WITCHES (for older children)

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THE WITCHES (for older children)

In the dark forest under the haze
absent the moon’s silvery rays,
when the night is black and still
the witches hold a blackbird’s quill.

They, merrily, jot down names
of naughty children
to beat them with disdain.
Their greenish eyes are frightful,
their ghostly hair quite dreadful.

They boil the bones of forest owls,
of hairy rats and ugly fowl,
in a large caldron as they cackle,
“Abracadabra, dung of a zebra,”
as Apollo rises from the shadows.

They cast their spells with horrid chants.
rousing frogs, toads and bats,
They aim to turn errant children,
into legions of moles and rats.

On guard, child, the witches prowl
and cast the spells I’d hate to see,
and in the morning, as you shower,
if you’re not careful, a toad you’ll be.

 

LAS BRUJAS (para niños grandes)

Es en el monte bajo la bruma,
donde no hay rastro de clara luna,
en lo más negro de la negrura,
están las brujas con una pluma.

Anotan, locas, los niños malos
para en la noche darles de palos.
Tienen los ojos verdes y raros
y los cabellos grises y ralos.

En una olla cuecen los huesos
de aves nocturnas de feo gesto;
“Abracadabra, barbas de cabra”
cantan las brujas venida el alba.

Encantar piensan a los incautos,
hipnotizando con su feo canto.
Ranas y sapos de niños malos
piensan hacerlos para su daño.

Cuídate, nene, que vienen brujas
a tu camita donde te arrullan
y en la mañana cuando te duchas
Sapo serás, si no me escuchas.

Cantaloupes and Bananas by Heather Terry

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Cantaloupes and Bananas

by Heather Terry

How long has it been, I wonder, since we’ve shared a cantaloupe?
Since I’ve stayed over night and gotten up early to sit with you?

You always rose at five in the morning, and I joined you at seven.
You called me papuga. It means parrot, you said. I called you papuga, too.

We used to sit on the kitchen step and you’d carve the fruit up for us.
You always used the same knife, black handle, flexible, serrated.

As I grew older, I was always surprised you fed the cantaloupe to me
from the tip of the knife. You never cut me. Not once.

When Nana woke up, you’d whisper “Nana Banana” and I’d giggle.
I’d run to her and give her a good morning hug.

Now I give her hugs for comfort, and I find I can’t remember
the last time I had a cantaloupe.

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I am an English teacher, writer, photographer, gardener and devoted dog owner! I also enjoy sewing, archery and kayaking. It is my goal to build a writing career while continuing my work as an educator. I am also pursuing my Master of Arts in English at Kent State University and will graduate December 2015.

Instructions: On Getting Ready to Die by Gayle Kellner

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Instructions_ On Getting Ready to Die

Instructions: On Getting Ready to Die

by Gayle Kellner

Please take off my watch
I won’t need time beyond the moment any longer

Followed by my earrings
There will be no one’s eye to catch,
No partner to impress

Slip off my shoes
Let me put my bare feet in the grass
One last time

Set my glasses for reading on the piles of books I’ll never get to
But stack my favorites near me
For they are among my closest friends

Wrap me in a sweater
In remembrance of those perfect chilly fall days
And take me outside
Let me feel the morning sun on my face

Unbutton my collar
Loosen my cuffs
That damn bra
I’ll need help with the clasp behind my back

Take off my belt
Lay all of these instruments of restraint aside
I will be restrained no longer

Why did I wait so long?

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Gayle Kellner is a writer, an artist, a poet, and an educator. Her essays and poems have appeared in Utne Magazine, Orion Magazine,  The Loop, The Beachcomber, and  The Nature of an Island. She is currently a regular guest on Voice of Vashon’s community radio program The Brown Briefly hosted by retired reporter and editor of Time Magazine Brian Brown. Gayle also works as a professional artist. Her paintings have been shown on Vashon Island at the Blue Heron Center for the Arts and the Barnworks.  Her work in stone has been shown at the International Museum of the Horse in Lexington Kentucky.

Gayle currently lives on Vashon Island where she is pursuing her continued interests in writing and art. She spends her days now rising with the sun; to write, read poetry and history, tend her chickens and her garden, paint in her boathouse studio, and walk the shores and woodlands that surround her island home.