APRIL

by Linda Stewart

"Millie" seeks out
warm patches of sunlight
on the carpet to sleep on,
daffodil shoots
beneath the window
are steadfast in their mission,
a cello plays
a mournful...no...playful
April afternoon tune.

I look for crocuses
amid debris of snow
but none show yet
though a miniature indoor garden
flourishes in cute brown pots.

It is an April afternoon
much like others I've known.
April is wistful —
she is her own.

CROCUSES

I took a moment
to pick a bouquet
tiny
enough to grace the window sill
a touch of beauty in the day
a sign of care
of being present
thankful
for small things

WHEN I WAS JUST A KID

by Ruth MacNevin

When lyrics flowed like anxious girls
ready to be seen,
and everything in vision
was still so awfully green...
When day was a dolphin I swam with
and midnight a phantom fair,
when everything was strong with youth
from my toes up to my hair...
When caution was a senseless by-word
and love an adventure to come,
when everything was added
without a methodical sum...
When summers were golden playgrounds
and fields were friends to me,
and the days danced by like Niades
in my own mythology...
When I was the goddess of springtime
splashing in rivers quite bare,
when unicorns were my transporters
and my dinner a magical pare...
When winters were never too harsh,
nor tears were never too long,
when disappointments came
and ended with a song...
When energy rarely wearied
when believing never failed
when hope was a magic ship
that forever sailed and sailed...
When love was never a duty
when a hug was never hid;
this is the way I was
when I was just a kid.

Bliss

by Kelly Mason

The taste of a cherry:
Exotic, dark, and enticing.

The feel of the morning sun:
Golden warm and life affirming.

The scent of rain-washed wind:
Newly fresh, pure, and innocent.

The sight of happiness:
Freedom true and strong gathering.

The hearing of peace:
Always ours, now and forever.

Blessed

by Kelly Mason

Are the soldiers who save and protect the innocent:
And at the same time, the dual idealism of peace and freedom.
Even while knowing that the price for that idealism contains their lives.
For the needs of a global society outweigh the needs of the individual.

Are those who surrender for peace:

Even though, in their eyes, they were innocent,
And though their battlefields are soaked in martyrdom,
Their voices shall be heard and listened to as well.

Are the victims:

Those that have survived,
And those that were silenced.
These will be the voices that will educate the future generations.

Dreams

by Kelly Mason

Soft whispers of the night.
Mirrored by the delicately scented spring winds.
Rustling through glades and streams of tall grasses.
Swimming with the mermaids of yesteryear.
Running with the wild horses of Arabia.
And dancing a tango with Mr. Sandman.
Flying high, escaping reality.
Catching a shooting star.
Riding along to its explosive demise.
Flung ever higher.
Not knowing your destination.
Not even knowing who you are.
And yet the stars will still shine down on you.
And the moon will provide your dreams with a safe haven.

Earth Angels

by Kelly Mason

Earth Angels, Earth Angels.
I know you are there,
Please answer my call,
But only if you dare.

Earth Angels, Earth Angels,
Please come visit me.
We could play some games.
I know ever so many.

Earth Angels, Earth Angels,
So mystical, so magical.
As if in a dream,
Or in a fairy tale.

Earth Angels, Earth Angels,
Can't you see?
I'm not free,
Such as thee.

Earth Angels, Earth Angels,
Over time, I hear your whispers.
Faint and weak,
But loud enough to make me dream.

Kaleidoscope

by Kelly Mason

As the colored beads swirl.
Your mind's eye pictures different futures.
Each one strung as if on a necklace of pearls.
And when the necklace breaks, whether by design or incident, a pearl falls.
Unable to catch it.
The pearl shatters.
No longer yours to have.
And as each future flees before you.
Sliding down the necklace and disappearing into oblivion.
The colored beads swirl.
Changing shapes.
Different patterns.
Trying to find the one that fits.
Trying to find yourself.

Mr. Sandman

by Kelly Mason

With thin winking crescent moons and twinkling grinning stars on his midnight blue cloak,
he enters my bedroom through my window carrying a mighty sand clock.
Standing next to my bed, he looks down at my sleeping form.
Wondering what dreams he shall deliver.
After such careful thought he lays a hand on my brow and whispers:
"Soft dreams little one.
Dream of things good and right.
Of sunshine and golden light.
Of friendships and dancing rainbows.
Of green meadows and marriages.
Of shooting stars and baby carriages."
And as I fall deeper into dreamland he blows me a kiss goodnight.

Our Mighty Soldiers

by Kelly Mason

Drenched with blood.
Their own and ours.

United by the yoke of freedom.
The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the one.

Delivering swift justice.
Insured and strengthened by modern Western civilization.

Ensuring our future.

Remembering our past.

Protecting the weak.

Defending the flag,
... a nation ...
... a people.

While peace echoes and is shattered by bloodshed.

Until peace is reborn.

Sunset Passion

by Kelly Mason

Taking my brush, I dip it into the paints of life.
Reaching upwards, I begin mixing several colors haphazardly.
With the sky as my canvas, various colors develop to reflect what I am feeling.
As I swing through each mood and learn new things, the colors fight for supremacy.
Soon, they are mixing into each other with unbridled fever.
Pulsating wildly during each height of dominance.
Then, as the colors fade, caressed by the soft powerful wings of time into celestial slumber,
I am startled back into a world of simplicity and ignorance.
Both innocence and naiveness are the mantles that I must continually wear.
For I have yet to truly experience life.
Despite my dreams.
And my desires.
And now, pulled away from that passion,
I wonder,
Will I ever get the chance to be who I want to be as a woman?
Free to feel,
Free to experience,
And free to know passion?

Chains Of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS)

By Kelly Mason

An incurable condition.
Full of boundaries and limitations.
Completely preventable.

All of my life, I had known that I was different.
I have always wondered why.
I have always wondered when it will end.

FAS is a condition that the individual can never ignore.
Like a brand, sometimes invisible, and sometimes marked visibly,
FAS will continue to provide barriers and obstacles.

The continuity of chains born with FAS:
A damaged embryo, beyond repair.
A lost child, forever slow and constantly challenged in every little thing.
A struggling adult: trying to beat down all the boundaries, and working
three times as hard to accomplish any little thing that I do.

Will I always be just a mere condition?
I had no part in the creation of that condition.
And yet, I am the end result, the star player.

There is a blessing and a curse to everything:

The blessing of FAS is growing up and learning how to fight for everything,

of not becoming soft no matter how much society pressures you to bend to their conformities.

The curse of FAS is of never knowing when you don't have to work so hard,
of never knowing when at times you don't have to pretend that you
know what is going on.

The web of confusion constantly pulls at you.
You are always second guessing yourself.
Shrouded in darkness, FAS blinds you to the subtleties of life that
others take for granted.

Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.
My life.
Wrapped up in those words.
Because my birth mother drank while pregnant.

Blossoms

by Linda Stewart

I am like springtime,
I am like summer:
in springtime and summer
when leaves and flowers bloom
some new leaf or willow
blooms fresh inside of me.

Inside Graces

by Linda Stewart

Blossoms
of gladness
shed abroad
fragrance
(in my heart)
allowing external delights
their mere place
of shining accessory.

Shy Roses

by Linda Stewart

Early rose buds
resembling
quick pecks on cheeks
grace the windowsill
demure
innocent
not over-willing
to flaunt
their beauty.

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