All That I Can Be
John Thomas Dodds
only ever one glass of wine
no matter how beautiful the pair might seem together,
each crafted individually, exquisitely unique
engendered with a particular essence
a minion among snowflakes, crystals, stars.
Yet nothing about us uniquely other than
one person, an individual cell, a single being, being human,
one body, one mind
one soul of an old and scarly cat,
smugly contemplating tolerance.
Everything we love expresses how we feel
about this organ of water and air,
this mind of matter and darkness,
this exposed soul of a universal want and need.
To plant the seed
that I am the earth I stand upon,
I live in light and love
I breathe my air
I admire the flower that I am
that grows upon the earth I nurture
with my tears of joy
for as I turn from day to day
the wind I create caresses my body.
I am the earth
I am all that I see, all that I feel
all that I can be.
If we were one light
how brilliant would we shine.
The heavens would cease running away
and look back upon us
as the star over Bethlehem
or the light of Mecca.
If we were one surface
monumentally varied and etched
with the wisdom of ages
what a beautiful color our skin would be
blinded by the light and sensitive to the touch.
If we were one breath,
drawing in everything that has been,
nurturing every pore of our being,
in an understanding
that with a sigh of recognition
we are the earth
all that was, is, and will be
then, and all that we can see
is what we imagine love to be
*****
One’s Company
Judy Dykstra Brown
Must you put it in my mind that I will be lonely
just because my life has boiled down to just me only?
That we are not enough for us may prove to be a fiction.
Just a recent sort of fad spread by TV’s depiction
of solitude as something harsh, stressing what we lack,
yet our ship can stay buoyant with just one to hold its tack.
There are so many selves in us. Now there’s time to converse.
The you that you’ve been up ’til now may be the very worse!
Wander into your heartland and see the you’s you’ll find.
Who knows what you’ll discover now that you’re in a bind.
The mind’s a worthy raider, seeking out new plunder.
There may be hidden parts of you full of joy and wonder.
It’s hard to get inside yourself when there’s so much to do—
so many new discoveries and worlds to wander through.
We’ve plundered all the gold mines and withdrawn all the oil.
There’s barely any place on earth left for us to spoil.
But now nature’s decided to produce the biggest clue
that it’s time to mine the resources within the rest of you.
****
Ring Out, Wild Bells, And Soft Ones Too!
A 2022 Holiday Poem
Don Beaudreau
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
With a clang, and a tinkle and a how-do-you do!
Clamor and strike, and push and pull,
Swing with the news of a happy time Yule.
Oh clarion, angelic and enthralling of tunes
Bringing peace and joy, oh, blessed boon!
To each and all, to every and one
From child to elder – be music undone.
Sound out your notes from town to town
Forever the joy of the season unbound.
Forever the hope, forever the promise
Of innocence, sweetness, now come among us.
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
When we are born, and cuddle and coo –
For such we have come each in our way
From time before time, to have our own say;
To traverse our own particular path –
Be it forward, in circles, or even quite back.
So we each are given a bit of eternity,
To use as we will, without complete certainty.
We learn, we labor, we love, we create,
We become ourselves, we live out our fate,
While the bells do ring, sometimes quite wildly,
We live through our lives, not always so mildly.
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
The marriage is sealed, all seems quite true!
Ring out our hopes for a future most bright
For lovers now married – through both day and night.
May they realize the joy of a most noble vision
Not one merely limited by petty divisions,
But an image quite linked, with threaded events –
With days of meaning, with times well spent.
And when the moments of confusion occur
Or flash points of anger the mix doth stir
May they play through them all to the other side
Where love awaits, and honor besides!
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
When war is ended and the dream comes true
Of peace on earth and goodwill to all,
A joyous land where no ills befall.
Where no fear awaits, no greed attends,
Where no one’s goodness wavers or bends.
Where children are expected to just be their age,
Not molded by circumstance, or fashioned by rage
Where no one goes hungry, or cold, or neglected
Where everyone is cared for, not just the selected.
A land where our elders can live out their years,
All nurtured by love, none banished by fear.
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
For creative new ways to be and to do
When thought and purpose accomplish a task
Bringing fresh vision, from behind the old masks;
Allowing our spirits to behold and leap up
With ever-bright nourishment filling our cups;
Keeping our minds, and hearts and bodies attuned
To ecstatic delights, blending later and soon.
When we see that our lives are stories of creation
As events in movement, forever in animation.
So may the bells sound the chorus ecstatic
That we live and create – a point most emphatic.
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
For we who are ending the life we once knew;
May your sounds make it known to everyone here
That life is a mystery, with both sorrow and cheer.
But that life is, as well, sometimes quite clear,
Despite all the laughter, despite all the tears.
That sometimes what’s honest, or that which is truthful
Or what is most noble, or sweet, or most mirthful
Will be the one thing to seize the bright day,
To win the big battle, to have its own say –
But that sometimes, quite sadly, what’s opposite to these
Will drown out the peace bells with disharmonies.
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too
Keep ringing out loudly your sounds all so true
Despite the harshness of wartime and sorrow
Ring out, wild bells, today and tomorrow
May we and may you forever ring out
Above the clamor, the harshness, the shout,
Above what is evil, or brutish or cruel,
Our message of peace, of our life’s renewal.
May the time before us bloom with promise and hope
Exceeding a life of merely “do” and “cope”
Creating a new world, of love hereto –
Ring out, wild bells, and soft ones, too!
*****
Santa’s Dilemma
Mark Sconce
Every year about this time,
St. Nicholas begins
To organize his trip abroad
Amid the children’s grins.
But news this year at Christmastide
Includes a sober piece:
That certain children far and wide
Are shockingly obese.
Never one to shirk his duty,
Old Santa makes a vow:
“By shedding from m’own big booty,
I’ll show the children how
To take a little pride.
I’m setting the example
For children far and wide
To make us all less ample!
Ho, Ho, Ho.”
And so Dear Santa shopped around
To find the right equipment
To help him shed his portly pound
Before the Great Transhipment.
Mrs. Claus encouraged him
Throughout the days and nights.
She fantasized him slim and trim
And bought him trendy tights.
The active adult that he is
Soon led to Leisure Village,
Where fitness is a booming biz,
Where dumbbells curl and curl…
The Fitness Center
The Gallery of grunt and groan,
The Palisade of pain,
Where fitness buffs are wont to hone
Their muscle and their brain.
Welcomed as an honored guest,
Dear Santa needed training,
To finally look and feel his best
Trans-fatty foods disdaining.
Cybex apparatus staff
Were there to spot poor Santa,
Who cut his workout time in half
So he could drink a Fanta.
They worked his pecs; they worked his glutes,
Abdominals and deltoids.
They exercised him to his roots
And retrofit his rhomboids.
They goaded his gamellus,
His traps and pectoralis;
They lowered his patellas
And pulverized his pelvis.
Santa finally had enough.
To fitness world, “Adieu.
I’ll never be a fitness buff
And be a Santa, too.”
The residents all rallied round
To bid a fond farewell,
And everyone could hear the sound
Of Santa’s ‘scape from hell:
“Merry Christmas to All
And to All a Good Night!”
After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
- Poetry Niche – April 2024 - March 30, 2024
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