we walked in gravel beds 

          between creosote cross ties,

               on rusted tracks,

long abandoned by iron horses.

Horned toads 

(far more poisonous than rattlers

according to Joe Dean)

roamed the sandy grass beside the rails, 

but we were fearless 

          always on the move.

Slopes of bright green Johnson grass 

wrapped twisting curves 

out of town and into Arizona,

California or maybe Colorado;

still we remained here,

here in the confines of small towns 

fresh air and clean water

          halted by some invisible line 

of demarcation.

We collected cicada husks,

baseball cards 

          and empty pop bottles.

Our summer days, defined by sunlight,

unmarked by ticking clocks,

moved us like a river 

winding through days of wooden bats 

and unfenced fields.

At night we slept 

behind rusted screens

          within open-window worlds 

inhaling the perfect order.

(from Ron's new book Book of Cantos September 2010)

________________________________________________________________________________________

They come in, trailing

clouds of night-time,

from a concert in Akron,

or Winesburg’s

Crossroads Inn. 

Draggletailed stars

of the late-teen drama,

they open their books,

too tired to grumble

or pretend they’re prepared. 

The merciful thing is just

to talk to them -- low

soothing tones you’d

use at a morning milking. 

No irony, no

mordancy.  Let ‘em nod. 

Let ‘em dream.  Enter

those dreams soft-

shod.  And no quizzes! 

They need to be

doing this, this

stirring of the gene pool. 

Who are you, says

Dickhardt to himself,

to stand in the way?

from a new book by Rick Stansberger, "Stark, Ohio"

due out July 2010

Autumn Leaves by Nancy Summerson

When autumn leaves are changing,

and the grass turns chestnut brown,

the wind will try to free them,

but the strong keep holding on. 

If the sun can catch them spinning,

sparkling crystal fills the trees.

It’s the last hurrah for autumn

and just nature’s way to tease.

Nancy Summerson's new book The Walking Road was recently published and is a must buy.  Best of luck Nancy, the poems are excellent.

I lie back in the chair
and place the puppy
that smells of warm milk
on my chest.

She crawls up under my chin
and tries to suckle.
Getting no results,
she snuggles down to sleep
on my neck,
breathing contentment into my ear,
whispering her promise of life-long devotion.

from the book "Pawsitively Awesome Pet Poems"  published by TJMF Publishing available at Amazon

An Officer's Lament .................... by jim Furber Danang 1969

To this end my pen betrays me.

Once certain to write of love

Now it only knows the words I hate.

It scribbles on, beyond my mind, 

Caring not for broken dreams;

Bound to spin tormenting lines.

I'd cast this instrument of pain away

If only I could find the strength,

But to my fault, this ruthless task is mine.

Every day the same I find.

Words I pen so callous and remote;

Though hard, I know, I must compose.

A letter of death, our destiny demands

That I record the sorrow for our nation;

Deep within the meaning of our ends.

~

Though I feel the purpose in my tone

~

What good my pen to those that live?

What tears that dot the lines so written?

The pen must know - but how am I forgiven?

it spins around the rim and down
my head twisting to the tune of
ice and liquid melting into notes