|
The
two winners for January
Category: "Moms and Dads"
LIKE
YESTERDAY
I
remember the heaviness of my dad's pants
and belt
And how they seemed inseparable like
varnish on cabinets.
I remember his shoes being this
unobtainable size
That I could fit almost my whole arm
inside.
And the smell of leather and work and
musk.
And then, like a great idea at three in
the morning,
The memories walk away in code words and
pictures,
vanishing on the tip of my
tongue.
I
see my legs aren't growing anymore, and my
belt has been
around my same Dockers for as long as I
remember them
Draped like peanut butter over my jelly
chair.
My shoes neatly sleeping under have been a
half size bigger
than my dad's since the tenth grade, and
my childhood
rolls around the back of my brain like
mouthwash.
His
habits, bequeathed to me, become a shirt I
put on every morning.
I laugh through my nose like him. Words
interrupt my vocabulary
Like "davenport" and wondering what "ails"
this world.
And as I watch his face wrinkle with
laughing like shattered glass
and his eyes that remind me of babies,
I am terrified that I won't grow to be
exactly like him.
--
Submitted by Renton Rathbun from Taylors,
SC
e-mail: beefoven@gateway.net
|
|
|
|
The
two winners for January
Category: "Moms and Dads"
A
MOTHER'S HANDS
One
yellow morning I watched you asleep in
your bed,
your eyebrows crinkled in certain
dream,
and I remembered a time when I was small
enough
to curl up inside those arms,
to breathe mother's breath.
I would feel your body rising and
falling
with that same delicate rhythm beating
beneath my own skin.
Your
hands that would hold me, now torn with
age,
retain some of their tender youth in
mine.
Those artist hands that shaped me,
that would brush hair from rain-streaked
cheeks,
that took my shoes off when I was lost in
embryonic sleep,
that cradled my insecurities,
that sharpened my defenses.
Oh,
sweet giver of life,
time has settled in your crevices
and lost itself in the lines of your
palm
that told stories of lives gone by,
of smoke-soaked skin -- the sweetest scent
for me.
Fingers that curled my ponytails,
that broke picking roses for my hair.
Hands that held a legacy of stories time
forgot.
Now
I am learning what it is to be a
woman,
to be a mother of a thousand breaths
And I am like your fingers,
an extension of your hands.
--
Submitted by Meghan Curley from Long
Beach, NY
e-mail: DRGNFLIE@aol.com
|
|
|
|
The
winner for February
Category: "Coffee"
WHAT
HAPPENED TO JOE?
Latte's,
Mochas, Cappuccinos abound
But poor ol' Joe is nowhere to be
found.
Espresso's "the thing," "all the rage,"
they say.
Do you take yours skinny? Tall or
Grande?
If it keeps you up way past your
bedtime,
Drinking "Decaf," instead, is your best
line.
But if, like me, you don't go for this
stuff,
Then join my quest, mind you it may be
tough.
Our mission's quite clear, we just want to
know
What happened to our plain ol' Cup o'
Joe?
--
Submitted by Tamara Sue Bernick
from Aloha, OR
EMAIL: tsbernick@bpa.gov
|
|
|
|
The
winner for March
Category: "Springtime"
HER
None
have known the love I've shown
unbidden from my eyes
None have seen the grass so green
or perfect azure skies
I laugh out loud at those young and
proud
who think they own romance
And humbly sing my ode to spring
and dance the new spring dance
Few
have lost or count the cost
of nature's loss of time
Few can say they've ruled the day
or conquered every climb
I challenge all both great and small
to take her by the hand
And dance the dance that brings
romance
and feel the fires fanned
Some
may see each rose, each tree
and all the great outdoors
Some will gaze through mist and haze
the land, the sea, the shores
I will take her hand and make
the most of every chance
And humbly sing my ode to spring
and dance the new spring dance
--
Submitted by James Patrick Cole
from Spring Lake, NC
e-mail: greywolf@netquick.net
|
|
|
|
The
winner for April
Category: "Toothaches"
I
probably should have brushed them
Flossed and gargled too
Then I wouldn't have these discolored
pegs
And breath like an old shoe
Yes,
I can stand the ugly
Eat mints to kill the smell
But when I get a toothache
It's nothing short of hell
The
pain will throb and travel
Makes you wish that you were dead
I've got to find a dentist fast
Before I amputate my head
--
Submitted by Goody Quam
from Warwick, ND
EMAIL: ksquam@stellarnet.com
|
|
|
|
The
winner for May
Category: "Cats"
A
shadow moves across the street
Under quiet lamplight's glow
Seeing only padded feet
Like footprints in the snow
A
warrior watching through the night
For a difference in routine
A simple motion through the light
That makes ones eyes go mean
When
daylight breaks, with lamps no more
I hear a scratching at my door
Slender, sleek and witty waits
To enter through my palace
gates
Sleep
and eat and dream all day
My shadow rests before tonight
When mice and predators come to play
My shadow waits behind the
light.
--
Submitted by Kathleen C. Fijalkowski
from Las Vegas, Nevada
e-mail: kathleen.fijalkowski@nellis.af.mil
|
|
|
|
The
winner for June
Category: "Vacations"
GETTING
AWAY FROM IT ALL
We're
going on vacation to visit the beach
We'll all be gone for more than a
week.
Our bags are packed, filled to
overflowing
With flashlights, batteries, and lantern
lights glowing.
I've
ordered the news to be forwarded each
day
Packed all the toys so the kids can
play.
We're taking the dog, and both the
cats
Instead of leaving them all at the
vets.
We've
hired a kid to mow the lawn,
But decided to take the houseplants
along.
Our water is bottled and packed in the
car,
As is a port-a-potty, so we can travel
far.
Our
swimsuits and play clothes are all in
bags,
The kids' swimming floats, separated with
tags,
A camp stove is in there, a fridge to keep
things cool,
A few books to read before returning to
school.
There's
just one little thing that keeps nagging
my mind,
Am I leaving any trivial thing behind?
If I am trying to get away and be
free,
Why am I taking it all with me?
--
Submitted by Cynthia Hammond
from Greenville, South Carolina
EMAIL: cleech88@hotmail.com
|
|
|
|
The
winner for July
Category: "Traffic"
I
rise from my bed at five each day
bleary eyed and half asleep
I stumble through my morning tasks
so weary I want to weep
Fed
and dressed I finally go
from the apartment to my car
and though I've hurried, done my best
I know I won't get far
I
pull onto the freeway ramp
With a heart so full of hope
That maybe this will be the day
that I finally learn to cope
With
bumper to bumper traffic
so thick I want to shout
"I've had enough, it's way too long
Please, just let me out!"
But
that's not to be, I soon find out
and I think it's really a sin
to leave for work at six a.m.
when I don't arrive till ten
--
Submitted by Margie Sue Hess
from St. Louis, MO
e-mail: msuehess@earthlink.net
|
|
|
|
The
winner for August
Category: "Leaving Home"
Packing
up the night before
scattered boxes on the floor
sifting through my memories
brushing off the used to be's
The
photographs are in my hand
oh yes, that time was really grand
and there I am in my pink dress
my hair in bows, what a mess
Our
dog that died and the rat that got
loose
and oh, there's Felix, our pet goose
These are moments I'll always treasure
this sentiment, too sweet to
measure
It
seems too fast that I have grown
to now be living on my own
far away, so far from here
oops, there goes another tear
Well
it's time to go, the truck's pulled in
I'll have to shake this state I'm in
I'm on my way, so here I go
waving sweetly, so they'll know
I'll
scatter photographs along the way
to keep the memories of
today...
--
Submitted by Leslie Stewart Schafer
from Lake Worth, FL
e-mail: lurlei1@evcom.net
|
|
|
|
The
winner for September
Category:
"Love-the second time around"
Summer
Sweaty
dances, heady flings,
Touches, kisses, highschool rings.
Burgers, baseball, fairs and rides,
Sun and water, truths and lies.
Lots of break-ups, lots of starts,
Overactive, pulsing hearts.
Autumn
Sweet
romances, golden bands,
Long, slow walks while holding hands.
Traded secrets, sacred vows,
Kissing in a brand new house.
Rocking babies, locking eyes,
Building up a paradise.
Winter
Children,
grown, have all moved out,
An empty, silent, chilly house.
Lifetime partners in their graves,
Lonesomeness that comes in waves.
A waning moon on frozen snow,
John Denver on the radio.
Spring
A
single glance, a warming spark,
That wakes an ancient, dusty heart.
Paper kisses, herbal teas,
China cups on balanced knees.
Waltzing slowly up the stairs,
A second chance with one who
cares.
--
Submitted by Rebecca Adams
from Grand Ledge, Michigan
e-mail: Salem667@aol.com
|
|
|
|
The
winner for October
Category:
"Doctors, Nurses, Hospitals"
"Sir
Chuck the Pang
Exterminator"
When
woes beset maturing joints,
with loathsome pains at crucial
points;
to get relief, right now---not later,
call Chuck, the Pang
Exterminator.
One
patient brings her aching back,
which creaks and cramps and seems to
crack;
Chuck kneads her spine like doughy
bread,
'till every thought of pain has
fled.
Alas,
no sooner that that's licked,
the patient says her neck is cricked;
she holds one ear flat on her
shoulder,
a mournful sight to each
beholder.
A
dauntless smile Sir Chuck displays,
he reaches for magnetic rays;
the sound machine cranks into gear,
and muscle cramps all flee in
fear.
"Oh
thanks," we hear the patient blubber,
her neck now rolls around like rubber;
her grateful eyes are all aflutter---
no verbal praise seems fit to
utter.
Then
wham!---the front door slams wide
open,
in staggers Elroy, blindly gropin';
"My back! My back!" he whines aloud;
it's plain to see the man's not
proud.
"I
need massagin'!" Elroy claims,
plops on the floor, and there remains;
and in Chuck's mind, there's no
mistakin',
that this big turkey's simply
fakin'.
The
sound machine has one black knob,
which Chuck turns 'till he feels it
throb;
he lifts the wand, which now is
spittin',
and tries to pick the spot most
fittin'.
The
buns both seem quite fit for cookin',
but not with several others lookin';
and Elroy's shoes are much too thick,
to melt his toenails to the
quick.
But
Chuck is not so quickly thwarted,
he knows how every nerve is charted;
he looks, and stares, and
contemplates,
until his sharp brain
compensates.
With
ample wads of cellulite,
there shows a site which looks just
right;
the tailbone rises bare as brass,
a target Chuck cannot surpass.
One
moment Elroy moaned and grunted,
the next, his feigned distress was
stunted;
he stood erect, completely cured---
a second treatment was
deferred.
--
Submitted by Timothy R. Oesch, MD.
from Oak Ridge, TN
EMAIL:
oeschplace@sprintmail.com
|
|
|
|
The
winner for November-December
Category: "The New Year"
A
NEW YEAR CHEER
They
say that time can heal all wounds
But I prefer to say
In truth that time can wound all heels
And haunt them in a way
That makes them sorry, if it happens
That they have a conscience.
Most of us, we can recall
Contributing to nonsense.
Or
antics we perceived to be
Funny when we did them,
Looked at analytically,
We wish that we could rid them
From our guilty memories
And bring on absolution
Which each year we try to do
And make a resolution.
Oh
time's a curing thing all right,
Although it goes so fast,
Here's hoping that your New Year is
Better than your last.
--
Submitted by Richard J. Bischoff
from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
EMAIL: bischoffrick@hotmail.com
|
|
