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The Snowdrop
By Phyllis Head
Appearing through the wintry soil
She comes with resolute constancy,
The prelude of an early Spring:
Bows her head ingenuously,
To hide a translucent beauty in a
down turned face to endear us all.
Carlos, 1982
Drinking Tea
Drinking tea, January, sitting with my grandmother
Talking about the weather, in New England,
The sky the color of frost, snow in the air;
I drink my tea the color of crimson
Against the blank whiteness of my cup,
Steam rising, forming clouds
Above the table.
I drink my tea, feeling its hot smoothness
Soothe my throat,
Warm my insides.
Remembering the heat of the summer sun,
The nip of Autumn,
In the bitterness of winter.
I remember licking the white crystals of snow
As they fell in January, 1984,
Covering the ground with a blanket,
Playing with my hair,
Kissing my eyelashes,
With winter roses blooming in my cheeks.
Waiting every winter for the snow to fall,
Impatiently, full of hope.
Wanting the earth to glisten as it had done before,
When I was younger.
Remembering being small, before school,
Sitting where I sit now,
Drinking my tea,
White like the snow, with milk,
Sweet, with crystals like snowflakes, of sugar.
Too sweet to drink, as I think of it
Now;
But I drank it anyway,
With my grandmother.
Drinking tea,
I burn my tongue
As I have done before,
Scorching it red
Making it numb, unable to feel or taste.
Afraid to take another sip,
Of hurting myself more,
I bring the sup to my mouth,
Only tasting the tea in my exhale,
After it has slipped down my throat.
I wonder how my grandmother
Can drink tea
As hot as summer
And not get burned,
As I do.
Turning on the kettle,
Feeling it’s steamy warmth in my dry hands,
I pull out a thick, ceramic mug.
A white one.
Feeling it’s smooth coldness,
It reminds me of the snow.
I look out the kitchen window
To the dry winter grass,
Frozen,
Covered with crunchy frost,
No snow.
I pour steaming water over the tea bag,
As it urgently bobs to the top.
I give it a few dunks in the boiling bath
And cautiously fish it out of the cup.
I drink my tea there,
By the window,
Waiting for the snow,
As I have done before,
And will do again,
Without my grandmother.
For Alice Hutchinson
By Kristen L. Melillo
Michael Cole’s poetry
A contrasting poem
YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW
Yesterday always was
Today always is
Tomorrow is always coming.
Tomorrow never comes
Today never ends
Yesterday willl never be too far away.
REFLECTION
The cat, it sat watching a hat,
A hat, that sat, on a cat.
This cat sat, watching that cat,
With a hat on its back.
If you are oneof the very fewthat sees mebehind what I showthe worldthen pleasetread lightly
Kindness, truth and givingwill touch meand I will answerwith compassion,honesty and feelingThe sharingcan be amazing
The passion white hot
But ...
If you found meby accidentthen let the temptationto manipulate pass …Walk awaywithout a traceof your discovery
For fragileand vulnerableis what lies within ~unprotectedmy heart hides nothingand I can be brokeneasily
SoIf you find mePlease ...
Tread lightly
By Sissy Vaughn
Our Coming Season
George Arndt
There is a field of tender grass
where rainbow flowers speckle it.
We've walked through it barefooted;
leaving traces of us, as we pass.
There are leaves of brown and gold
that flutter gently to the ground.
You and I have trampled in them;
hand and hand in merriment, untold.
I've seen the glistening winter snow
brought in on November winds.
You and I have held one another;
warming each, to a pinkish glow.
And now I smell the blossoms
that soon will be blooming forth.
Then you and I will share the fruit,
savoring tastes--yet to come.
The Fall of Summer
Ah! October has come
at last;
Emerald leaves are changing
fast.
Vivid colors of gold, red
and brown;
Float ever so gently
to the ground.
Furry critters scurry to
and fro;
Gathering goodies as
they go.
Autumn is a wondrous time
of year;
So, let’s all enjoy it while
it’s here.
George Arndt
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