An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
The smell of the summer night air
Takes me back to times we shared
You and I dancing beneath the moon
Crickets playing a lovers tune
Trees full with lush green leaves
Whispering poetry to you and me
A view from beneath a Missouri bluff
Talking of passion, love, and lust
Your hand in mine strolling the path
Sitting on the deck and looking back
Picnic tables and barbecue grills
Driving and parking, is this for real?
My memory’s filled with your sweet love
Do you remember that snow white dove?
A kiss goodnight under a star filled sky
Best friends forever, a promise, no lie
It excites me to think that every year
Whether life or memory I return here
We will create magic again I know
On a summer night in the moon’s soft glow
Copyright © 2009 Lena “Lolita” Townsend
*inspired by John Heck’s “Summer Celebration” contest
Unravel your ego
sit down for a spell
Let the cool green glass
of deception dispel
Wind all your hair
'round the wheel and dissolve
Tell me your story
and we'll be involved
You will be captain
and I your first mate
in the skies of forgiveness
pop bubbles of hate
We'll write out our names
with invisible ink
and laugh 'till we hadn't
a thought left to think
Sipping hot cocoa
'round fires of trust
we'll bandage depression
with cider and rust
and blow concentration
'till wishes ensue
and glisten in glass
like reflections of you
We've enjoyed phone conversations and emails quite, liberally
Shared ups and downs, our faith and the friendship grew, naturally
This second visit to the Orange State could never be too soon
From the moment I walk through the front door I feel at home
No surprise, Carolyn's outgoing personality matches her lovely voice
Laughter comes easy with her, an extraordinary poet, by choice
One who will go the extra mile to show how she genuinely cares
A special trait each yearns to find in friends throughout the years
Our toast would be, 'To lasting friendship found on Poetry Soup
To honor poetic gifts- spices, flavors shared by poets in this group
For Michael's "First Words Over Coffee" Contest
Dedicated to one of my favorite people I've known for little over a year and
a half- Carolyn Devonshire.
It is on this day
Into his elegant horizons
Where cirrus clouds are sprayed from sunrises and sunsets
Attuned within throat of violins
An example of his concave humanity
Preaching fond memories in baritone clefs
An embrace of admirations’ core within exhaled stanzas
Forcing trembled knees to stand against robe of Death
His double entendres know no bounds
My iridescent conundrums become resolutions’ pavement
As I grab aloe-coated tissues
Wiping joyous tears from his laughter induced statements
He pours wisdom in foaming, oat-flavored pints
While we relish in his charming, devilish wit
Slowing down a rushed humanity
Bit by luminescent bit
Yes, it is on this day
Where I choose to declare in Quatrain formed sentence
To the one that puts the “man” in humanity
An affirmation on why I bow in Santa’s reverence
©Drake J. Eszes
Dedicated to the almighty Jack Ellison and my 1st Quatrain!
Although some are blessed with healing powers,
I can only offer comfort to you.
At your side I’ll be in your darkest hours
when your greatest hopes and dreams go askew.
Of monetary wealth I have little,
just concern, uplifting words to impart.
Feelings of trust are my best transmittal
when you feel crushed and your world falls apart.
For some it seems that friendship is fleeting,
but a commitment is what I can make.
As long as my true heart is beating,
take my unwavering hand when you shake.
If I can make you feel self assurance
when others have abandoned you in plight,
then count on me smiling -- a hope-filled glance --
a nonjudgmental friend who’ll not indict.
*Entry for Brian's "6-16” contest
There is a woman who has a passion
Not for a man and not for a fashion
Her passion is for a horse, a horse with a horn.
Commonly known as a mystical unicorn.
This mythical beast from days of yore
Did it walk on this hallowed land before?
The Bible mentions this unicorn
But the science says it’s a beast with one horn.
It’s placed where the horn is on a rhinoceros
So what is that trying to tell the lot of us?
Those unicorns did not roam about
I know that’s hard love, please don’t shout
The mythical beast of charm and of love
Is just a rhinoceros to you and me, my dove?
The Bible talks of it with other beasts
Not mythical ones, that now have all ceased.
What it means is a beast with just one horn
But not the mythical mystical unicorn
But for you PD I will start to seek
For a horse with a horn that would be labelled a freak.
I will scour the lands up hill and down dale
I will lift every stone and turn every hay bale
If this horse with a horn is what you desire
I will spend my time searching-until I expire.
For you with a passion for a horse with a horn
I’ll search for ever to find your mystical unicorn
But if I expire before my quest is done
I’ll get an apprentice, and he can find one.
© 10/09/2012 ~GG~
Marching down life’s highway, my feet became very sore
I then came upon a sign that read “Heaven’s Grocery Store”
When I got closer the doors swung open wide
Next thing I knew I was standing there inside
I saw a flock of angels positioned everywhere
They handed me a basket and said, “Child shop with care.”
Everything a human required was in that grocery store
With many commodities to carry, you could always come back for more
First I acquired some Patience; Love was in that same row
Further down was Understanding, you require that everywhere you go
I grabbed a box of Wisdom and Faith, a bag or two
And obtained Charity of course but more than just a few
And then reached for Courage to help me run this wicked race
My basket was almost full but remembered some loving Grace
I then chose Salvation for it was advertised as free
I tried to collect enough of that for both you and me
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill
For I thought I had everything to do the Master’s will
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and proceeded put that in
For I knew when I stepped outside I was bound to encounter sin
Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last thing on that shelf
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself
Then I asked an angel, “Now how much do I owe?”
She smiled and said, “Just take them wherever you may go.”
Again I asked, “No really, how much do I owe?”
“My child,” she said, “God paid your bill a long time ago.”
He wrote down his ideas
So that the whole world could see
He held them with conviction
There were different opinions
Each person expressed their own
An exchange of ideas
Without casting any stones
I stood on opposite ground
I said I didn't agree
We didn't have to be the same
To remain in harmony
Like voices in a choir
Each one unique sings its part
If all of them were the same
The song would lack so much heart
We agree to disagree
Neither of us play pretend
We don't take it personal
After all we are both friends
~The Green Eyed Lad~
Nah Then, I’d like to spin you a yarn and weave a story for you to enjoy
It’s about a lad I know and I would have liked to have met as a boy
He is well traveled and I believe well read
His family worldwide they now seem to have spread.
Age is there now and his maturity abounds,
A deep sense of fun though is still around.
His eyes are green even though I’ve not seen
He says they are fading, but I bet they still gleam.
We have never met we are miles apart.
But I don’t have to see him for him to capture my heart
He has a deep affection for the place of his birth
He writes with a skill a longing and mirth.
It would have been nice to play up Wingate Nick
Share spice, have fun, and then take the mick.
We could have made up such fanciful fables
But we can’t go back or wish no, no one is able.
And round Heber’s Ghyll and perhaps Sugar Hill
At the bottom of which the Post Office is still.
His words that soothe and manipulate my senses
Upbuilding and mindful, no need for defenses.
If ?we met for a dinner He’s say “Get yourself outside of that” I think…
Because that’s the way they speak, they are violets that don’t shrink
It would have been fun to meet him weaving and plying his trade
Bought up with the clickerty clack that the weaving looms made.
But time passes us by and at too great a speed
Events mold our lives how they want, and not how we need
So to this green eyed lad I say thanks for being there
You know who you are, it's up to you if you share….