poetryrepairs 15,01:008

CHERYLYNN HORVATH : Boulevards of Possibility
VERNON WARING : Thief
DONNA L QUESINBERRY : The Passion is Rising Taking its Own Path

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CHERYLYNN HORVATH 
Boulevards of Possibility

“Write me a poem’ someone said, seeing my paper and pen. Always assumption from somewhere that I am preparing to impart pearls of wisdom where black meets white in measured rows of lines and curls. My pen keeps scratching road maps of verbs and nouns; avenues and boulevards of possibility, rhyme, and rhythm that may or may not end at our intended destination. “Write me a poem’ someone said. Paper and pen rev in anticipation. Which map to follow is the question. The ink begins to fill the page, the road comes into view. The highway begins at the end of the line. Here’s to possibility that this time travel will end with a pleasant visit to a quiet cul-de-sac of tiny vignettes; or, possibly, an exciting race across a vellum salt flat of infinite tracks, each a different direction, a separate story to tell.

poetryrepairs #208 15,01:008





VERNON WARING
Thief 

Your nimble fingers secrete the stray merchandise at Main Street's Almighty Dollar Store - a place brimming with inanimate objects made in Japan and China, transported into your bulky winter coat's four outside pockets Secrete that pack of gum, those ballpoint pens, mechanical pencils, tiny spiral bound notebooks that fit so easily Conceal that paperback best seller you were looking through earlier, the one titled "Where is God?" in bold red type superimposed against a threatening gray sky Grab that bracelet for your wife, that string of pearls too and don't forget a bib for the baby, a knickknack to brighten your mother's dingy living room and remember to take those black leather gloves so perfect for the months ahead With your heart racing, move toward the exit door, walk - don't run - avoid eye contact - that's it - keep going, but slowly And then, as you take a few steps forward outside, someone from behind roughly grabs your shoulders As you turn around, those gloves fall out of a crowded pocket, landing on the snowy sidewalk The hefty security guy retrieves the gloves and nudges you back into the warmth of the store Somewhere in the distance, carolers are singing "Silent Night"

poetryrepairs #208 15,01:008





DONNA L QUESINBERRY
The Passion is Rising Taking its Own Path

she wipes wax from the cookie jar films on housewares bother her at the kitchen table her eggs and bacon are reminiscent of still life there's a cobweb in the corner she notices it when she takes her seat a mental note is planted the ladder and dustmop are too distant now the china teacup houses saffron lemon with cracks and fissures she loves it provides a history all good moments deserve lasting images thoughts shift to the gardener with chiseled flesh he resembles an early Dutch painting she thinks of their last conversation he was holding a rhodedendrum commenting on its heartiness lines on his eyes gave his age away they should talk again she thinks her weight shifts in her chair

poetryrepairs #208 15,01:008







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