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 May 2018 Gidgette
Meg
i’ve been sewing love into daisy chains
and i’m willing you to pull off each petal
ask them
and they will spell

/s
  h
     e

        l
       o
     v
   e
s

    m
       e\

in your palm
its a love letter written in botany
this is how i love you in spring
the same way the sun sends rays of gold
hurtling to the earth
to me
this is how i love you in spring
the same way the ocean hosts voyagers
you hold me
this is how i love you in spring
with each intake of air
with each new blossom, the bluebird that lives in my chest grows
and its funny
i never saw the beauty in the world
not like this
i never saw the earth glow
with such intensity
heard it hum
until i was able to watch flowers bloom
in the reflection cast in your eyes
that is a beauty i will never fully articulate
and
this
this is how i love you in spring
so i am very much in love, with the most incredible woman. poetry will never fully express how deep she runs within me, but theres never any harm in trying, right?
Don't talk to me about democracy
How we can control our lives
It's nothing but hypocrisy
There's no control in sight

No matter who we hate, or who we back​
We will never have any real say
A million people marched against invading Iraq
Yet for years they were bombed night and day

Remember the W.M.D. s
Their reason for more death ?
Who knows what it will be
What reason will be next ?

Now it's Syria, where the innocent die
Well, I for one, never voted for that
Who knows where, knows why
Their lies will next be presented as fact
 Apr 2018 Gidgette
Lawrence Hall
V: “There was this police chief and the cartels
beheaded his wife so it was vengeance
ride time and then they raided this house with
armored personnel carriers and 7.63

machine guns and stuff and BOOM! and there was
heads in the walls ‘cause they’d hid the bodies
in the walls man it was gross and then they
sneaked up on the super-secret cartel

bunkers and silently killed all the guards…”
R: “Well, I guess I got to get to work now…”
 Apr 2018 Gidgette
Graff1980
The wind bends the tall brown stalks
of some unknown plant that I
am unable to identify.
for those whose mothers are no more
the annual business hype of what to give
    and where to take your mother
is but  a sad remembrance of loss
stirring up memories of happier times
when she was still a pillar in your universe
loved and revered, and sometimes feared,
who taught you, patiently or not,  
the basics of survival in your expanding world.

She knew, while you were as yet unaware  
that all her loving preparations
would over time mean separation.

When you struck out to shape your life
all by yourself and left her with her fears for you,
her wishes,  and the hopes that what she tried
to give you was enough and right,
your heart and mind were elsewhere,  far away,
focused upon the future of your independent life.

Your years run fast and busy, and suddenly one day
you stand before her coffin
and discover that it is too late
for all the questions never asked.

What you have left are memories
and a vague sense of having missed the chance
to see - and maybe even understand a little -
the woman she has also been
throughout her life, behind her loving face
of a dear mother’s care and grace.
The upcoming Mother’s Day triggered these lines and made me remember the time when my mother was alive.
 Apr 2018 Gidgette
Joel M Frye
Neck-deep in the business
of business,
only his head remains sleepless
in the dark of early mornings
to enlighten those
who sleep in, and spotlight
his peers who delight him.

His capital investment
is love and empathy;
he replenishes the funds spent
on an island of shelter,
the helter-skelter of Monday-Friday
a Distressway away.
North Country chair on the dock
over beckoning waves
sounding their Circe song,
drawing him to the bedrock
of peace
with himself and others.

Generous with his words
his head runneth over
and verses cascade down,
filling one from another
like a mountain of flutes
poured from a veritable jeroboam
of the muse's vintage.

Only love shows as he writes
doing the poetic hokey-pokey,
left foot in, left foot out.
He has turned my world around...
and that's what it's all about.
It's about **** time you got your own tribute poem.
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