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 Jul 2010 Chenoa
Michael R Bryant
Pretty little bluebird, smiling
Soaring in the big blue sky
Today he finally has his turn
This day he will learn to fly

Excitement overtakes him
As he gains the speed to soar
His feathers flowing in the breeze
As he fears to fly no more

Up and down, high and low
As fast as he can go
The fun he’s having for now, it seems
There’s something else to know

He must have overlooked it
As he learns to fly first hand
The thing that comes most needed
Is to know just how to land
1999
 Jul 2010 Chenoa
Tag Williams
Rain falling on a mountain top
one drop at a time, dissolving,
changing, rearranging,
the shape of the world
and so we wear down continents.
one drop at a time.

Thoughts falling on a fertile mind
one idea at a time, dissolving,
changing, rearranging
the shape of the world,
and so we wear down prejudice.
one idea at a time.

Earth collides along a fault line
one inch at a time, building,
changing, rearranging,
the shape of the world
and so we build vast continents,
one inch at a time.

Compassion holds out hands of hope
one kindness at a time, building,
changing, rearranging,
the shape of the world
and so we build community,
one kindness at a time.
Don't make me one more promise,
unless its one your willing to keep.
Because you haven't kept but one thus far,
Now the hole you've dug yourself is deep,
And the mountain you have to climb is steep.
if it's really me that you want to keep.
 Jul 2010 Chenoa
Luke B Hopson
Great Pan is Dead!
Flag at half-mast,
Great Pan is Dead!
He will not be the last,
The boorish wind will blow
And say ‘Pan It is time to go’
While the nymphs will lament the passing of friends.

Old Ulysses
Focussed as time,
He thought lotus-eating
Was a heinous crime.
Ploughed on with his quest,
He could cut it with the best.
But even he could not compare to Pan.

Oh Deadly Day!
The music has died,
Oh Deadly Day!
Arcadia lied.
Apollo will play,
And the Gods will shout ‘Hurray!’
And sing ‘Great Pan is Dead!’

October 2009
 Jul 2010 Chenoa
Priyam
Cramped in minds which know little,
Dreamt by ones without destiny.
It is a trade of illusions and lost dreams
Of snow melting in the greens,
And realities thriving in unreal scenes.
A loser's trade and yet a drug!
A fool's verse it be though,
Coslier than gold, dearer than blood!
Kept in thoughts beyond one's mind,
Scribbled by fools who are blind,
Blind to plights so much their own,
We call it pain, they call it home.
A fool's verse it remains,
That the ink stains to show,
That a trade of lost dreams it is;
A little beyond insanity to know.
Hitch your wagon to a fool's luck,
A moment of joy on the silverscreens,
Call it a loser's trade, a fool's drug,
Yet the saga of illusions and lost dreams..

— The End —