Over recent years I've watched the ebb and flow of talent coming and going through our little pond of creativity. There is a steady group of consistent writers who contribute regularly to the pool. They interact with each other amiably, encourage, enthuse and occasionally, mildly criticize the work contributed. Many demonstrate their dissaproval with a stoney silence, some leap up and down, others pontificate.
Generally we all splash around and find satisfaction in our own damp sphere of appeal.

We who dwell in the creative waters of this pond are comfortable with our lot. We are satisfied that we are in common ground with like minded people. Few rock the boat.

Diversity is the theme where the offerings range from personal tragedy to outpourings of passion and love. Political posturing has been known to rile whilst others have been brought to tears of intense sorrow. Gales of laughter occur and the odd snicker of amused connivance sneaks out from many, quite involuntarily.

We have no William Shakespeares, no Nerudas, few of the calibre of
Leonard Cohen or Emily Dickinson....but we do have layers of excellence. Inspired outpourings frequently amaze from the most unexpected corners of our gathering. There are those who elevate themselves above the many on frequent occasions but any and all of us are capable of producing the odd inspired Masterpiece.
We all aspire to produce our very, very best as happily often as we are able.

Sadly there are those who choose to retreat into the ether, vanish with their art into obscurity for reasons of their own.... leaving a vacuum in their wake...and then there are they who tragically slip under the veil of death. All of us have lamented the passing of these dear souls, recalled the valued past moments shared in their verse and their companionship.

Occasionally, a gem wades into our pond, producing work of such clarity and inspired quality, words and phrases of such unqualified beauty and enchantment that they command universal attention and amazement. These poets shine like the sun and are the focus of the moment of the many....admiration, inspiration, enjoyment and occasionally, feelings of envy. Few of these shining stars endure for long, for they recognise and realise their talent, their potential, and aspire for higher things. They tend to migrate to poetic elevations in ponds of a higher strata.

Yea verily, there be elevated ponds in this domain, reaching right to the very top! Stratified ponds in rarified air where, unless you measure up, you don't belong! Expectancies are decreed and insisted upon in these regions. Membership is limited, controlled....and expensive. It costs to belong up there and membership is not without a constant level of stress. In these waterways you are dealing with the very top echelon of performers, the egos and the prima donnas and the fancy. There is an insistence on adherence and compliance. Here you are either in or you are out...and expulsion, from this  domain at these heady altitudes, can be sudden, permanent and quite malevolently viscious.

So thee, who may aspire to soar up there with the eagles, ponder the benefits of thy current caste, breathe the clear air and sip the nectar of this pleasant province. Count well thy blessings and then consider the quiescence and the harmony of your current company prior to making any descision to venture to take that leap!

With respect and gratitude to the denizens of HP.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
24 March 2024

Bob and Kathy lived next door
They picked up our leaves and
swept our driveway and porch floor
Neighbors. Yes, but so much more.

For thirty five Glorious. years
We Watched both our families grow
Love and respect Is was all we know

Bob’s passion ,was restoring old cars
That’s what they lived for, who they are.
Car shows , The annual Vetran’s parade
Bob was celebrated for his choices made
To showClassic 1920 Henry Ford model T
Custom detail a delight for all to see

The United States pays obeisance to
The military on Veterans Day
Bob an Army soldier, Green Beret
He was a bad ***,  that’s what he would say

In the blink of an eye, Happy Time passed
We realize why, Good things never last
Full of laughter, love and Many tears
Inevitable realization of their fears

As they age, Life turned the page
Health became their Clock, their gage
Out of the blue ,One fateful day, Bob fell ill
Cancer slows the body to a still

Bob would say “I’m not ready to die today”
We all knew Death was waiting at Bay
The Next phase ,The long goodbye they say
Bob wouldn’t have it any other way

Cancer in remission
Life was a condition
Weakening body in transition
Stealing lives without permission

Bob fought the good fight
Holding on with all his might
After each procedure ,Bouncing back
It was tough to keep Life, love on track

Family came over to watch him die
Only to see him fight and try
Bob put on a brave face,
which was a lie
His wife Kathy Sneaks off to cry
Cancer you cannot deny

Finally Death came to call
Eventually it will ,for us all

The children live in town,
Now, they are never around
The house sits dark and bare
Nobody is ever there

Kathy lives in the house alone
Their house is no longer at home

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.

Where is my Lil Sister? I saw her walking to school. I hear her silent whispers.  " I'm gone too soon! "
Mom drove to the store, and she didnt return. We still wait like always, with desperate heartburn.

OUR INDIGENOUS WOMEN ARE MURDERED AND MISSING!
North America and O Canada, No one cares to listen
So to our tribal Matriarchs, we say "Do  nada*."

Auntie walked into the woods, she wanted to get an herb.
Now we go where she stood, she hasnt been seen or heard.
Who took them away and why? We mourn their disappearance.
We ask Mother Earth and Father Sky for our Intertribal quest prominence.

Until they leave no more, and we stomp grass again together,
Our Sacred feminine core, Turtle Island's own precious Flower.

Still the fires of slaughter burn
In this dry and ancient land,
Still the caustic scent of hate
Pervades the hand of man,
Still the blood drips from the blade
As Arab slaughters Jew
Then Arab children die in dust
As fury blasts anew.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry,
Incarcerated innocents
In dusty rubble, die.

It all began in ancient time
When men in armour strode
In sandaled feet, their fate to meet
Whilst Alexander rode.
Macedonian slaughter fought
In desperation, all
With every soul decapitated
Without so much as judgement call.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty rubble, die.

Titanic and gigantic now
The pachyderms attack
The archers launch their waves of arrows
From the creatures back.
Trumpeting their fury
In monolithic charge
The elephants run rampant
Through the terrified discard.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty rubble, die.

Through the ages blood has run
From Cleopatra's reign
Roman legions metric stamp
And Caliphatic stain,
The Manlucks and the Ottomans,
To Napoleon's brief try
That led us to the British pledge
That Israel's flag must fly.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty concrete, die.

One hundred years hath passed us by
Unreconciled, unchanged,
Now hatred drips from every pore
With attitudes deranged.
Now all out warfare rules the day
And battle shrouds the sky
What chance that fortune swings to peace?
In hindsight....Pigs might fly!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
3 December 2023

I hope you wore a sweater,
in your favorite shade of blue.
It gets cold in late November,
(it gets darker faster, too)

I hope the shoes you wore fit snugly
(even if your socks don't match)
I hope your last day wasn't ugly,
I hope the pain was over fast.

I'm sure you felt your sadness deeply,
I'm sure you felt your heart ache too.
When you took a walk when all were sleeping,
in your favorite shade of blue.

I wonder what it felt like,
to pick the perfect tree.
To end your painful heartache,
snug shoes on dangling feet.

But my most pressing question,
that I would ask of you,
is where did you lose your earbud?
(you're wearing one, not two)

They moved you to the metal table,
(the one that tilts down at an angle)
They cut the sweater off you too,
your favorite one in midnight blue.

They make their notes:
your weight,
your height.
They check your shoulder width and write:
"He will fit a standard casket"
(they carry on with their assessment)

"Rope indentation - on the neck
Eyes and fingers - blue and red
Socks mismatching
Nike shoes
One earbud gone"
(that's all I knew)

Tell me why'd you take that walk?
I know the road ahead looked bare.
Tell me how you chose a song.
Did you brush your teeth and comb your hair?

Did it happen on a school night?
(your file says you were in 12th grade)
Did you tell your mom you loved her?
- with your mind already made.

So to the boy with just one earbud,
I'm sorry this world felt so wrong.
I hope you're in your favorite sweater,
and you're listening to your favorite song.