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 Feb 2016 Sam Winter
Joe Cole
Come, let's take a journey from the mountain to the sea
And study natures wonders put there for you and me
We won't go by car or take a railway train
We will travel at natures pace, travel by natures ways

Together we will wander the pleasant green country paths
There's no reason for us to hurry, let's make this journey last
We'll stroll beside the chrystal streams 'neath skies of azure blue
Study wild flowers of every shade and hue

Come the evening shadows we will stop and take our rest
Find a soft and sheltered place where we can rest our heads
No candles or electric light will we ever need
Just a canopy of twinkling stars to cover us as we sleep

We will wake up with the dawn to a chorus of singing birds
Wake up to the greatest music that man has ever heard
Quench our thirst from the crystal stream then we'll set out again
We finally leave the mountain slopes and meet the grassy plains

No sign of habitation, no human voices heard
Just the sights and sounds of nature, of deer and soaring birds
Bees and butterflies sip nectar from the flowers
As we wander slowly on and do not count the hours

We journey ever westward, following the sun
Occasionally a dark gray cloud and cool refreshing rain
For us time has no meaning on this journey to the sea
To be at peace with nature is the only thing we need

Suddenly in the distance a glimpse of shining blue
Our journey is nearly over as the sea comes into view
I will look back in wonderment at the things that we have seen
Nature in her full glory, mountain, plain and stream
.................
 Feb 2016 Sam Winter
Max Alvarez
You are akin to my cigarettes
I light you up, then breathe you in
The taste that stains my fingers and my lips
Killing me slowly
But I love it
Can't get enough of it
My lungs fiend for a bit of your nicotine
Either way
I'll die if you do
Lose my mind if you don't
 Feb 2016 Sam Winter
Max Alvarez
The times are young
And the times are tough
The mountain man sews his cloth
The winter is gonna be rough.
He palms the sweat from his brow
Out the window he surveys his plow
Jagged rust
Scratched iron's reaction to snow
By the pond lies his cow
His beloved bovine Big Brown
And he recalls the calf, after birth, lying on the ground
The mountain man sighs in desperation
His wife and daughter with gaunt faces warm their skinny bones by the fire
The cast shadow paints them like death
Flies swirling in their breath
And the mountain man grabs his gun.
With heavy heart, and heavy boot he trods the winter mix,
Jagged soles so as not to slip.
A single tear steams as it strolls his face.
Two shells in their homes
Aims the barrel to the brown beast's nose.
Past the eyes, antlers reveal with grace.
He pulls the trigger and the snow is painted red.
The animal falls dead.
He turns to the house and sees his daughter through the window peer,
Notices the anticipation on her face
And gives God grace for the deer that took Big Brown's place.
Har ishq ka ek waqt hota hai
Woh hamara waqt nahi tha
Lekin uska yeh matlab nahi kay woh
...ishq nahi tha
(Urdu and Hindi)

English Translation

Every love has it's time
That wasn't our time
But that doesn't mean that it wasn't love
The demons come in darkest night
To take your soul away.
They keep your body locked up tight
And then they start to play.
The vampires dance, the monsters fight
The werewolves howl ‘til day,
And your soul is left in shiv’ring fright.
At least, that’s what they say.

When demons come in blackest moon
To steal you from your home.
It’s always best to lock your room
And stay at home alone.
Who knows what horrid creatures’ tomb
May come for you and your bones?
So, lock your door and pray for noon,
For night’s when monsters roam.

If demons come when moonlight beams
And you aren’t quite home yet,
Oh traveler, beware the screams;
It’s you they’ve come to get.
And pray that nothing’s as it seems
And that it’s still sunset.
For, when moon is out all horrid things
Walk freely, as they’re let.
You're beautiful,
just like a poisonous flower.
So my eyes betray me,
and I crave just a taste.
I reach out for the brightest berry,
and you wrap me in your arms.
Deceptively sweet,
growing with each dose I intake.
But I consume too much of you,
and I overdose;
falling victim to a beautiful death.
2/5/2016
Robins scurry, heads askew
listening to an underground frequency
smooth rasp of worm skin slipping
through subterranean mazes.

The ever-changing pond
mirrors varied green and clouds
mythical beasts reflect and rest
weary from endless migration.

Eagles ride the wind
fingered wings minutely adjusting
as the current rockets them aloft
on a thermal through the blue.

The heron balanced on a spine of rock
cares only if the tiny fish
silver under the surface skin
will soon belong to him.

Each in tune effortlessly
on earth, in air
never regretting being here
or there.

While earthbound creature, I
am reconciled to a grounded fate
as winter rain lashes the edges
of my ragged, useless wings.
 Dec 2015 Sam Winter
Phil Lindsey
I did not know that poetry has rules.
‘Tis not a craft for ordinary fools.
Those, that form and meter never master,
Are ever doomed; they are the poetasters.
As opera singers, out of tune, do make
Discerning listeners do a double-take,
And chefs, who sprinkle salt instead of sweet,
Serve meals that connoisseurs would never eat;
A writer with a wretched poet’s curse
Will never craft a great Heroic Verse.

So as I count my syllables and feet,
And wonder if my metaphors will meet,
I pray that hypermetrics are okay,
(For I have used a few of them today,)
I’ll leave the verdict, reader, up to you,
Affirm that to my mission, I’ve been true,
Or if the ending to my verse bathetic
Christen me a poet most pathetic.
Heroic Lines in Couplets, I intended;
Judge me, reader, now this verse has ended.

Phil Lindsey 12/24/15
I most often do not write notes to my poems, hoping that any readers out in HP land enjoy them for what they are.  Also, I am most definitely NOT a technical writer,  nor have I had formal classes or training.  But I have been attempting to read "The Ode Less Travelled" by Stephen Fry.  Mr. Fry describes (often humorously)  iambic pentameter, rhyming schemes, meter, and much more in his didactic book. Thus, I have attempted to write a poem in Heroic Verse.  With my apologies to Mr. Fry.  :-)
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