Mary Pear: Favorites

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Pagan Paul

I tip my hat to the Poetess,
the Word Witch whose spin enthralls,
with language arranged in patterns,
and verse that often calls.

Her art is to conjure images,
the Sorceress whose quill entrances,
with phrase beautiful in texture,
and a word that often dances.

Her creations are her offspring,
the High Priestess whose rhymes capture,
with stanza's keen in construction,
and meanings that evoke pure rapture.

© Pagan Paul (24/07/16)

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

The Poet

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Pagan Paul

The Poet

Take a peek inside his poems
if you really want to know him.
He hides himself deep, immersed
a tiny piece in every verse.

Take a peek and take your time
savour the moment of every line.
Relish the thought of what lies there
and appreciate his soul laid bare.

© Pagan Paul (31/08/16)

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#poet #poetry #inner #thoughts #feelings #hidden

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Yachats

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Jeff Stier

Yachats

Sour smell of wood smoke
seaweed flayed and dried
upon the rocks
those huddled stones
prone and obeisant to the grey sea

And there
a star that is settling
into the indifferent waves
leaving us cold and bereft
soon to be entwined
with the night

But do not despair
We will wake with the dawn
bring the candle of hope
in our hands
and much peace

A solemn and ocean-deep peace
shared
with every sentient being
in time
and every being departed
from time

The moon has its quarters
the sun its seasons
I have only this tenuous grasp
on life
a primal sense of loss and love
and the dull roar of the Pacific
in my ear

Yachats is my favorite little town on the Oregon coast. A good place for existential meditations.

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Birthday Poem

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Jeff Stier

Birthday Poem

I am officially too old
left it all at the station
lost my ticket
and finally
busted by the conductor
for being a poet and a ***
the holy two-fer

Never thought the joke
would go on this long
never imagined
I'd be ******* oxygen
in a posh bar
with Helen of Troy
and me in my cups

Yet here we are
the ships have sailed
the vagabonds have stumbled
home
every swan has flown

And between you and me
Jack
(and while she's in the lady's room)
I am told I was born of a woman
on this day
sixty four years ago

I don't believe it

Birthdays are make-believe
every crease and wrinkle
in the fabric of time
every line in my face
is a testament
to an intricate conspiracy
the stars aligned against me
and on my birthday, no less

They say this ride has a conclusion
people pass on
I have seen fields of grim stones
that attest to this fact

But I'm not so sure.
At this late date
I'm still thinking
I might beat this rap.

I literally wrote this WHILE she was in the lady's room - so-called.

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Michael

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Jeff Stier

Michael

Like Breugel's Icarus
my brother Michael
dropped into the depths of the sea
unnoticed

Born at the bottom
of a crater of the moon
the sweetest foundling
since creation

His swaddling clothes
were denim and the blues
his pillow
a bottle of rye

This sweet soul
lived half a life
in halfway houses
and cheap motels
reeking of cigarettes
reeling from the *****

When he punched his ticket
on the midnight train to eternity
no one was surprised

I arranged the cremation
a fire that burned
more than one life

I gathered his ashes
and set out
for the crest of the Sierra Nevada

Alone
with my memories,
his ashes
and the cold stone
of those adamant heights

and then east
through the wastes of Nevada
the endless expanse
of the basin and range

A pilgrimage, of sorts
dedicated to nothing
and no one

Just the upthrust range
the solemn and self-absorbed peaks
the dessicated pine
and a wind
that scoured the soul.

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Small...... Yet Big!

Sep 2016 Mary Pear

Valsa George

Small...... Yet Big!

Even a wayside **** can ignite
greater passion in the heart
than a well potted garden plant
at the centre of a tastefully landscaped plot

Even a child’s prank can be more hilarious
than all the cranky jokes of an acclaimed comedian

Even in the warble of a lonesome bird
there can be more flooding melody
than in the well tuned violin of a music maestro

There can be greater poetry in a simple ditty
than in all the lines of verse in a great epic

A tear drop may contain greater salinity
      than all the waters of a great ocean

       Perhaps a simple nod of head or a wink of the eye
communicates much more than a whole bunch of words

I don’t know why I love the dainty flowers of May
than perhaps the exotic lotus of the day
Don’t we love the homemade fare served with love
      more than all the delectable cuisines of a posh restaurant

      The small things of life thus,
      prove much bigger than big things

      Just as the joy of life is not always ruined by fatal errors
      but by the recurrence of injurious little things,
      Greatness is achieved not through momentous actions
      but by the little things done in a great way