Local Poetry of the Mat-Su!


Contributed by Robert Lyons

Time is a prison
I’m convinced
Convict to memory
Lending contemplation
Guns in the tower
The hearts assassination
Demanding constant observation
Of the bandit that planted the bomb
The future a tomb, the past just hours
Flickering power as my souls devoured
The walls fade to bars
Roaming restless in the yard
My hour of light lost
Over constant thought
On mistakes before and to be bought
To be brought by bouts of doubt
Grouting the prison walls of the here and now

From Calm to Qualm

Contributed by Nan Potts

The waveless sea before us parts, is sliced
By sleek and piercing bow of boat atop
A muted main, having steady wind, sails triced.
A sizzling spume breaks silence from a chop
That’s passing by, with rocking and a slop;
The water shines as glass once more to calm;
Our placid journey passes without stop
Until a sigh is heard, the halyards’ psalm,
Becomes a hapless heralding and pangs of qualm.

With jerk and groan, our craft heels hard to port,
The tiller ripped from grasp, begins to flail,
Is rushed and reached, the steering stick tis thwart,
Recaptured and regained control of sail.
Into the wind and reef, we mustn’t fail,
The sailcloth slaps with gaining gale and roll;
Clouds clamor aloft, roil with rumbling bale
And shore shook waves now smash on sandy shoal;
Secured and battened to weather squall, our goal.

A rush of rain upon us roars to wash
Both deck and clothes; a soggy soak and flood,
My ankles wet and not from sweat, I slosh,
What is amiss? A pool, the ocean’s blood,
Has breached my boots and inundates with crud.
The cockpit fills, I call to bail with speed,
All hope is lost to flee, a sunken scud.
The deluge drowns all other sounds, it we must concede
To being drenched with teeth clenched; chatter plead.

When all is lost at valued cost God’s grace,
A silver lining for sore soles’ distressed,
Behests He heard, our cries and words and case,
Then granted torrent, gale and wave less stressed,
Again, the soothing silence reigns, we’re blessed.
A stillness, lacking voice and dance becalms
Our soggy sloop. Drip-drip, I mark what’s messed
Upon the deck, our bodies’ pasted palms,
Now query reaching port and soothe with balms.

Poem 8.10.19

Contributed by Amy Henry

Do not come quickly Winter,
Fall is where I want to stay.
I want to enjoy the colors.

Summer came too quickly.
And Spring was chaotic.

And while Summer brought flowers,
it also brought storms.
Too many.

Spring was full of growth
and freezes. Too many weeds
among the new promises.

Do not come quickly, Winter.
Fall is where I want to stay.