<![CDATA[PAGE & SPINE - P-SEPT '12]]>Sun, 18 Feb 2018 20:35:36 -0500Weebly<![CDATA[DIANE BRENNER]]>Fri, 28 Sep 2012 08:45:59 GMThttp://pagespineficshowcase.com/p-sept-12/diane-brenner


The eldest Bear set out one day.
I think it was the first of May.
He knew how long and hard the walk,
but he could stop along and talk.
From the mountains he called his home
to the ocean blue, white with foam.
He ventured forward without fail,
and when asked, he told this tale.
“I came before and had such fears.
What I beheld brought only tears.
Darkness, destruction and death loomed.
It was so clear world was doomed.”
“I heard no birds sing overhead,
For the silent trees were all dead.
You could not breathe the air so thick.
The wildlife all lay weak and sick.”
“No fish swam in the murky stream.
 Oh how I wished it was a dream!
I prayed and prayed to God above
that he would save us with his love.”
“So many years have come and gone
and  I’m still here, but not alone.
The air is pure, the water clean.
The trees grow tall with leaves of green.”
“The birds sing loud, the sun is bright,
Shining stars twinkle in the night.
The raccoons, rabbits, bears and deer
Live, run and play without the fear.”
“You  ask me how this came about?
Once you hear you’ll have no doubt.
You will know if you stop and think,
The humans all became extinct.”

copyright 2012

<![CDATA[DOROTHY TAYLOR]]>Fri, 21 Sep 2012 08:54:38 GMThttp://pagespineficshowcase.com/p-sept-12/dorothy-taylor


He took me to Dunkirk and showed me graves where the young men lay.
I was unmoved. I didn’t know them. I was bored and had nothing to say.
I didn’t want to be there; I wanted a deck-chair. I was fresh out of school.
I didn’t want to search; to reach in, to breach the story. I was a child fool.

I was fifteen and how little did it mean to be told of the death of millions.

I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to know and be upset about the minions
who’d followed their leaders into the whole of the gore that was war on Earth.
There was fun to be had; I was mad at the intrusion of the allusion of Death.

Death wasn’t recognizable in the rows of graves; Death didn’t touch my heart.
Death meant numbers not people; white rows of crosses not folks torn apart.
I didn’t imagine mothers or sisters or brothers in their heart-rending separation.
I saw what I was missing in my vacation. The sun and sea and my recreation!

I grew old and went to Thailand and the Philippines where the young men lay.
The graves were beautiful in a manicured way. This time too I’d nothing to say.
My tears ran; I felt so bad when a small plaque said, ‘Found you at last, Dad’.
In my fifties I felt as a daughter, a mother, a sister, a wife and I was deeply sad.

In Manila the hillside was scenic; the land of turmoil now serenely quiescent.
Attendees looked after the boys’ resting place. It was warmly pleasant.
Man is the author of war; God is the author of peace, read the words on a wall.
But my head couldn’t embrace the meaning or understand that platitude at all.

Each young life was spent in an untimely manner, though so newly fledged.
Each grave was sad in its own way, with its occupant and its story plainly edged
in grief. Each rendered life for his flag, his kinsmen and his homeland security,
but I hadn’t seen the terror or the horror of loss without the benefit of maturity.



‘Time everybody please, last orders before we close.’
Where’s Jack, the tight-fist, as if nobody knows?
He’s gone to the toilet; he’s saving his pounds.
He always does this when they call ‘last rounds’.

Jack calls on his cell but hangs up in a trice.
The callee will call back; he won’t think twice.
Then Jack doesn’t pay; what more’s he to say
than, ‘Good of you to call and have a nice day’?

It’s New Year’s Eve and Jack’s on the prowl.
There’s beer to be had and Jack’s a night owl.
He can do the rounds with nothing to share.
Friends will say nothing; they don’t really care.

But come next day when sore heads are rife,
they think of hard-earned cash from toil and strife.
They think about Jack and his annoying thrift.
A home-truth will be swift; if you get my drift.

But Jack’s head’s in the clouds and he isn’t aware.
He doesn’t read expressions that willfully stare
when the taxi fare’s due, and he doesn’t have change
or heed the collective sigh, ‘Well isn’t that strange.’

But Jack will learn when the bubble finally bursts,
and his real friends are there with jugular thrusts.
It’s painful, we know, but it surely has to be said,
‘Open your eff’n wallet or you’re going to be dead.’

copyright 2012


I look at the board and look at the class.
The girl with empty grin, the boy with bristly chin.
The objectives I’ve kept all seem so crass.
Being minus a receptor, I’m busting my ass

to transfer my info. I need someone who thinks
that what I’m saying is interesting… uplifting.
Then my snippet of wisdom ventures to snag but sinks
like the seed of a dandelion drifting …

onto cold grey stone.
Forlorn and quite alone.
Bristly- Chin is tired from the night.
Knee-Wobbler’s knee is kinetic.

Knuckle-Puller’s knuckle is clicking out of sync
and the Pen-Clicker’s chewing’s frenetic.
What happened to rapport? Where is the link
in the chain?
No pain no gain in work ethic.

A two way process to bridge the synapse.
A student or two that might be rapt.
A thought or two that might get trapped.

Perseverance, perspiration playing 
a part in the partaking of a piece of playful teaching.
Hidden in the depths of the wrapped up prose… saying
what you want them to find without actually preaching.

Obeying the objective any tutor can quote.
‘Whatever they take from you mustn’t be rote.’

copyright 2012
<![CDATA[LEE ALLEN HILL]]>Fri, 14 Sep 2012 11:21:18 GMThttp://pagespineficshowcase.com/p-sept-12/lee-allen-hill

Jimmy Flip-Flops 
and the 
Boy With One Sneak 
(a pair-able)

There was an old woman who lived in a shoebox
She hadn't the money to buy her son Reeboks
When she tried to explain, Jim would not be consoled
He ran into the night, he ran out of the fold.

For twelve days and nights Jimmy wandered the street
Just hand-me-down flip-flops 'tween asphalt and feet
Then he met a young lad he found exceedingly odd
For his one foot was clad, while the other unshod.

His right foot encased in a Nike brand new
But the left was quite bare, no trace of a shoe.
I don't mean to pry, he said, you're pro'bly aware
Your one Nike is grand, but the other's not there.

It's not news to me, said the boy with one sneak
I've been hopping around for over a week.
Was it lost? Was it stolen? Shoes come in a pair
Two feet, two shoes, it only seems fair.

I didn't misplace it, and there wasn't a theft
See, I got the right, my brother the left
We hadn't the money for two pairs so dear
So we settled for one, and the rest is quite clear.

We might have mis-thought it, the lad had to admit
While the Nikes fit fine, the solution misfit
Had we settled for two pair a little less pricey
I'd not be hopping on my one Nike.

With that the young hopper hopped off down the road
One glorious Nike to bear the whole load.
The old woman's son was a little perplexed
But knew in his heart what he had to do next.

When he returned to the shoebox, the old woman cried
Through a ten-minute hug he was pleased to abide
He looked at his flip-flops, thought I guess they'll do.
Better than hopping on one glorious shoe.

(Alternate ending, or the way every parent knows it really happened):

When he returned to the shoebox, the old woman cried
Through a ten-minute hug he was loathe to abide
He glanced at his flip-flops, and furrowed his brow
Yelled I want my new Reeboks and I want 'em both now!

copyright 2011

<![CDATA[MARGARET SNOWDON]]>Fri, 07 Sep 2012 11:57:14 GMThttp://pagespineficshowcase.com/p-sept-12/margaret-snowdon


A touch of thoughtfulness
that shows someone you care
creates rays of sunshine
for both of you to share.
For kindness gives happiness
and loving ways bring love,
and giving is the treasure
that contentment is made of.
Yes, every time you offer
someone a helping hand,
every time you show
a friend you understand,
or when you have a kind
and gentle word to give,
you help someone to find beauty
in this precious life we live.

So may you give, 
and find such pleasure there
as lights the darkest dreams 
of those who care.

copyright 2012


What is this death - to sever human ties
So sweet, so tender and so strong and true;
The heart is wounded when a loved-one dies
And bids all those cherished hopes adieu.
No more to see the hues of sunset glow,
Or the azure and endless arc of noon,
The light of morning, nor the lucent flow
Of pallid fire that floats the rising moon.
It leaves in home a void, in hearts a gloom,
In Heaven an angel, on earth a tomb.

copyright 2012


Where flowers peep from sheltered nook
And bright-winged song-birds call,
By dim paths where we like to roam
Till purple evenings fall.

On summer eves to hum old tunes
Or talk o'er early vows,
While stars look down like angels' eyes
Amid the leafy boughs.

The curtains closed, by lamplight clear
We read some books divine,
On winter nights, by hearth we sit,
Your loving hand in mine.

copyright 2012


If I could catch an angel’s ray
I would do it just for you
To lighten up your dear eyes
On the days you’re feeling blue
If I could buy you a mansion
You could call your very own
A place to find tranquillity
Where you can be alone
If I could take away your troubles
I would hurl them in the sea
But all these things to attain
Are just impossible for me
But let me do what I know best
Be a friend that is always here.
In times of need and trouble
A helping hand, a listening ear.

copyright 2012