Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

“The Doors of Then” a poem by Shawnelle Alley

Thursday, December 1st, 2011

 The Doors of Then

Shawnelle Alley [Shawnelle@theAlleys.us]

It wasn’t a dream, but it repeated

Then

Blurred together like finger-paint memories
Cement gray floors of confinement, tears fall
Where chunks are missing, though time crawls forward
Hugging splotchy white cinderblock walls
Rays of anticipation peek through rotting windows
Their musty lover growing moldy black specs
Clinging, like little sisters to their solid love

(more…)

Ocean by Jackie Byers

Monday, April 11th, 2011

Ocean

by Jackie Byers

There is a certain shape in me
That dreads the sea,
so I go down to the shore.
Once more I stride the grit
study the wind tossed foam
taste cold salt sea spray
And try
To drive the demon away.

He retreats a bit
But lurks beneath
The awe of boundless beauty
The thrill of perfect power
Purifying
Peace instilling
But never still.
Potential for disaster
Life unbridled, rampant, raging.
A wet blue heaven wrapped around earth
Nourishing teeming life
Gnawing at the granite edges
beginning and ending of all.

Words by Christine Janak

Saturday, April 2nd, 2011

Welcome to National Poetry Month! Enjoy poems from Fine Lines and feel free to write and share your own!

Words

by Christine Janak

A violent hurricane of words
Shook the house.

They seeped through the cracks in the ceiling
And crawled under the doors.

They slithered up the staircase
And bled through the walls.

Thousands of fire-red ants
Seared pinholes into my flesh.

Words were thrown
Like crumpled tissues into a waste-bin.

I sat on my bedroom floor
With my knees crushed against my chest
As truth gobbled me up like a Sunday feast.

Words

Sunday, March 20th, 2011

Words

Christine Janak

A violent hurricane of words
Shook the house.

They seeped through the cracks in the ceiling
And crawled under the doors.

They slithered up the staircase
And bled through the walls.

Thousands of fire-red ants
Seared pinholes into my flesh.

Words were thrown
Like crumpled tissues into a waste-bin.

I sat on my bedroom floor
With my knees crushed against my chest

As truth gobbled me up like a Sunday feast.

Write

Tuesday, January 11th, 2011

Write

Mary Anne Radmacher

Write to make
sense of life experiences.
Write to learn
as much as you can
from all the challenges and the joys.
Write because words and ideas are fascinating.
Write because exploring concepts is play.
Write to synthesize these explorations
and make them practical.
Write to become the best version of yourself.
In the process of seeking empowerment . . .
empower others,
write to inspire,
motivate, comfort,
facilitate, discover,
communicate.
In this scratching,
this making marks,
encourage others
to make their own mark.

A Kiss in the Forest by Mary Bannister

Saturday, May 29th, 2010

A Kiss in the Forest

Mary Bannister

Fallen needles soften passage into the forest.

Precise footsteps beckon her to him,
Like a portrait of symmetry in motion.
A kaleidoscope discloses awe-inspiring beauty,
As sunlight freckles tease fluttery fronds,
And stillborn dew splashes spongy mounded moss.
The green velvet becomes denser
With miniature outdoor terrariums,
Everywhere you look.
A grand opening welcomes a multiplicity of fauna,
Bustling about in the spectacle of day,
Urgently amassing essential ingredients,
For survival and sanctuary.

(more…)

Ode to Dave Hayek by Linda Hayek

Sunday, April 18th, 2010

Ode to Dave Hayek

( This poem was written shortly after the death of my husband in June 2006.)

Linda Hayek

You are still big in my life, warm in my heart
not only because you loved me – completely
quirks and rough edges included
and fathered my daughters into adulthood

not only because you opened wide the doors of your heart
to share your family with me
and invited me to gaze through the windows of your faith
thus strengthening my own

not only because you embraced the adventures I concocted
sometimes called vacations – riding a bicycle for thousands of miles
across and around and beyond Nebraska -
you could smell a malt a mile away (more…)

Cadaver by Elizabeth Baltaro

Tuesday, November 10th, 2009

Cadaver

Elizabeth Baltaro

It was not as scary as we had imagined,
when we opened the metal crypt
that cradled our body, our cadaver.
The first thing I noticed were bright pink nails.
Without stories, clothing, hair, nor jewelry,
the meager remains of a lifetime
were painted on her fingers. (more…)