The Hunter is Caught

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THE HUNTER IS CAUGHT

Bo Brocious

SO FOCUSED

SO QUICK AND

OH! SO SKILLED

 

TOO LATE!

CAUGHT BY SOMETHING UNKNOWN

“HOW DARE THEY TOUCH

MY MAGNIFICENT FEATHERS!”

 

WHAT POWER he must have had

LARGE BLACK OWL EYES FOLLOW

The furry little fellow

Running thru the dried leaves

 

CAUGHT IN THE CLAWS OF THE

UNKNOWN

MERCY IS GRANTED

 

FEATHERS ON THE WIND!!!!

 

SO FOCUSED

SO QUICK and

OH! SO SKILLED

This poem was inspired by the entrapment of an owl as reported in the post, It’s Been an Animal Day (direct link: http://carolyncholland.wordpress.com/2009/11/08/its-been-an-animal-day/  ).

Photos of the owl can be viewed by clicking on the following links:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085249240/ & http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085248082/in/photostream/ &  http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085247888/in/photostream/

 ADDITIONAL READING:

JASMINE & JEWEL — A DOVE STORY Part 1

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

THE KILLER KITTEN

CAT by Brendan K.

GRANDKITTY

HEIDI

LOSS AND LOVE

SHALIMAR

The “Meow” Chorus: A cat symphony on a Greyhound Bus

WHAT RIGHTS DO CATS HAVE, I ASK

Arthur St. Clair

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ARTHUR ST. CLAIR

Shirley Iscrupe

      Arthur St. Clair, Ligonier Valley’s most famous citizen of Revolutionary times, was born in Thurso, Caithness, Scotland, in 1734. As a young man he joined the 60^th (Royal American) Regiment of Foot to fight in Canada against the French.

     After marriage to a niece of the governor of Massachusetts, he served as an agent of the Penn family interests in western Pennsylvania, and as civil commandant of the decommissioned British fort at Ligonier. At the outbreak of hostilities with the English, St. Clair was commissioned as a

“Singing My Victory Song

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“SINGING MY VICTORY SONG”

Della Spearman

Going to do the Lord’s battle today Taking my buckler, sword and shield, Armed with my worship odes and poems, There’s an arsenal of inspiring praise songs.   I’m looking at Jehosophat as my guide, And I’m stretching out on obedient faith Marching to

Half-Past

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HALF-PAST

Erin York

 

The shadows br e  a th e that it’s

Half-past     noon again.

They whisper wisdom

From mouths with no teeth,

Hands {clapping} in               not-so-silent                      encore

Of the sun’s demise

The Execution of the Reincarnated Edgar Allen Poe

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THE EXECUTION

OF THE

REINCARNATED EDGAR ALLEN POE

R. D. Carpenter

 

            “Father, you are the dignitary of the church responsible for the confessions of the condemned, are you not?  You come at such a late moment. I assume your late arrival to be a trepidation resulting from your callow experience with matters of such necrology.

            “Father, I can infer by your face—your sweet, innocent, and surprisingly young face—that my behavior confounds your senses, your genial innocence, your intellectual curiosity. Be not hesitant in your inquisitiveness, indulge your hunger and feast upon my depth. Allow me to evince my predicament for your extrapolation of the said enigma before you.     

“At first the beast existed only in

Desolate Air

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DESOLATE AIR

Erin York

 

The smell of yellow roses and stale seaweed ache,

Potent in the beach cabin

 

Pots and pans catch rain

From the caved-in roof

Shingles, half-buried in wet sand, leak,

Their color smearing the ground.

 

Rivulets of water

Splash up from under

Broken boards, reach out to touch the

Dedicated to my mother

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DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER

Maryanne E. Hoffman 

Our guest writer on Birth Mother’s Day, and on the eve of Mother’s Day, is Maryanne E. Hoffman, a Western Pennsylvania writer. She dedicated her book, Older Women’s Rights, to her mother, as a result of seeing her mother mistreated in an elderly care home, and being in the position of having no power to correct the situation.

 To my Mother

      You are the inspiration for the creation of this book. I admire your unshaken perseverance and spiritual inner strength, as you endure the torturous and unjust situation you are forced to live against your will. Your beautiful spirit is the

Mime

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MIME

Erin York

 

She watches as

Her life parades

In yellow and green,

No

Only The Eye Can See

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ONLY THE EYE CAN SEE

Lauren Benish

 

April is coming to an end, taking Poetry Month with it. Today’s guest poet, Lauren, is a student at Burrell High School in Pennsylvania.

                               

 

One day a little girl perched on her Pappy’s knee

 

He told her about his homeland, fields as far as the eye could see

 

When he finished and her eyes grew wide, he told her not to forget how beautiful life could be

 

With a small kiss on his cheek, she promised she’d always remember

 

And she never forgot

 

 

One day a heartbroken girl fell unto her Pappy’s knee

 

He told her about his homeland, death as far as

The Life (and death) Cycle of the Ice Cream Soda

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THE LIFE (AND DEATH) CYCLE OF THE ICE CREAM SODA

Erin York

 

Birth of the ice cream soda

Into a frosted glass

 

The busiest drink

Trying to devour

Its confines and escape

 

Burning and fizzing,

Jumping and whizzing

Down a