August, 2019
Always will always be with me.
by Michael Shane Love - Lake Stevens, WA
Waking with a start,the last image in my headwill be that of the proverbial "you." And I will wonder, where will you take me today?Washing my face at the sink,looking up into the mirror,sometimes I see you looking back at me. I am you and you are mebut we look nothing alike anymore.Even now, as I put one hand up to the glassyou do the same yet it is invertedand our expressions are not even alike. Sometime ago I left you behind or you left me.One or the other.It doesn't really matter which.The result is the same. "I'm coming back," I whisper, drying my face.You try to show my skin wipes off my faceleaving a grinning skull so I shatter you!I've done it before and you are gone.For the time being anyway.I want you gone for good.I don't like you.Nobody does. I toss the towel in the sink.You are one "always" and I have to accept that.Maybe sometime there will be "she"who can accept that too.I can make you go away for a timebut you always seem to find your way back. I am on one sidewhile you watch me from that other and wait.....salivating. I guess I better tend to my hand.
Answers
By d. n. simmers – British Columbia, Canada
Lower the debt, raise taxes, keep interest rates low,the tide running back and forth thatwhat is right for the country, while the world is burning,the gates are closed, are the children safeIs the big bad wolf starved to extinction?Words can line up, one after the other, andDirections are plotted and arrows sent----who is getting all this:Debtors are worried and some have lost theirjobs, do the rich not care, as long as theystay rich, and those voting have no ears andno heart and have no heads for these things,while marchers talk about changeand the police have to disperse them,by force, brother and sister fighting,each other in the streets,while the world burns.
“… this old boulevard. ”
By Linda Amos – York, PA
Her trees… She’d loved this old boulevardThat her great-great-grandmamma Had hand dug and planted in 1863-Hopeful for both her beloved husband and her sons Victorious ride through to home.
Her trees… She’d loved this old boulevardThat her great-grandmamma Had pruned in fits and plunderedWith jealousy and rage against her long gone husband During the Spanish-American War.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her grandmamma Had watered and fed, raked and hoed;While her husband, a doughboy, wandered throughout Europe, and Africa, in The Great War.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her mama Had mulched, pruned and trimmed;While her husband had sailed The Pacific Ocean Defending American islands against the Japanese.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat she Had tied with hundreds of yellow ribbonsFor her beau, the smart young Marine, who never came home But, died in the Tet Offensive in Viet Nam.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her daughter Now wrapped with red, white and blue ribbonsFor her young husband, a dapper young Army soldier,As she hoped for letters from Afghanistan or Iraq.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat now sheltered met;Like a wedding bower those whom she loved best Her Father, her husband, her son-in-law;Gracing this old house with its beautiful splendor.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardWhere she chose to live, love, and grow old.
Her trees… She’d loved this old boulevardThat her great-grandmamma Had pruned in fits and plunderedWith jealousy and rage against her long gone husband During the Spanish-American War.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her grandmamma Had watered and fed, raked and hoed;While her husband, a doughboy, wandered throughout Europe, and Africa, in The Great War.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her mama Had mulched, pruned and trimmed;While her husband had sailed The Pacific Ocean Defending American islands against the Japanese.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat she Had tied with hundreds of yellow ribbonsFor her beau, the smart young Marine, who never came home But, died in the Tet Offensive in Viet Nam.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat her daughter Now wrapped with red, white and blue ribbonsFor her young husband, a dapper young Army soldier,As she hoped for letters from Afghanistan or Iraq.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardThat now sheltered met;Like a wedding bower those whom she loved best Her Father, her husband, her son-in-law;Gracing this old house with its beautiful splendor.
Her trees… She loved this old boulevardWhere she chose to live, love, and grow old.