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The red rays of the morning sun played the song of life.

The room was dark and morning came.
Through the lace curtain I beheld a cool and misty day
With verdant fields so filled with life;
Willowing waves of tall green grass in harmony with a whistling breeze.

A chord is struck within:
Awakened is undulating desire.

A chill, a shiver tingles my mortal being not of cold but of excitement.

My heart is a pounding drum;
Warmth flows with the beat.
Distant music comes closer and closer.
I cannot escape the beating of my heart.

Angelic fingers pluck out the music of old;
But I know, where ever beauty exists
Angels will fill my soul.

—Kathleen Ellis Faulkner

The road was dirt and gravel, mostly gravel,
and it pierced her bare feet.
But the birds singing in harmony
and the swish of the wind through the wheat
made the pain go away
and she walked on satin pillows.

—Caroline Reid

Stand up
And if you can’t
Rise tall
Step forward
Or feint sideways
Dig into the earth
With one elbow
Then the other
Drag yourself an inch or two
ahead
Like the downed soldier
you are
Whatever it takes
You know you are enough
Watch for the return of life
not as you once knew it
but new and good
and worth the effort
Baby steps
Or inch-by-inch
It’s all forward,
Baby

—Annis Cassells

They say time is the measure, the measure of a life;
but what is life without doing, of doing that which is right.
For life passes for each, for each, for each.

For when I die, I die righteously knowing
I did right:

right now

right here.

—Portia Choi
(Based on a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Writing is my kind of art
Ink and paper form my clay
Emotions from my heart
Join reminiscings of my day

At first my words are jumbled
As I lay them out
Readers would be challenged
To know what they’re about

But as I keep on writing
Words gently fall in place
I’ve learned I’m at my best
Writing at a fevered pace

Like Willma Willis Gore
Who’s been writing since a teen
Now at nearly ninety-three
She daily writes of life she’s seen

I will do as Willma tells me
At my desk I’ll “sit” and “stay”
I’ll form and mold my words
Until my thoughts I can convey

Keep it short and interesting
Is often what I hear
But how to cut my words
Beloved friends who are so dear?

I’ve so many things to say
With much to do and learn
That’s why I value membership
In the group called Writers of Kern

With great speakers who bring insight
And critiques to correct my wrongs
Exercises to prompt my brainpower
And tips to keep my writing strong

My prose will keep on coming
Telling stories through written word
As long as my Muse is faithful
And creative thoughts are spurred

Yes, painting, sculpture, music
Loved like art upon the stage
But I’ll keep on writing words
That they might dance upon the page

—Karen Sallee