National Poetry Month

I pluck stretchy, stringy,
fruity, flavors from
beige tile,
school books,
Birkenstocks.

He relishes
chewing it.
Chomping globs
leaving pieces
peeking out from
white shag carpets,
under clothes,
his hair.

Creating chaos,
with no concern
for time I take
to pry,
peel,
unstick,
undo,
all his messes.

I yell, chase him
through the house
finding traces
on lace pillows,
in my hairbrush,
inside my laptop.

Oh why,
did I ever
share
my bubblegum
with Wilfred,
my Saint Bernard?

—Joan Raymond

Joan Raymond, a member of WOK since January 2012, completed her BA in English/Creative Writing in Fall 2014 and MA in English/Creative Writing in early 2017. She writes women’s fiction, creative non-fiction, and children’s picture books, and dabbles in poetry.

(A finger rhyme to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star; Actions in italics)

Wiggle, wiggle, little worms,
Wiggle fingers.

Down the sidewalk, slide and squirm.
Wiggle one finger in an S shape.

When the rain comes pouring down,
Hold hands up high.  Point fingers down and shake.

Earthworms crawl up from the ground.
Point fingers up.  Shake and move hands upwards.

Wiggle, wiggle, little worms,
Wiggle fingers.

Down the sidewalk, slide and squirm.
Wiggle one finger in an S shape.

Wiggle, Wiggle, Little Worm

—Rebecca Langston-George
Copyright Highlights for Children, Inc., Columbus, Ohio. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

Rebecca Langston-George is the author of several poems and ten non-fiction books for children including the upcoming The Booth Brothers: Drama, Fame and the Death of President Lincoln. She is the Assistant Regional Advisor for the Central-Coastal SCBWI and a member of Writers of Kern.

Close your eyes
And listen to the chorus of birds
To the wind
To the leaves skittering across grass and then pavement
To the creaking of branches as they sway against the breeze

Close your eyes and feel the warmth of the sun
That same breeze, kissing your cheek

Close your eyes and breathe deeply at the hint of the ocean
The fragrance of an evening meal
The sweet, acrid scent of a cigar
Decomposing leaves
Wet dirt preparing for the blossoms of spring

Close your eyes and know that you are loved
And that, if only in this moment, your world is right

—Sandy Moffett

Sandy Moffett has been a writer and lyricist for more than 40 years. She has been published in Mortuary Management. International Mortuary and Cemetery Management, Cup of Comfort: Devotional for Mothers and Daughters, and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Angels Among Us. Sandy is a long-time member of Writers of Kern.

i meant to say…
i remember the touch of your hand,
your melodic laughter at little things.
you left the convent, I left the seminary,
our common experience in different lights.

i meant to say…
that day we explored the museum in LA
left me in awe of you, my private docent amid the masters,
vibrant colors, muted whispers, and you
dwelt amid a world I’d never imagined.

i meant to say…
i was in love with you,
but you were not with me.

i meant to say…
your kindness, your goodness, your gift
of letting go freed me to meet
the one I love and who loves me.
so…

now i say…
thank you
for our time together,
and for my life after that.

—Terry Redman

My card says, “Mystery Fan, Bibliophile, Writer, Raconteur.” I have published in non-fiction, fiction and poetry. My current interests are creative blank verse and reading suspense or non-fiction. You can find my works on my blog and at Facebook.  Drop by and have a cup of coffee.

Give me verse that is terse, that is tight;
With emotions, sensations so right
That my senses of sound, feel and sight
Reel with wonder.

For a song that’s too long becomes dreary,
Dulls all sense and leaves a man weary,
Tired, discontent and with eyes that feel teary
His mind wanders.

—Khoti Sarque

Born: Ahead of his time, after decades of gestation.
Died: Many times on stage and in public.
In between: Traveled, adventured, drank, told lies, loved, formed opinions, corrected his opinions, invented his biography, hid from his creditors, evaded law enforcement and “all the other things one does to prove one is alive”. www.khotisarque.com