Poetry

CLOUDS

Some are white, some gray,
others help the sky turn blue. Restless, yet never static, the sky’s most active occupants are a treasured source of beauty

Some days are bright and lively, others mope and droop cheerlessly. Nature responds
to the moods of clouds. When “Sol”, our source of light and warmth shines, they rarely appear. When mother earth needs rain they pour it forth with zest.

Often they thunder, illuminating the skies with flashes of lightning, flooding the land below. Never
the same, they float freely without restraint.

CAMBRIDGE NEAR THE CHARLES

I stare with wonderment
at the newness of the old.
Church spires pierce the sky
wherever my eyes wander.
Ancient cemeteries lie silent
on ever so many green fields.
Graceful wooden homes line the streets
as they brave the rain, snow and the cold.
With steely determination,
grim joggers pound city streets.
Droves of college students fill the
town with joyful chatter and laughter.
Eateries with menus from ‘round
the world are common and plentiful.
Home to sports, women, no less
than menfolk, root with wild passion.
Very much a mecca for high-level education,
medicine, scientific research, it is great to
live in a community so ripe with ideas.
Lectures, poetry readings, concerts
of all kinds ring out from corner to corner.
I reside in a garden that reflects the highest in creativity.

BAGEL BARDS

The whiff of toasted bagels filled the air, yet not a poem was read. Poets of every breed sat to breakfast while
easy talk danced to the drumbeat of seasoned writers.
Tales of praise or rejections were revealed.

Some wrote prose, others worked at poetry of the day.
Still there are those that edit or publish.
Minus an agenda, talk was open yet touched with humor. What was the week like? Who said what? When do we eat? Newly published books were passed around above

warm cheese Danishes and steaming hot coffee.
Groups huddled in circles, the more vocal holding forth.
The tradition so solid, the buzzing sounded in meter.
Rare is a scene so calm where the literary mingle without envy. This, the Saturday morning for poets, is to be treasured.
Long live the songs of Bagel Bards artists.

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