A World of Verse

by ASMSG Authors

  A calming silhouette,

  One which eradicates all fear,

  A shoulder on which to cry,

  A safe place to shed your tear.

  Her kind generosity,

  Her flushed rosy cheeks.

  All I've ever desired

  Is this girl my severed heart seeks.

  True Love and its Beauty

  At long last I have found you

  After all this time,

  Finally we're together

  I am yours and you are mine.

  That first night on the dance-floor,

  When the lights were turned down low,

  Our eyes, they met across the dark crowded room

  And the path of love did show.

  Our first date, a Chinese restaurant,

  We laughed the night away.

  'I've never felt this feeling before'

  I remember hearing you say.

  Back to yours or back to mine?

  A decision that had to be made

  And after that one, amazing night

  I knew our love would never fade.

  We grew up, became mature

  And our love grew stronger and stronger.

  But then with time came age,

  And both of us were no longer.

  Now we'll stay together,

  Looking back at the past

  It's nice to know that after death

  True love and its beauty lasts.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  OSCAR WAGER II

  The Old Man, the Dirt Path and Me

  I walked along an old dirt path, my boots kicking up the dust

  My spurs were old, and would not jingle because of too much rust

  I must have walked fourteen miles before another soul was seen

  Even though he was seated, I could tell he was tall and lean

  Many miles showed upon his face as he smoked a hand rolled cubeb

  There were many tales behind his eyes that glowed like ocean’s ebb

  He looked and motioned for me to sit alongside the soil road

  As I lowered my bottom I nearly sat on a brown toad

  It hopped out of the way of my aching rump before I struck

  And so I settled upon the ground wishing it all the luck

  The old man began by stating his name, now it’s just a blur

  As he talked the cicadas sang and the crickets they did stir

  He told a tale from his childhood; dreams of running out to play

  But he’d been warned that away from the local stream he must stay

  He himself at eight years old walked along a trail of dirt

  He came to three branches; choosing toward water and hurt

  He slipped into the creek while jumping across moss faced stones

  He grabbed onto a branch letting out barely distinct moans

  But his cries were heard by a lone fisherman wading near

  The fisherman pulled the young lad out, but he still felt fear

  His mama would know something when he returned to his house

  So on the walk back he concocted a tale of a grouse

  Stuck in the underbrush of the forest beside the trail

  When he told his mother the story she dropped her old pail

  Even though she knew it to be untrue, she smiled to see

  He was safe and in her arms; pouring love for her from he

  Once the old man finished his tale, I took the lesson well

  I sat for what seemed like hours even though I could not tell

  As I continued upon my journey, I thought it through

  And then I came upon a three tined fork not sure which way

  I thought back to the old man’s fable as my face turned gray

  Not the lesson of a mother’s love I was meant to learn

  I was to learn from his mistake and know which way to turn.

  A Lonely Soldier

  A soldier stands on a battlefield,

  Protecting the freedom of a thankless world.

  Fighting the enemy he’s been ordered to kill,

  While struggling to keep himself alive.

  Peace is always the ultimate goal,

  But death is the result of an aggressive foe.

  He may disagree with the reason he’s there,

  But he fights with conviction as he wages war.

  May God bless this lonely warrior,

  And keep him safe from harm.

  A Witches Downfall

  The witch stared into her bubbling vat,

  “Eye of newt, and wing of bat.”

  She cackled as she made her brew,

  Adding wart of toad, and evening dew.

  Making sure to get it right,

  She boiled her brew half the night.

  As the sun rose in the east,

  She summoned forth the nasty beast.

  Only one eye and rotting teeth,

  You could feel the evil flow beneath.

  A smell so foul it would make you sick,

  Fur matted and stained and full of ticks,

  “Take this to the tallest tree in the woods so deep,

  And bury it underneath, to stew and steep.

  When the time is ready, they will feel my wrath,

  No one will dare to cross my path.”

  On the darkest night, when there was no moon,

  She called out to her lackey goon.

  “Bring back the potion that you buried deep,

  It is time, for I have promises to keep.

  Go out to the woods, and retrieve my potion,

  It is time to set the wheels in motion.”

  As the hideous creature set off to his deed,

  The witch reflected upon her need.

  When he returned, she began her plan,

  This would show them all, to the biggest man.

  “Goddess of Earth, hear my cries,

  May a veil of darkness cover their eyes.

  Mask their sight with shades of gray,

  So they see only black in the light of day.”

  She poured the concoction onto the ground,

  The air grew still, and there was nary a sound.

  The witch’s eyes grew cloudy and gray,

  And then her eyesight just faded away.

  Her spell backfired and her sight was gone,

  The dumb ogre buried the jar upside down.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Peter Watson Jenkins

  THE AUTHOR’S STORY

  It came so easily at first,

  Words dripped off his keyboard

  In a steady stream

  Of super-consciousness

  He saw a strong man

  Clad in skins and fur

  Master of a cave community

  Dwelling there with his wives

  Who daily protested they were

  His alone and only his

  Lest he suspect the younger men

  Taking advantage of him.

  After the hunt

  The young men ran home

  Leaving the elders

  Humping home heavy

  Bodies of beasts they had

  Done to death with

  Shouts of victory.

  Then the author realized

  His story was not simple.

  Discovered in the details

  It was his own life.

  Suddenly he remembered

  He had been that strong man

  The leader of the clan

  Weary from walking

  Many miles burdened

  With bodies of beasts

  Who came home at last

  To find his careless wives

  Together with the young men

  Then in his fury forgot

  His tiredness and age

  Battled the boys

  And lost.

  DICE ARE NICE

  One and six make seven

  Six and one the same.

  Smilingly I asked her

&nbs
p; Will you join our game?

  Two and five are seven

  Five and two as well.

  First round I lost badly

  Luck became her spell

  Three and four make seven

  Four and three does too.

  Bad luck was my fortune

  Dice had favored Sue.

  One last throw of seven

  Played my fate to seal

  Sue was smiling broadly

  Winning was unreal.

  “If you win again Sue

  I will marry you”

  Dice again decided

  And my luck came through.

  A STRING OF HAIKUS

  Operas greatly

  Delight my musical wife

  I get a numb bum.

  We are old fashioned

  Playing the Early Musick

  Few people enjoy.

  We have a piano

  A violin and a flute

  That nobody plays.

  My wife smiles broadly

  Preparing to sing at church

  A heavenly tune.

  We like the motets

  Sung at mass. What we dislike

  Is the long sermon.

  SONNET

  Where there were grassy fields and bubbling streams

  Where birds would hop from branch to branch and sing

  And little flowers reflected sunny gleams

  Their green shoots climbing upward every spring:

  Now noisy trucks piled high with human waste

  With bits of furniture and broken chard

  To dump upon the treasured land in haste

  And in an bloody stream without regard

  Of all that made the precious earth so rich

  In a brash insult to sweet nature’s face

  Without a thought of what they had to ditch

  Piled high their insults to that hallowed place.

  Then top their smelly hill of garbage greed

  They cover up with grass their dirty deed.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Regina Puckett

  More

  Tucked inside and out of view

  Are dreams trying to come true

  But every now and then or so

  One will peek out to let me know

  There’s more to life than what I see

  And I can be more than I want to be

  Unaware

  Unbeknownst and unaware

  There are angels everywhere

  Calming hearts and shedding tears

  Through our pain and for our fears

  They hold our hands and feel our stings

  They lift our hearts on the tips of feathery wings

  Ships, Cows and Little Boy Blue

  It was porridge in a pear tree

  A Little Boy Blue Fantasy

  It was love at first sight

  A battle lost without a fight

  It was waiting for my ship to come in

  Seeing if your will would ever bend

  Instead the cow jumped over the moon

  And I was way too late or way too soon

  Our Steps Matched

  Wandering eyes and a motionless stance

  Was a strange way to begin this dance

  So I inhaled deeply and tried to pace

  My steps to match your subtle grace

  With each heart to heart and face to face

  Our souls became adrift through time and space

  * * * * * * * * * *

  SHANNON McROBERTS

  The Stages of Love

  I The Eternal Love

  I will love you forever

  My heart sings with joy

  The world will know our epic love story.

  II The Spurned Love

  You broke my heart

  And now you have to pay

  This grudge will never fade away.

  III Forgiveness

  In our defiant youth

  We proclaimed forever

  We never considered how long that was.

  From my broken heart

  I cursed you until the end of time.

  But my heart has mended

  My hate of you rescinded

  And now I feel nothing towards you at all.

  A Thousand Years

  Tear drops shatter-

  like broken shards of glass.

  My heart ceases to beat-

  beneath the misery.

  The somber raven-

  pecks at my soul.

  My very core-

  is numb with your lies.

  The charred embers-

  of all that we were.

  In a thousand years-

  my apocalyptic sun won’t matter.

  In a thousand years-

  we won’t even be a memory.

  In a thousand years-

  your betrayal won’t sting.

  In a thousand years-

  I will finally be free.

  Plea

  I understand you can’t make time for me.

  But could you just hear my plea?

  My heart is breaking you see

  I’m drowning in misery.

  Surely you would see–if you had time for me.

  Hope may float, but I don’t have long.

  Do you hear that beautiful sorrowful sound?

  It is the song of my shattered soul–it is almost at a crescendo.

  I am sure you could hear it if you stopped to listen.

  Well I am sorry I took up your time.

  I know it is valuable to you.

  Maybe someday soon you can make me some room on your never-ending calendar of to do.

  Maybe someday soon you will stop and soothe my wounds.

  But I understand you can’t make room for me today.

  I will see myself out of your way.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Steven Harz

  A new cure

  Each day I collect couch cushion pennies

  Lincoln wheat copper zinc

  in a dented tin bucket that I stored secretly

  under our bed until the time came for me

  to need an abandoned wishing well

  Behind our house on welcome wooded walks

  path tracks bridge brook

  you gathered weeds and wildflowers

  in turn of the century medicine bottles

  and placed them on the windowsill to die

  After we began declaring war on each other

  I would sneak a handful and go

  in search of soon needed hope but slowly

  my pennies would disappear into the

  back pocket black hole that long ago

  stole gumballs and baseball cards

  folded love notes and promised forevers

  You began by using silence as a bargaining chip

  and later your used anger like an arrow

  finally you tried to push me away with your words

  but your actions finally worked and the

  result was indifference and to heal the wounds

  that both of us caused but neither wanted

  you emptied your bottles in search of a new cure

  Following the railroad tracks

  Baltimore Ohio Chesapeake Pennsylvania

  with full bucket and empty pockets

  I found my well and kissed each coin

  before tossing it into our future

  and as the caboose rolled past and

  the view beyond was distant but clear

  I saw you sitting on a fallen log

  holding a fistful of white dandelions

  against the fast fading train

  scattering your own million wishes

  Misplaced heart

  The morning news showed a story about

  a baby born with her heart on the outside

  and as we watched together

  you in your new world and me in our old one

  I touched the screen as it beat outside of her body and r />
  learned that doctors had to build a

  hole in her chest to make room for what they called

  her misplaced heart

  When you were barely older than her

  you molded your own discarded steel heart

  into recycled brass knuckles

  allowing you to fend off love in the name of hurt

  and in the years since have passed time

  smoking wooden matches while drinking milk jugs of gasoline

  from live wire straws and riding shotgun

  with ghosts of who you should have been

  Abandonment hit you like a winter morning commandment

  causing scars that remain tipped in red making them

  look like God’s words in the Bible

  and the light you are now walking toward is

  our 120 watt incandescent messiah

  and while you fought off love I searched for it and

  where a baby with a point of view heart is loved and cried over you thought yours lost and never to be found

  until buying milk by the carton I discovered your picture

  So you leapt from the height of our love and

  onto the rocks below hoping to induce amnesia so

  you could forget your pain like they forgot about you

  and if I could I would lure you home by cutting out a yellow construction paper crown with green lefty scissors

  and building you a castle from forgotten fun house mirrors

  that could change your point of view and

  allow you to kiss yourself at every turn

  Our first meeting was brief and you kissed me do hard

  that it drew blood and made me reach for something sturdy

  And although quick we were electric but before long

  I knew you had to leave me and us and why

  Now while you lay here and I watch over you

  I take a break from holding your hand and brushing your hair

  and think that your hospital sheets are so stiff that if