Maureen Applegate...2

Doris DiSavino...7

Marilyn Downing...6

Lynn Fetterolf...4

Ann Gasser...17

Katie Kahn...15

Nancy Henry Kline...12

Inge Logenburg Kyler...2

“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”–“Pennessence”– The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS,The Essence of PPS, (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.) (Pennsylvania Poetry Society, Inc.)

April,May,June2014201420142014

1.

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...13

Carol Dee Meeks...5

Marie-Louise Meyers...8

Jacqueline Moffett ..3 & 16

Prabha Nyak Prabhu...9

Carolyn L.Williams...10

Lucille Morgan Wilson...14

Charlotte Zuzak...11

(Poems by PPS members —Electronically-shared)copyrighted by authors

28 lines or less,

formatted and illustrated by Ann Gasser with digital paintings, digital collages,

and other shared images.unless stated otherwise

PPS members are invited to submit.

Deadline for receiving—1st of each month, poems appearing in order received

Target date for sending out—10th of each month

Please note: On April 9th my computer crashed and died. A number of files flew off into

Cyberspace never to be seen again, and some that were salvaged and copied onto a

replaement computer two months later, are still playing hide-and-seek.

Meanwhile, other, more urgent PPS tasks, claimed priority and PENNESSENCE

had to wait. My sincere apologies to those who may have sent a poem that does not

appear in this issue. Please re-send it and pray all will now be back on track for July.

2.

MIGRATION OF THE SWANS

—by Maureen Applegate

The compass lured you on —

to lands of tundra vole and ptarmigan

beneath a midnight sun.

So late your flight began!

You flew in regiments across a waning moon

due north to wilderland.

My heart cried out, "Too soon

to forego finding flocks hid in the cobbled fields

or on some frozen dune!”

The power nature wields,

drew you wave on sculpted wave at eventide

a route by instinct sealed.

The skies are open wide.

I must look south from whence the summer birds will come—

set wistfulness aside.

3.

RED GERANIUM FEVER

--by Jacqueline Moffett

Each Memorial Day, I plant several dozen geraniums

armed with trowel and fertilizer, window boxes

are filled with sturdy-stemmed specimens

Decks, pots, terraces and porches, all enjoy

a touch of brilliant red blossoms

flowers near the front door add a welcoming

note to friends and neighbors

Originating in England and South America,

these hardy plants made their way to

American colonists in 1760, and have been

favorites of homeowners since then

Not the recipient of various awards such as

the fragrant rose, but virtually trouble-free,

these flowers continue to bloom from spring

well into fall, adding to our visual pleasure

Geraniums can tolerate lack of water and poor soil

petals warmed by the sun, add a colorful note

as seasons change, enjoy the beauty and resilience

of the beautiful Stardom Red Geranium

4.

LATE SPRING

—by Lynn Fetterolf

This year even Spring was reluctant to enter

this warring planet.

Daffodils raised their heads cautiously

as if afraid to fully open their yellow crowns

to icy sleet.

Trees budded slowly

fearing assault by acid rain or whirring saw.

All of spring seemed to be waiting

for peace to part the curtains

of winter’s chill and snow

so she could blossom when

her rightful time had come.

5.

HE WAS, HE IS

—by Carol Dee Meeks

If earth never sees us win first place,

‘cause Satan's the opponent we always face;

may God look down on us with grace

with gentleness that's as softened lace.

With The Master let us abide

always walking in His stride,

bands of angels surround each side,

He saves us from sin, that’s why He died.

He came to life to set us free,

the cruel death there at Calvary.

He was made sin, His fate to be,

and was crucified for you and me.

Thanks for being soooooooooooooooooooo

kind to me.

6.

AFTERNOON OF A POEM

—by Marilyn Downing

A poem crept into the yard today

to coax the pussy willows from their coats.

Assured their silver shivers had begun,

the creature pounced upon a loamy bed.

Among the mulch, it nosed the crocus out,

and tiptoed through the tulips'pointed leaves.

When without words it paused to sniff the air,

a zephyr's gentle rhythm brushed its tail.

The feline leaped and swished to catch the breeze,

which had passed on to lift the robin's flight.

The frolic of the Spring's surprising games

beguiled the poem in a playful way.

It prowled, then chased a rabbit on the run,

before it coiled, composed, in springtime sun.

7.

APRIL SNOW

-by Doris DiSavino

You, I may forget,

but never cherry blossoms

blushing in the snow.

8.

SPRING IN THE NORTH WOODS

—by Marie Louise Meyers

The cloudy sky, the bare outline of trees,

the snow still clinging to crevices and hollows below.

The first pale illumination of daffodils

barely breaks the monotone here in the North Woods.

It’s only when I arrange sprays of lilacs on my bay window,

cut from bushes with abandoned beauty,

and watch the sharp relief as

the peeping sun ripples through the diamond facets

of the old cut glass vase, turning lilacs into tinted hues

that repair the winter damage,

shattering the cold world into a bright testimony of Spring.

9.

SEASONAL MIX

—by Prabha Nayak Prabhu

The calendar said it was spring

But signs of winter still remained.

I listened to hear the robin sing

As a snowplow rumbled down the lane.

10.

SPRING AWAKENING

—by Carolyn L. Williams

When seeds of ideas just won't sprout

and spring like youth performing on the trampoline

or like those punching vigorously a volleyball over the net,

my stubborn muse needs nudging out of the mud

to release a word smith's skill lazy from a winter siesta.

I walk around the lake,

not just on a whim, firming a few muscles,

pumping blood to the brain.

Music boxes blare; motorcyclists thunder past.

Sail boats, pedal boats, kayaks--a gondola floats along.

Overhead the sun shines brightly

its rays on sunburned chests and legs.

One young family tosses bread crumbs to the ducks.

A few snowy white egrets select food I can't see.

Dozens of Canada geese squawk some kind of message.

Couples and groups catch my eye--three wedding celebrations, too.

A few marchers carry signs to vote.

The Ice Cream man, bells ringing, pushes his cart past the kids' playground.

A homeless man carries a bag of cans to recycle on his back

and pushes a clattering, wheel worn grocery cart.

A food truck parked along the street advertises Soul Food.

Families and friends spread out on blankets,

clutch cellphones with cameras to keep them connected.

Life as a Senior is a balancing act; if exercise sharpens the skills,

I'm just wondering how many laps and how many hills.

11.

PORTALS OF LIFE

—by Charlotte Ann Zuzak

Life is a walk through a series of portals from

which we cannot turn back;

but we stop in chambers between the doors

knitting, starting with one stitch to frame

that phase of existence,

with its pains, tears, laughter and joy.

The final portal is the shawl of our life,

knitted with all that was good and bad.

Memories are what we are left with,

there is no return to the entrance.

surrealist painting by Vladimir Kush

12.

TWILIGHT REVERIE

—by Nancy Henry Kline

At twilight crickets play their overture.

Then serenade the golden setting sun.

Their symphony will offer respite sure

To weary folk when daily work is done.

When Dad arrives at home the clock strikes six.

The children rush to meet him at the door.

His toddler brings a broken toy to fix.

Dad's eager to begin this pleasant chore.

He kisses Mom who's made an Irish stew.

Asks everyone in turn about their day.

They all sit down to play a game of Clue

When supper dishes have been put away.

The cricket fiddlers' background music fades

As Mom tucks in the kids; pulls down the shades.

13.

INTERIM

—by Louisa Godissart Mc.Quillen

Early morning

finds me in my favorite chair,

a mug of steaming coffee

warming my hands.

The lamp is not yet on;

I enjoy this stillness

before my busy day

begins.

Outside the window

a bird shakes out its feathers,

sings praises to its Maker,

sounds the signal

that dawn has come.

But here in the interim

between night and day,

I wait . . .

listening for God’s voice,

feeling His presence,

preparing my heart

to help others

in the day that lies

ahead.

Louisa Godissart McQuillen ©

14.

THE LONG MARCH

—by Lucille Morgan Wilson

In the waiting time

between winter's shroud

and the revelation of spring

white marble slabs

file out in regimented rows.

Sunlight slides

over the rigid sculptured forms

without warming.

Once a year

flags and flowers and speeches

wind around the stones,

hover briefly, disappear

between taut wires

of the diamond-patterned fence.

Then silence settles again

and the stark white lines

march on, over the hills, away,

always away

in endless procession

toward an infinite vanishing point.

15.

THE MEMORY OF TREES

—by Katie Kahn

In the valley of my dreams

the trees have ears.

They hear the cries and silent sighs

of the lonely ones.

How can they take all the sorrows

of the world and still stay green?

The hemlock calls to me;

I nestle under her winged branches,

I lie on her carpet of needles,

I tell her sweet stories to

help her forget...

the cries of the ancient ones

who never harmed nature,

but lost everything

in a not so brave...new world.

16.

LIFE MARCHES ON

—by Jacqueline Moffett

Youngsters playing outdoors

feel the days are not long enough

When mother calls, children drag their feet,

reluctant to end their eventful day.

Whether it is high school or college,

lively steps are practiced for graduation.

It is a long walk from your seat to the stage

as Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance is played.

Later, a slow walk down a white carpeted aisle

as dad escorts you to meet your chosen mate.

An American-style waltz is the proper tempo

for a grand social gathering at the country club.

We are awed by baby and baby's first steps.

What a beautiful being we have created!

The cycle of life now continues;

birth through death must follow in order.

I am in the last stages of a wonderful life:

special memories are recounted at night,

Illness and regrets are few, if mentioned at all.

A lovely venture/adventure shared with you.

Happy to be alive, I treasure each day...

Brain active, still learning, fascinated with life.

Onward, keep that upbeat measured tempo!

Pen to paper a driving force.

So much to do, so little time...

LAMENT IN A MIDNIGHT FOG

—by Ann Gasser

You haunt the backstreets of my asphalt mind

where echoes vibrate from our pothole past.

And though you're gone, my mind's eye sees you still

in neon rainbows flashing red and green and blue,

in gleaming puddles of a patent leather night.

I hear your whisper in the swish of rain,

your lonely moan in tugboats out on the bay.

The mist ghosts rise from water like white gauze,

as wisps of memory rise in my mind.

In the sting of salt spray on the midnight breeze

I taste our salty margarita past, recall slow dancing

in the magic of black light or beneath a mirrored ball,

close enough to feel the beat of your heart.

Too soon your brilliant light burned out, and now,

I plod through the night fog all alone.

And yet I feel the insistent tug of your soul,

still hear your soft song sighing in the wind.

In spirit you are always here with me--

letting go is not an option--

how could I bear to tear out a piece of my heart?

17.

OnOnOnOnthethethethe

Lighter SideLighter SideLighter SideLighter Side

April,May,&June2014201420142014

18.

Maureen Applegate....24 and 27

Doris DiSavino...28 and 29

Marilyn Downing...21

Ann Gasser..25

Mark Hudson....19

Nancy Henry Kline...20

Inge Logenburg Kyler....22

Marie-Louise Meyers....23

Louisa Godissart McQuillen...26

19.

BACK IN SCHOOL

—by Mark Hudson

I'm back in school in my evening course,

financial aid proved to be a good source.

I'm taking a class with a college grad,

I told her a tale she found was sad.

The grad is working in a law firm,

it makes her uncomfortable enough to squirm.

She'd rather be doing something with art,

but at her age she still can start.

Back at a community college I knew,

a young lady with parents who could sue.

Both of her parents were attorneys,

they wanted her on a similar journey.

A gifted artist, I encouraged the student

to embark into art. I tried recruitment,

but I bet she followed her parent's advice.

Lawyers are tough, and artists are nice.

Lawyers can make money beyond belief,

but some of us artists get no relief.

So come on, wealthy, buy our wares,

instead of giving us your empty stares.

20.

THE CHURKENDOOSE

—by Nancy Henry Kline

A funny looking churkendoose;

part chicken, turkey, duck, and goose.

You cannot cluck. You only squawk,

and, oh, you waddle when you walk.

The animals say, "We don't like you."

"You're different, strange, Go live in a zoo."

You're cold and hungry, lonely, sad.

The beasts don't care if you feel bad.

They pluck your lovely feathers out,

but you don't fight, or cry, or pout.

The sheep won't share their warm soft wool.

Cows give their milk to cat and bull.

You lay green eggs; talent unique.

Pigs and horses still shout, "You're a freak!"

But when sly fox slinks in one night

and gives the chickens quite a fright,

your raucous squawk scares him away.

He won't come back for many a day.

The animals cry salty tears.

"Forgive us. You deserve three cheers."

"You are our hero!" they exclaim.

"We'll put you in our Hall of Fame."

"Don't cry or cheer," says churkendoose.

"I'm so glad we have made this truce."

"If you'll just let me be your friend,

on each other we can all depend."

21.

LIMBO!

—by Marilyn Downing

Bodies in limbo light and lithe

wear close-fit costumes as they writhe,

pulsing and arching with shuffling feet

beating in time with the limbo beat --

LIM-BO!

As limbo dancers dance knee to knee,

the pole is lowered with ceremony

for approaches again, belly to bar,

tempting the fates, but never too far --

LIM-BO!

Space for the dancers receding, receding,

brings cheers from the crowd for each succeeding

pass under the pole, a marvelous feat

with never a skip to the pounding beat --

LIM-BO!

22.

A DATE IN MEMORY

—by Inge Logenburg Kyler

It was somebody’s birthday, I recall.

The date was glued upon my mind, somehow.

Was it a friend that moved away one fall?

Was it her son? An aunt? A sacred vow?

The years have caused a mystery. This date

Was something special to someone I knew

Long, long ago. I sent a card, and, too,

A gift for someone special on this day.

But now it’s all forgotten, and the cause,

It seems that time folds things away,

Occasions disappear, yet make us pause.

The calendar holds secrets I can’t find

Stored in the musty attic of my mind.

23.

BENEATH HER CROWNING GLORY

—by Marie-Louise Meyers

Mother’s braids wound ‘round and ‘round;

to expedite, they were cut like a crown.

She wore this queenly coronation,

Wherever, whatever, the occasion.

It mattered not a whit who came,

the arrangement of her hair was the same.

The only time those braids were unwound

we were asleep, only Dad was around.

Mother had a gift, and somehow she

could ferret out youthful rascality.

We dared not fudge, we dared not lie

to ward off her discerning eye.

Beneath those braids, her crowning glory,

she always knew who was telling a “story”

No excuses were valid, she’d accept no protest,

we learned early on that truth was best.

OF LICENSE PLATES

—by Maureen Applegate

It’s hard to keep driving for hours

behind a long series of cars.

The mind can go numb

without making some fun

and license plates hold just such powers.

How many words can I make

From the letters ahead on the plate?

DRG can be DRaG,

DRillinG or DiRGe

The word list grows on as I wait.

But if “QZX 4278” hits my eye,

I give up without any try.

No word can be found

to carry that sound -

no regret, I let that one pass by.

24.

25.

BEFORE EVE AND EVER AFTER

—by Ann Gasser

When Adam was formed in the garden,

he could burp and not say, "Beg your pardon,"

He had no one to give him grief,

or to tell him to change his fig leaf.

He could let his beard grow, shoulders sag,

and no one would hound him or nag.

He could break out in song or in verse,

he could scream, he could shout, he could curse,

And the only reply he would note

was an echo, far off, quite remote.

Sometimes he would think, "It is lonely

being the one guy—the only."

Soon he had a help-mate named Eve,

who ribbed him like you won't believe,

and Adam, once free as a bird,

was surprised by what then occurred.

Eve took charge--said, "You must be neat!--

by the way, here's an apple to eat!"

The ensuing events are no mystery,

as the saying goes, "That's History!"

26.

“A POET I ARE”

—by Louisa Godissart McQuillen

A poet I are who is going far,

and my humble attitude shows it.

A favorite verse comes quickly

(when I otherwise don’t blow it)!

I write in rhyme and it do look fine—

I surely make God proud!

But if I’m not here when you read this,

Don’t forget to clap out loud!

WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?

—by Maureen Applegate

You can't fault the vulture who

forgoes a good steak

for less savory meals that

won't crawl off its plate,

who lacks a true voice

or melodious song

but none the less teaches

its gangly black young

how to stretch out their feathers

each morning to dry

to lessen the lift they need

starting to fly,

how to float like a butterfly

catching the draft

with wings in a vee making

scarcely a flap.

They're so often maligned

in tales I have read

but I side with the vulture

and eat my meat dead.

27.

ZOO-OLOGY 101

—by Doris DiSavino

“It’s really quite laughable,”

said STEFFI GIRAFFABLE.

“to think that I’m too tall.

The trouble is, the rest of you

are simply much too small.”

28.

CLASS REUNION

—by Doris DiSavino

Dotsy’s ditzy, Mitzi’s kabitzy,

Betsy is no longer bitsy,

Carol’s a barrel, Deke a geek,

Harry is hairy, Zeke’s a freak,

Joan has a crew cut, and wears a tux.

They never used to be such clucks.

Nobody’s what they used to be

Except, of course, for you and me

28.