Monday, September 23, 2019

HER THIGHS LIKE OAK by John Tustin

HER THIGHS LIKE OAK

 By John Tustin

Her thighs like oak
Her steps so light
Her eyes like smoke
On a moonless night

An angel fallen
A bird on the rise
A siren calling
Her words all lies

Her thighs like oak
Her steps so light
Her eyes like smoke
On a loveless night

An angel rising
A bird descending
A night beginning
The daylight ending

Her thighs like oak
Her steps so light
Her eyes like smoke
On a godless night

An angel exposed
With choices few
In maudlin repose
Her words all true


John Tustin started writing poetry again eleven years ago after a hiatus just as long and since then has been published in many disparate locations. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Thursday, September 19, 2019

Seasons of the Tamaracks by Bruce H. Markuson and Katie Briggs


Seasons of the Tamaracks

 By Bruce H. Markuson and Katie Briggs

From out of the bog and lifting of fog.
When blackbirds begin to sing.
Branches grow new, over waters so blue.
Tamaracks hail the coming spring.

Then throughout summer days, they bask in the rays.
And reach for the love of the sun.

But when needles are gold, the year’s become old.
They know that the autumn has come.

Then darker is the day, when skies become gray.
And the north winds begin to blow.
Winter’s story is told, and all becomes cold.
Then they’ll slumber, beneath the snow.




Bio:

Bruce Markuson lives with his wife and two children in Milwaukee WI. He has a novel and over a hundred short stories published. Bruce is also working on a number of series. He enjoys writing and often finds himself with writer’s obsession. He says the best way to write is to have an ending then write to that ending.

Check out his blog at http://brucemarkuson.blogspot.com/



Dying Sucks, Fairy Tales, Hope By Bruce H. Markuson



I am very happy to present to you a writer with something meaningful to say in poetic form. 

Dying Sucks

 By Bruce H. Markuson

That day I dread, when the doctor said, “There are tumors within”
What can I say, there's no other way, how shall we begin

Slit my throat, peel back my face, and rip out what you can
When you’re done, stitch ‘n’ lace and staple me up again

Change the pace, melt plastic on my face, radiate me on the table
Thirty-three days and sixty-six Grays (Gy's) I’ll survive if I'm able

I’ll be in a haze, when I haven’t eaten in days, so I’ll starve a little while
But now and then, I’ll wake again, and cough up something vile

Yet still It’s there, to my surprise, I cannot pass the bucks
It was then, I realize, that all of this dying sucks





Fairy Tales

 By Bruce H. Markuson

They say that Hell is the lack of all reason.
Logic demands all things have their season
We struggle for life, but often we fail
It’s not always the ending to some fairy tales
Why tell these stories that bluster and brag on.
Sometimes the princess is ate by the dragon
When our battles are lost, we fall to the ground
And that’s when the cancer wins the last round


Hope


 By Bruce H. Markuson

Hope’s a word that’s defined
A feeling of expectation and desire.
Hope is cherished by those of us
Who’s faith will never tire.
But in all things, they have their end,
That’s something that I know
Though through the years, I grew, I learned,
There are times I must let go
Hope, I will not waste on me.
Soon I’ll be departed
Hope, I’ll save for my young,
Whose lives have only started



Bio:

Bruce Markuson lives with his wife and two children in Milwaukee WI. He has a novel and over a hundred short stories published. Bruce is also working on a number of series. He enjoys writing and often finds himself with writer’s obsession. He says the best way to write is to have an ending then write to that ending.

Check out his blog at brucemarkuson.blogspot.com