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POETRY Reading: We’re Not a Love Song, by Ben Neuberger

WE’RE NOT A LOVE SONG

We’re not a love song
We’re not gonna dance in the rain
When you leave me there will be no stain

We tried our best
We put us to the test
We knew and so did the rest

Our chapters over
But the story’s not done
In fact, I think it’s just begun

We’ll give It another go…in 10 or so years
when we’ve learned to live beyond our own fears
And by that time… we’ll be buying our own beers

We’ll start to talk
Like nothing has changed
Not your smile, not your eyes
It’s making me deranged

We drink, we laugh, we reminisce
And I can feel your love,
taking me away from the abyss
Till’ all that’s left,
is just a sense of bliss

Then a song gets played
That we can’t resist
So we head to the dance floor
Where I give you a little twist

We’re the only ones dancing
Not that we notice, nor do we care
Because moments like these, are truly rare

For a longtime,
this moment existed only as a dream
And every time, I’d wake up with a scream
But as I gaze into your eyes,
with my arms at your waist
I realize, for the first time
I’m in the perfect place

I’ve been all around the world
Trying to outrun my past
Foolishly believing That I can (actually) go that fast

But now that you’re here,
And I see you with my eyes
It’s clear what I feel
It has no disguise

You’re the missing piece to the puzzle that is my life
And now I know what I’ve been feeling…it’s pain…and it’s strife
Like a wound made by a blade or a really sharp knife
But now that you’re here, We could have a real nice life

(Cuz) You’re the best of me, and I’m the best of you
Even back then, this is something you knew
Like, it was destiny…if that were a thing
maybe I was always meant…to give you this ring

(But) I don’t wanna be a love song
Not with you
(Cuz) they always end the same,
(With) two people in rue

(But) you’re the love of my life
Of that I have no doubt
so let’s ride into the sunset
Are you in…or are you out

Your hesitant
I get it, I understand
But trust me, (and) give me your hand

(Cuz) After years have gone by,
When we’re old and gray
We’ll think about our life
and remember this day

POETRY Reading: ‘NICHOLAS’ The Master and His Work, by Patricia Poulos

The Master and his Work
by Patricia Poulos

One, was this Master with his work;
his hands, his mind, his eyes in unison
to create each sculptured masterpiece
of white marble which lived
Nicholas,
the greatest scuptor of our time
whose gift of design and craft,
brings a cold white marble slab
into a living masterpiece
Only Greek and Roman Gods, or
God in his graciousness,
could bestow such a gift
which separates a Master from man.
Each piece is carved with his sweat and soul,
and as if in the days of ancient Rome where
such magnificence was hailed,
as was the Master
The gift of life
through the Master’s hand compelling,
in his presence and,
in the presence of these
monumental masterpieces of his work.
To be given the privilege to touch
the life of the Master through his work,
as one’s fingers run down the spine
of his beautiful white bodies
which adorn the Master’s room.
But not all, are of beauty.
Some signify ‘injustice’
as does the ‘one-eyed-Judge’
in his full-bottom wig.
The Master is a man of principle; a father,
who adores his five children and
kept them close with home-schooling
with exposure to the Arts a close second.
He married a girl who would share
his every passion and, together in love,
they raised their growing family
But the ‘evil-one’ intervened
with this God-gifted creator
and separated
his mind from his eyes and his hands.
And so, struggling to combine his gifts,
it is his loving wife who stands
beside the Master and asks herself,
“What would Nicholas do?”
now unable, to impart instruction.
And so, the greatest Master of our time
is unable to give to the world any more
living masterpieces
and we, will have to be content
with what he has given us and marvel,
at the work
the Master brought to life.

POETRY Reading: The Corps of Discovery, by L. J. Martin

The Corps of Discovery, by L. J. Martin

A President named Jefferson, he had a big dream.

It would take special men who could act as a team.

Jefferson picked Lewis, Lewis picked friend Clark

From a camp named Dubois, now to make their mark.

You can search for an answer, then find at your feet,

men who’ll not stop till the country’s complete.

Men like cougars, tough, strong, who will live off land,

who’ll work together, forged as a team they’ll stand.

The Louisiana Purchase had doubled the size

but a route to the Pacific now Jefferson’s prize.

The Corp of Discovery was the chosen name,

forty five souls, with luck, destined for fame.

Cook, du Pratz, MacKenzie teased of the goal.

But the route itself was an unknown black hole.

Forty five brave men and a hound named Seaman.

A Newfoundland hound that could be a demon.

A keelboat, two pirogues, packed bow to stern

Flora, fauna, tribes, and route, so much to learn.

Into the unknown, they pushed off from shore.

Forty five and a hound, made up the Corps.

It was May of 1804, and the water ran high.

Up-stream was a feat with death always nigh.

Not long on Big Mo Sergeant Charles Floyd died

Did this foretell of more, many corpsmen cried.

So on they charged, into a muddy roiling river.

Jefferson’s prize, they were determined to deliver.

They reached the great plains, bison, elk and deer,

for many a day hunger pains were nothing to fear.

The first to say no passage were the powerful Sioux,

But the Corps bowed backs and passed on through.

With winter’s first gale built a fort named Mandan,

They survived in good stead losing nary a man.

At Mandan Lewis hired guide Charbonneau.

More important than him was what would accrue.

His young wife Sacagawea, even ripe with child,

would lead the Corps, and help conquer the wild.

An expedition with a young handsome girl,

said peace, where hate and suspicion whirl.

The Mandans taught lessons that eased,

the Corp headed upriver, more than pleased.

Soon with a babe by Clark nicknamed Pomp,

Ahead of the men, she’d continue to stomp.

The captains watched, but continued to doubt,

Alas, Sacajawea, in the lead, matched any scout.

And soon only Charbaneau about whom the worried,

His wife, a treasure, babe on back she scurried.

Lewis stared at the horizon, wondering what he done,

Then forced doubt aside, always into setting sun.

The Mandans proved friends, helpful and kind,

from the boredom of winter, now it was grind.

Now it was sweat, walk, pole, pull and row,

few forces on earth top Spring’s mighty Mo.

Sand bars, log jams, snags say you damn fools,

with strong backs, determination, your only tools.

The good was plains, buffalo, ducks and deer.

The bad was in every way, danger was near.

With flora and fauna they sent the keel boat home.

Now with pirogue and canoes they would roam.

Now to the heart of darkness, the total unknown.

Hope and fear was with them, deep to the bone.

For Lewis, this unknown was a lifelong dream;

country, he said, “beautiful in the extreme.”

Grass belly deep, buff and precious beaver,

walk, paddle, and pull, advance now a fever.

Almost daily a new discovery, flora and fauna,

to explorer Lewis, the plains were nirvana.

West, west, now the Corps a finetuned team.

Now the wide Yellowstone on the left abeam.

But Jefferson instructed follow Mo to the end,

And west was the result, bend after wide bend.

With each discovery, Lewis made careful notes,

Now with iced paddles, charged on in small boats.

From buffalo fat cook made a fine puddin’ dish,

And plenty of wild meat, birds, even fish.

Nice Mandan ladies, plentiful buffalo meat,

Scurvy, syphilis, ailments that must be beat.

Hard winds and dust irritated the men’s eyes,

Still they charged on intent on Jefferson’s prize.

Ahead alone, Private Bratton shot a griz bear,

Arrived at the boats out of breath but not prayer.

A pirogue under sail was attacked by a squall,

filled an inch from the gunnels, about to lose all.

Bailing with kettles they paddled to shore.

Drying precious goods, as Mariwether swore.

Journals, maps, instruments, and equipment,

If destroyed there could be no new shipment.

Calm, collected, maid Sacajawea saved them,

Not first nor last time Corps was proud of the femme.

Upstream, hard labor, they were into the breaks.

Cliffs of bare brown, onward, whatever it takes.

But now, encouraged by Rockies seen far distant,

Driven now by new fervor, a goal more insistent.

The big Mo now rocky, danger near every turn,

Negotiating rough water, a challenging task to learn.

Collecting, gathering samples, much new to science,

Weather, Indians, animals, all showed defiance.

Now white cliffs, Lewis claimed a romantic sight,

Reminiscent of stately buildings in changing light.

Now a cloudy large river flowing in from the north.

The Milk a surprise, one of many, henceforth.

Then another fork, a quandary, both equal in size.

Clark and Lewis, heads together, no else to advise.

After miles of exploration up both equal streams,

Naming north the Marias, on south with the dreams.

Should they be mistaken it was a fearful choice,

but on up the south, captains said, with equal voice.

They decided it propitious to abandon the canoe

And charged on afoot, the path ahead always askew.

Through mud called gumbo, they’d slip, slide and fall.

But hardened by long row and trek, they all stood tall.

A slippery gumbo precipice had Lewis near death,

It seemed new danger near, with every ragged breath.

But birds, robin, thrush, goldfinch, blackbird and wren,

Flatland more beautiful than ever seen by these men.

On up the river they killed four elk, barrels of meat,

for a good long while, the Corps had plenty to eat.

Then glory, a view of the Rockies, covered with snow.

Among all, the belief in their task continued to grow.

And now the great falls, Lewis said, a sight to behold.

Now, afoot, a steep hard climb ahead only foretold.

Lewis prayed for the Shoshoni, and herds of horses,

for across the Rockies they’d know all the courses.

To Lewis’s surprise against all that he’d been told,

It was falls after falls. Again, a spectacle to behold.

His Journal said “pleasingly beautiful, sublimely grand.”

Then he was charged by buffalo, made a brave stand.

Reminded again that in the wild, were constant dangers.

Reminded again, here all the Corps were strangers.

With five falls in the river, it was a great portage.

But thank the lord, good health with food no shortage.

Then the girl, Sacajawea, fell terribly, feverishly ill.

Valuable to the Corps, cure took all of Lewis’s skill.

With a babe to suckle, and the Corps to lead west,

Healthy again, she marched on, babe to her chest.

The portage challenged even hardened Corps men,

toughest trek yet Lewis recorded, on paper with pen.

All this long way, they’d hauled a rigid steel frame,

now to sew a hide cover, a boat, the river to tame.

To his great chagrin, when launched the boat failed,

best laid plans of men, ease of advance curtailed.

Not easily thwarted, a copse of cottonwood found,

trees large enough to carve canoes, safe and sound.

Now the Missouri became three forks, in acclaim,

Madison, Gallatin and Jefferson by Lewis named.

Known to the maid as it was here she was captured,

so close to home no doubt now totally enraptured.

Blessed by the Lord, the chief of the first tribe found

Was Sacajawea’s brother, a coincidence renowned.

With herds of horses, for bobbles willing to trade,

and a guide who knew a route across, they prayed.

Sacajawea had again proved her worth pure gold,

with babe in hand, none of the men were more bold.

But the Rockies ahead proved a formidable test,

lay over the winter, a spot named Traveler’s Rest.

For babbles the Shoshoni’s traded for horses,

and provided a guide who knew mountain courses.

Then the Bitterroots, eleven days of pure hell,

deep snow, horses and men stumbled and fell.

Steep country, deep creeks, rocks, blowing snow,

for the very first time, they feared nowhere to go.

Then the Shoshoni guide came thru, the Lolo trail,

then the Nez Pierce, new horses, they cannot fail.

Ahead the wide Snake, the hope of sound boats,

It must lead to the Pacific, new hope of easy floats.

Now they learned to make canoes by burning,

a short stay, for the wide Pacific new yearning.

The gentle Snake, no hiking ahead, easy floats.

Into the wide Columbia, thank God, new boats.

In places a glorious half mile from side to side,

To the Pacific, kick back, a flat easy ride.

But soon they discovered, wild rapids ahead,

this close to success, they could all be dead.

Falls, short narrows, some dangerous and long,

But good food, good rest, and all were strong.

They portaged, carrying heavy boats around,

again they were convinced, the Pacific bound.

November 7th, 05. Oh joy, tidle changes in view,

And they thought, easy living…if they only knew.

Hostile Indians, constant fog, nights soaking wet,

They hoped rest and food, but now constant fret.

But soon with new vigor they were headed home.

Familiar paths, even then they decided to roam.

Lewis one way, Captain Clark another path,

After all, discovery, sure fame the aftermath.

They met again far down the great Missouri,

Safe, they’d faced the far west in all her fury.

A great adventure, they only lost one man,

only shot one savage, against their plan.

Oh history, the Corps, what an epic story,

for Jefferson and Corps, nationwide glory.

One country, forever, from sea to shining sea,

a country Jefferson, and God meant to be.

Sadly, damn French, brought pox to the west,

Comely lasses and villages brought needed rest.

Clark would be successful, happy and wed.

Soon Lewis, infected, by this own hand dead.

A sad ending for a two-year magnificent tale.

A trek most said was destined, would surely fail.

But a country, forever on, from sea to shining sea.

A country God, and President Jefferson meant to be.

A Corps of Discovery, by Jefferson directed,

A country, for all, Corps and Jefferson perfected.

It matters. Leaders Lewis, Clark, and the Corps,

left a trail, eight thousand miles, none can ignore.

Lewis said when sighting the Pacific, Oh Glory

It’s a tale all should revere, for all a proud story.

They were men, hound, brave lady and baby,

who faced the unknown with hope and a maybe.

So, around the campfire or full supper table,

It’s a true tale to tell, better than any liar’s fable.

POETRY Reading: DON’T LISTEN TO HARRY, by Wayne E. Johnson

Don’t Listen to Harry, by Wayne E. Johnson

Business was slow,
I had nothing to do.
I sat in my office,
Tying my shoe.

I sat there in silence,
And stared at the clock.
And wished it were Friday,
Or at least 12 o’clock.

Too early for lunch,
Too late for a break.
I tapped on my desk,
No decisions to make.

So all I could do,
Was to sit, sit, sit, sit!
Put my feet on the desk,
And not give a…crap.

Then something went bump!
My chair crashed to the floor.
I looked up and saw Harry,
Peeking in through the door.

“Let’s take early lunch,
Don’t lie there like that.
Let’s go to that men’s club,
The Cat in the Hat.”

“The beers are twelve dollars,”
I said with a frown.
“But the girls,” Harry said,
“Are the best ones in town.”

“They have one named Sally,
At The Cat in the Hat,
Who spins both her tassels,
One this way, one that.”

“She does quite a pole dance,
I’m happy to say,
Will leave your head numb,
For the rest of the day.”

“She’ll give you a lap dance,
For ten dollars more,
We’ll have lots of fun,
So get up off the floor.”

Read Poem: REFLECTIONS ON LOVE IN AEGEAN WATER, by Glenn Beatty

Selfishness abounds (as water surrounds)

Me, me, its’ all about me (swim with abandon)

Mind wants it all – all the time, days/nights, consuming all

Sleeping, waking, dreaming, working, loving

Who am I anyway

How can he, she, them, do that

To MOI?

The great, the all-knowing, the perfect

(The small, the ignorant, the flawed)

Pat me self on me back

(Scourge yourself, you deserve whipping)

You’re so sane, yes, yes, yes

(Your so insane, no, no, no)

Beat back the tide, waits for…who ever waits…

Float. (no thoughts) Float. (Fully Free) Float. ( Sigh )

One can fully let go here (or anywhere)

Yet, the salt, the Aegean is

Mystical, magical, clear, clean calm

giving, forgiving, reliving, re…juvenat…ing

US ALL

Eyes close

Float – go with it. Float – go with it – Float

Eyes open – all full, full of

God. Above, white clouds form a sea, an old man of the sea

Against, surrounded by, the blue, blue sky

The All-powerful face looks down at me

Benevolently sheds a cloud

A tear for me, a helpless human

Compassionate first and last…

He speaks to me – short messages:

“Go apologize to your love.” This minute.

“I gave her to you!” “Cherish her, you child.”

(He didn’t say that. Ok, He did.)

I obey gladly.

Another breath of love

Another second of togetherness

Blessings abound

Sanity returns

The small-self steps back, grateful/peaceful.

The Self steps forward.

Read Poem: The Mission, by Ron Glick

You’ve got no love,
And you’ve got no glory,
You’ve got nothing left to give,
So that’s the end of your story,
Well I’m sitting here,
And I hope that you listen,
As hard as it seems,
It’s just part of the mission.

The mission is a job,
It’s a duty, it’s a score,
It’s what picks you up,
Makes you stand up for more,
You don’t get rewarded,
It’s not about giving,
It’s all about goals,
And the will to keep living.

These things you know,
They’ve been there all along,
You just forgot the lyrics,
Lost the tune to the song,
You can’t give in,
Not even a fraction,
You have a legacy to pass on,
That can’t survive distraction.

You have to be there,
For anyone to hear you,
If you’re not there,
No one else will review,
So get this straight,
Assume the position,
Get off your back,
And get on with the mission!

Read Poem: NATURE OF THINGS, by Bardthesque

– I have no idea.
– Try harder.
– The truth, I guess.
– Truth of guess what?
– Of anything, really, I mean everything.
– An ambitious lil’ fella, aren’t you?
– More of a beachcomber.
– Look at that.
– Truth, of course, is the nature, of things.
– As if truth, is that important.
– Touché.
– Some would say love is, or luck, or natural laws are.
– Aren’t those fragments of truth?
– What do you mean with truth then, in a mystical sense?
– The nature of things, being my true religion.
– Your own little true religion then?
– The religion of all religions, meta religion.
– I can live with that since it is harmless.
– It is actually a recipe for world peace if you unfold it.
– Well well well.
– It is harmless, since it is merely a collective name, a convention, a container so to speak.
– So to speak.
– Yes.
– The nature of things.
– The nurture of things.
– Sounds good, but what does it mean?
– The purest form of death.
– Does death has any meaning then?
– Don’t be silly.
– I only act silly.
– Death is the lack of meaning, for what gives life its meaning is death, and death alone.
– You are a funny guy.
– Death or the absence of life.
– What about a rock then, which is dead nor alive?
– Death is not the meaning of existence, but of life.
– Bit easy, no?
– The purest form of death, is one with the nature of things.
– The purest form?
– I don’t know yet what I mean with that.
– So death is your religion?
– No.
– So life is?
– Nope.
– Neither death nor life then?
– Exactly.
– But what else is there?
– Mere existence, or the lack of mere existence.
– Oh, ok.
– There exists more, than life and death, you know.
– I don’t know whether I find this interesting or banal.
– It is almost too obvious.
– Truth is too obvious?
– Exactly, it is self evident.
– Now it is becoming something.
– Truth is always, everywhere, inevitable.
– Are you sure?
– We have always known it, but many have forgotten about it, myself included.
– Why?
– Culture, nurture, whatever.
– So we all know it?
– Truth is what we are, we incorporate it, we have all always been solid truth and we are still in the thick of
it, somehow crumbled perhaps.
– It is certainly an idea.
– An intuition, a short cut to everything.
– Here comes spinoza, smiling face.
– And all those of all cultures of all times.
– What about language?
– World is a word, what about it?
– Come on.
– The limits of language are the limits of life, therefore death is unspeakable, hence it is the nature of things,
which stretches far beyond the limits of language, habits, ethics.
– Ethics?
– I mean esthetics, which is the same.
– Ethics and esthetics are the same?
– The way it is said or done is their common ground, their truth, let’s say.
– I am starting to understand.
– But do you sense it?
– I can imagine that I do.
– Just because it is almost too obvious doesn’t mean it is easily explained

Read Poetry: IN THE DARKNESS, by Martyn Wells

In a black with strength of midnight blue,
Whispering to its heart,
Balletic stars take to the stage so true,
Beauty created: natures art.

Nights of richest hues – pure black,
Hug heaven’s eyes so sweet,
Ones that shine so brightly back,
Embedded in velvet complete.

Dusk then comes a promise of starlight,
Bloomed from darkness concealed,
Brilliant cushioned pearls of heaven-night,
By the darkness stars revealed.

Read Poetry: Don’t Listen to Harry, by Wayne E. Johnson