Women of Words on the Web

My Window

2009-12-29T19:21:00.003-05:00

Jack’s frost sparkles with the candle’s shifting light and
I’m here, sentry at my window, widow of your presence,
Awaiting your return, my wandering minstrel, precious love. . .
This lonely cabin’s warmth keeps you close --
Reverie, dreams of together times and the fires you’ve built. . .
My gaze reaches out to the fresh blanket, diamonds in the moonlight,
Fleeting treasures I wish I could gather and keep to share with you,
For when you once again glance my way and return
To me, my hungry arms. . .
Meanwhile, the candle’s wax spills like tears,
Though its flickering light is strong enough to guide your steps
Back home, as I keep watch here at my window,
Keeping Jack company . . .

Paula J. Botch
© November 2008

Dream Stars

2009-10-31T18:14:00.003-04:00

Last night I dreamed . . .
Or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a dream --
While moonbeams filtered through windows,
My darkened room began to quiver, shimmer . . .
Unbelieving, my eyes beheld
Dozens and dozens of tiny stars,
Stars everywhere, sliding
Down, down, down my walls
Little riots of light, leaping to and fro,
Pointed hands and feet sparking,
Sparking whatever they touched . . .
Lilting Munchkin laughter, ethereal,
Filled my ears
They frolicked and fluttered and flitted about . . .
And then tiny voices tinkled this little ditty:
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are . . .”
While they danced across piano keys and cartwheeled along my xylophone.
My delighted trance continued and I watched these sprites
As they flickered, faded into beams of the rising sun,
Bittersweet
This morning I found glitter . . .

© Paula J. Botch
April 14 & 15, 2009

Hampton

2009-08-01T09:01:00.001-04:00

Sizzling sunshine illuminated our stolen, magical day
As we basked in a field of sand, dotted with hundreds of people, and
Icy ocean waves oozed along the field’s edge
We two were the only two as we talked and laughed and touched
Exciting our bodies, soothing our souls,
Hoping the day would never end, even as the hours slid by . . .
Suddenly, we were truly alone on the beach
Facing the softening setting sun, feeling its glow
As it ushered in the breezy evening, we held one another in the lowering light
Listening to the soft, sad cooing of gulls gliding above . . .
We knew our time was ebbing into twilight

©Paula J. Botch
July 26, 2003

All in the Eyes . . .

2009-08-01T08:57:00.002-04:00

“Aye, aye,”
I saluted as
I eyed him,
And wondered
Why his eyes, suddenly so sullen,
Would no longer rise to meet
My eyes . . .

© Paula J. Botch
June 12, 2008

Driving through Maine

2009-03-23T08:10:00.003-04:00

"RAPID REDEMPTION,"
The sign claimed. Alas, they dealt
With bottles, not souls.

~ by Corinne H. Smith

Art and Poetry Event!

2009-03-19T19:05:00.003-04:00

Visions in Verse 3: Tapping The Muse

Date: Wednesday, May 20th

Time: 7 p.m.

Place: The Boland Room of Heywood Place, Cottage Street, Gardner MA

Admission: Free of charge ~ refreshments served

Our third collaboration with Greater Gardner Artists Association in conjunction with their annual Art show (which is held April 17 to April 19 in same location) is back by popular demand. Several area poets shall each choose a piece of art which inspires her to compose and read an original poem. Art and artists will be present. Check out how these two intertwining art forms "tap the muse!"

Visions In Verse Two - A Thousand Words

2009-03-17T18:33:00.000-04:00

January Haiku

2009-01-19T12:04:00.002-05:00

Sun hits snowy branch
POOF! An explosion of white
The melting begins

~ Corinne H. Smith

Creativity Exercise

2008-12-26T14:15:00.001-05:00

The Amazing Technicolor Dreambook: Keep a notepad and pen on your nightstand. Immediately upon waking, write down anything you can remember from your dreams. None of it has to make sense -- this is just your right brain's way of processing the day's memories.

Something for the Holidays

2008-12-26T14:08:00.002-05:00

"Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare think." --Henry Longfellow

Ritual

2008-11-28T17:18:00.003-05:00

Vessel of comfort,
Pillar of pleasure;
Romance after dark
~Affinity for these.

To revel in brilliance
However diminutive;
To dance in response to breath, motion,
But not to sound. Yet
Its release, sensual:
A symphony permeating the soul
~Infinity plea.

Ah, waxing awhile, but not nearly enough,
Only to wane to a scorching pool below
And taper upward in acrid diffusion
~Trinity in form.

Comforter, reveler, lover~
Desists tonight
But only 'til sunset on the morrow,
When again the torch is held for you,
And you strike up another tune
Of ambient quietude...

Copyright 2006

Music of October

2008-10-15T20:55:00.002-04:00

All the sylvan stage is a chorus
Conducting its concerto before us:

On the birches sing Alto Amber;
Golden chords of contralto timbre.

Oak groves, once green, Tenor Tangerine;
Breezy leaves jangling like tambourines.

They mingle, jingle, they dance and sway
More brilliant than the lights on Broadway.

Conducting its concerto before us,
All the sylvan stage is a chorus.

My eyes hear their spectacular music,
Awed by a finale so acoustic:

Maestro cues his maple-octave starlet~
A crescendo of Soprano Scarlet.

Encore! Encore from the October floor!
To the ground, confetti, more and more!

Quabbin Haiku

2008-10-09T10:45:00.000-04:00

Beautiful water
Headed for Boston faucets
Wish you could stay here

~ Corinne H. Smith

2008-10-08T09:01:00.000-04:00

The future is not set in stone. It's not all decided yet. The future is just what's down the road we decided to walk on today. You can change roads at anytime. ~~Unknown

Kindness

2008-10-01T21:00:00.002-04:00

Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.
-Mother Teresa

Celebrate National Banned Books Week

2008-09-27T13:25:00.003-04:00

Read Maya Angelou and be seditious! Here's a link to the site.

Banned Books Week

March of the Woolly Bears

2008-09-23T22:17:00.003-04:00

I swerve to miss you
Street-striders (black-rust-and-black).
Godspeed, little ones!

~ Corinne H. Smith

Good Advice

2008-09-21T20:25:00.003-04:00

Whatever you give a woman, she's going to multiply.

If you give her a house, she'll give you a home.

If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.

If you giver her a smile, she'll give you her heart.

She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.

So.....if you give her crap, you'll receive more shit than any one human being can handle.

Kathy B & The Wowsers

2008-08-25T23:28:00.002-04:00

Kathy B & The Wowsers
Here's what I know
These are rockin' hot ladies
Their words glibly flow

We meet twice a month
Down at AOTV
For two funfilled hours
These ladies and me

We laugh, talk and share
Both our lives and our words
We're all quite good writers
Like you've never heard!

But more than good writing
What I value most
Are these women, my friends
And to them here's a toast

Kathy B & The Wowsers
Are the heart, mind and soul
Good friends always loving
Let the good times roll!

2008-08-25T19:09:00.001-04:00

At twilight, nature is not without loveliness, though perhaps its chief use is to illustrate quotations from the poets.

~~Oscar Wilde, Irish dramatist, novelist, & poet (1854-1900)

Late August

2008-08-24T16:28:00.002-04:00

As summer’s flaxen
Warmth surrenders to
Crystal chill,
Birds still sing and crickets chirp
While trees replace their garb

Paula J. Botch
Tanka form poem
(c)September 16, 2007

2008-08-05T15:36:00.001-04:00

"Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing." --Robert Benchley

Whispers

2008-07-29T09:44:00.002-04:00

(This poem was inspired by a creative writing prompt to write a poem about the seashore without using words normally associated with the seashore)

Softly you whisper
Your never-ending lure
With wide blue smile
Glittering, serene
You toss your little treasures
Gently beckoning me
Toward a precipice
Where you reach
With icy fingers
Tickling at my feet
Cajoling me to join
That hypnotic dance of
Your lazy rolling
Roar. . .

© Paula J. Botch
August 2005

D-Noir

2008-07-26T12:43:00.009-04:00

(This story came from one of our creative writing exercises, using words beginning with the letter "D" that we found in our dictionaries during a group meeting. Each of us contributed our favorite "D" find, and all of us had to write something using those words. In my story below, the words are bolded; definitions are at the end.)

It was a dark and dreary night. No, actually, it was duskish. Duskish in Dystopia, a town filled with devastating secrets. My lazy gaze traveled slowly across the hazy, smoke-filled gloom of the DryAsDust Saloon. Jagger and the boys yelled from the juke, and I contemplated some hair of the dog. The DryAsDust patrons were an eclectic mix of “dandies,” or those who fancied themselves to be the dandies of the day. You know the type, the upstart young business crowd, brash and bold, pushing to impress themselves. The other regulars at the DryAsDust are a rougher, blue collar crowd, out for good times and good brew.

The huge diamond-paned window showcased a gauzy, lamplit sidewalk filled with the evening’s passersby. A sudden cold rain was now spattering the pavement and people were rushing to find shelter, some spilling into the saloon. Actually, it was quite amusing to watch the dandy crowd attempting to keep their perfection intact!

My disdain-filled reverie came to a sudden halt. Before my eyes stood the biker babe barmaid, way over the hill for the image she attempted to portray. Her dolichocephalic face and denticulate smile -- enough to scare most anyone -- were framed by a halo of strawberry frizz. Her frizzy head was attached to tattooed shoulders with a nifty dog collar, hot pink with silver spikes. Alarming to realize, she still turned a few heads among the rougher types -- or those too sotted to care -- as they draped across the length of the bottle-covered bar. Of course, she was a total dotard with the attention she paid to those lingering eyes.

As for me -- well, I went back to my gin-soaked dreams and tried to remember what the heck the dingus could be. . .

Duskish = Moderately dusky
Dryasdust = Very dry or uninteresting (as a writer or book)
Dystopia = An imaginary place of total misery and wretchedness
Dolichocephalic = Long head, longer than wide (like a horse’s head)
Dotard = One who dotes or is weak-minded, especially from old age
Dingus = An object whose name is forgotten or unknown

Paula J. Botch

(c) September 2006

2008-07-13T19:23:00.004-04:00

WRITING PROMPT: Do you remember a special day in your youth at an AMUSEMENT PARK? Write nostalgically about your favorite ride or park in days gone by.

A Medley of Haiku

2008-07-13T19:11:00.002-04:00

breezes billowing trees
caress the air so gently
like perfume whispers

green earthy carpet
lush blades tickle the toes
soles are soothed in green

rays illuminate
sky above and earth below
our Sun, their starburst

amber sun on sand
scorches the beach underfoot
swift are steps to surf

humid is the night
day simmers and melts away
into dark passions

defensiveness builds
a bridge too narrow for two
to walk hand in hand

Kathy Bennett, Copyright, Summer '06

Predicament

2008-07-13T18:38:00.008-04:00

Flash Fiction

Bleak silence hung like a crown over Maria's head. Her first thought: uncalming quiet where nano-decibels should hover in the background. How odd, to notice not something, but only the absence of something, she thought.

No children playing, no phones ringing, no hum of idle appliances amid her consciousness. Thoughts emoting no feel, devoid of dimension, and colored in sterile steel on a grey day lost in rolling fog were floating weightlessly.

Was I not, just moments before, relaxing in a bath after a bad day at work? Yes, I remember that. I survived the ax brought down on the department even though I waited all day for that tap on my shoulder that never came, while other stunned talent from the pool shuffled out in shame and grief.

Severance and survival brewed a bitter potion that no alcohol could cleanse. Her neck twitched, her shoulders stiffened, and her back ached almost as much as her heart. She longed for a good hot soak in lavender oil the minute she had gotten home.

Aroma...Warmth...Tranquility.

Water...Tepid...Subsisting.

...Submersion. Sheer nothingness slipped its veil over Maria, wrapping her in a blanket of frayed mortality, adorned with nothing more than a tag tied around her toe.

Time sat useless while bleak silence hung like a crown around Maria's head.

Th-thump!

A th-thump, th-thump, th-thump spurred Maria toward a genesis of rhythm as cold blue blood coursed through her veins once again. The internal chaos rattled her shell, but once the beat became stronger, more regular, one sense awakened after another. Loud pounding, the chemical taste and smell in her mouth and nostrils grew insidiously present.

As fluid as the flowing of blood, a building presence of light emanated Maria's lids, brighter with each mortal pulse intensifying within her at the deserted morgue.

Kathy B & The Wowsers

2008-07-01T10:12:00.003-04:00

2008-06-11T17:37:00.002-04:00

Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best. -- Robert Browning

I Never Knew

2008-06-06T11:05:00.001-04:00

A video poem dedicated to the lost towns of the North Quabbin.

RAIN

2008-05-27T19:18:00.003-04:00

Rain
Sprinkles with fickleness
From wayward cloud mass
Which does not shield the sun.
Odd phenomenon,
Like sweating in the cold.
Like birthday cake at a funeral.

"Eat up, eat up!" they exclaim,
Though flavor churns on their lips.
Sickening sweetness bites like vinegar;
Its rancid aftertaste brews
A violent storm where tongues
of tsunami surge.

All else is sparked by tequila wildfire;
No sun where there should be sun,
And rain cries down from stars.

2007 Copyright

The Vineyard

2008-05-27T18:54:00.003-04:00

in tanka poetic form

Oak Bluff row houses:
Powder blue, mustard yellow,
Pale pink, lavender;
All splashed in island sunshine
Bid good morning to the sea.

Inebriate hues
Mesh along the crushed shell paths~
Gumdrop shrubbery,
Hydrangea blues, sherbet blooms,
Crimson-crowned terracotta...

Painters dare translate
Vibrance! Sunlight! Paradise
Under sweeping skies.
Mastery fine as the sand
Intoxicates the canvas.

2007 Copyright

2008-05-22T07:40:00.000-04:00

"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it." -- George Moore

2008-05-11T20:15:00.000-04:00

Nonfiction is the potting soil of fiction.

~ Richard Peck

ABC poems

2008-05-06T09:45:00.004-04:00

A bold crow
Dictates energetically from great height,
Imparting joyous knowledge,
Lubricating my neighborhood:
Otherwise, pleasantly quiet.
Real-life sounds
Tame understandably veiled wildness,
Xyloidic yard zeal.

At breakfast, Christine devoured:
Eggs (fried, gooey),
Ham (in juice, kinda like Mother’s),
No onions,
Pancakes (quite round),
Strong tea (unlike Vera’s weak).
X-cellent, yummy, zestful!

Both (c) 2007 by Corinne H. Smith

See more of her work at http://www.necarnegies.com/corinnehsmith/.

2008-05-06T09:45:00.003-04:00

We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same.

~ Carlos Castaneda

Jan Vanvaerenewyck

2008-05-04T20:46:00.000-04:00

Jan Vanvaerenewyck, a recent transplant to North Central Massachusetts, has been painting pictures with words since she can remember. She varies her writing from how-to articles on quilting to poetry and fiction. Her works have been published in Traditional Quilter, The Aurorean, and TapRoot.

Linda Braga

2008-05-04T20:43:00.001-04:00

Linda Braga, originally from the greater Boston area, started writing poetry about 15 years ago. She quickly realized that playing with words to create provocative images was a source of much enjoyment as well as a release of emotion. Lucky to have Cambridge’s rich poetry scene nearby, Linda fell in love with listening to poetry spoken aloud and soon took the risk to read her own work at local open mikes. For fun, she has taken adult education poetry and journaling classes.

Day in Grey

2008-05-04T19:09:00.005-04:00

“Oh,” she stuttered,
And the dull grey day
Reached down, squeezed her heart.
“You’re not my only,” he’d said.
She slowly drew a line in the sand, tried to quell
Crazy images that cartwheeled across her mind’s eye, while
Hot tears bit at her eyelids, lazy waves slapped the shore,
and lonesome gulls cried.
No words could form the pain of despair
Knowing it was over, wondering if it had ever been,
On a day shrouded in grey.

(c) Paula J. Botch
March 2006

2008-05-02T18:24:00.001-04:00

The cat is always dignified, until the dog comes by. --Irish Proverb

IF

2008-04-22T06:01:00.003-04:00

If I might not see another spring,
I'd have my flowers right away.
White mayflowers would bloom in winter
and sweet hibiscus would bud everyday.

The scent of roses would fill every corner,
be it the bleakest of winter days...
If I might not see another springtime,
I'd surely have my way!

Bouquets would fill my doorsteps
as there wouldn't be a frost.
I'd have no time to say good-bye
to blossoms that were lost.

Fragrant nosegays would be cherished
or given out to friends,
And I'd frolic with the daisies until
the daylight ends.

I wouldn't wait for my funeral to
smell those perfumed sprays.
If I might not see another springtime,
they'd grace me everyday.
copyright, April 2008

2008-04-17T09:15:00.001-04:00

Happiness lies in the joy of achievement and the thrill of creative effort.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt

2008-04-15T16:36:00.001-04:00

Happiness is like a cat. If you try to coax it or call it, it will avoid you. It will never come. But if you pay no attention to it and go about your business, you'll find it rubbing up against your legs and jumping into your lap.

- William Bennett

My April

2008-04-14T19:18:00.004-04:00

I want to spend my April sitting
on a hill with a mushroom for a
parasol and bright forsythia for
some frill.
I'll braid my locks with ribbons
and wear a crimson gown
and watch the grand procession
as spring strolls into town.
I need to spend my April perch-
ed upon a mound to peek
as yellow daffodils and hear
spring peepers sound.
I'll invite dear chipmunks
over for a spot of tea,
as we celebrate in grand delight
while our world is turning green
I'll rest my head on pussy
willow puffs and keep a diary
of the wondrous signs of spring-
time that the Lord has given me.
Robins will chirrup sweetly and
bright bluebirds will resound and
sing their joyful rhapsody as
I peek to the ground.
I must hold on to my April and
never let her pass, as she brings
along soft, silver rains with winds
as clean as polished glass.
I will not let go of my April
but hold her, of so tight,
sweet utopia of springtime fill-
ed with beauty and delight.
copyright April 2008

2008-04-14T19:18:00.000-04:00

Autobiographical Limerick

2008-04-13T16:55:00.002-04:00

In a countryside burb she wears red
With earrings and dark curls on her head;
Her name is Ms. Janet
From some unknown planet,
Perhaps Venus is her home instead.

by Janet Lawson
Copyright 6/3/07

PEACE

2008-04-13T16:51:00.001-04:00

"If there is to be peace in the world,
There must be peace in the nations.
If there is to be peace in the nations,
There must be peace in the cities.
If there is to be peace in the cities,
There must be peace between neighbors.
If there is to be peace between neighbors,
There must be peace in the home.
If there is to be peace in the home,
There must be peace in the heart."

- Chinese Philosopher - Lao Tse - 6th Century

Ode On Intimations of Immortality (excerpt)

2008-04-13T16:36:00.002-04:00

by William Wordworth

The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose,
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

(Dedicated to Joyce Lawson)

Mango Life

2008-04-13T16:32:00.001-04:00

I am a juicy mango
Golden sunset in my flesh,
And rosy blush upon my face
Shows off my ripeness best.

Born unto a sturdy tree
My life hangs in the breeze,
Umbilically suspended and
Nourished there with ease.

Hard birth of green protection,
Birds sway upon my rope,
Their ready feast not yet prepared,
But growing offers hope.

My fragrant body sways in wind,
Pendulous and juicy sweet,
Dripping exotic flavor,
Not the slightest bit discreet.

My heart is called a seed by some,
Earthen deepness at its core,
‘Tis the skeleton of my being…
Need I remember more?

One day when I’m released through grace,
Tumbling beauty in your basket falls,
The Circle of Life- our certain destiny,
For you, for me, God calls.

by Janet Lawson
Copyright 10/3/06

Dad's Maple Tree

2008-04-13T16:30:00.000-04:00

The leaves on the little maple are flaming,
As if in defiance of their passing, and yours.
The trunk stands- like your demeanor once did,
Straight, proud and inspired by absolute faith,
Unwavering now, as when you first instilled it.
A feathering of pale sage lichen paints
Its silver-gray skin in decorative symbiosis.
Arms branch out, joining others- family members
Of a leafy halo, casting shade or shadows…
All one…all the same, yet judged
Against a backdrop of the living.
Waning life rasping in the wind’s autumnal breath
Whispers remembrance of secrets you lent
And the fond touch of nurturing hands,
That deeply rooted in fragranced earth
The love that was planted there.

by Janet Lawson
Copyright 10/7/05

Quabbin

2008-04-13T15:52:00.002-04:00

Smoky sheers enwrap sunrays,
As shadows drape tree-lined banks.
Solitary splash of red, a scarlet sentinel
Stands amongst solid green.

Interlacing hills, aligned in their relation,
Some distant and some close;
Like cousins sharing ground,
Their bloodroots intertwined.

Silver blue water slivers,
Chipped away by wind,
Slicing the aqueous body,
Blades cutting quick, right to shore.

Bird chirps welcome and warn,
Disregarding our presence there.
Scattered stones set the edge, as
Granite teeth in a mouth agape.

Once villages, roads, and homesteads,
Schools, farms, and lives,
Imprinted there, and now remain
Forever present within its beauty.

by Janet Lawson
Copyright 9/23/07

2008-04-08T19:03:00.001-04:00

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds.

~Bob Marley

2008-04-08T17:09:00.001-04:00

Far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

-Louisa May Alcott

2008-04-08T17:00:00.003-04:00

A day dawns, quite like other days; in it, a single hour comes, quite like other hours; but in that day, and in that hour, the chance of a lifetime faces us.

-Maltbie Babcock

EARTH DAY Awareness

2008-04-07T18:54:00.003-04:00

Define Civilization.
Cultural refinement? Degree of cultivation?
Explain to me, then, what is meant
when blooms of Spring, our perennial source
of Hope and accruing pulchritude,
must coexist without a word, without recourse
amid the strewn refuse from the multitudes.
Consider roadside litter:
A foam cup...an empty bottle;
Scratched lottos, none a winner--
Accidental (or not at all)?
How quick we toss and with apathy suppose
our useless dross would as swiftly decompose.
Tell me again, as the sum of a refined nation,
how far we've come regarding ecology,
this ideology we call 'Civilization.'

2008-04-07T18:41:00.002-04:00

"I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion." --Henry David Thoreau

2008-04-07T18:38:00.002-04:00

"There is no Frigate like a Book to take us Lands away, nor any Coursers like a Page of prancing poetry." --Emily Dickinson

Visions In Verse II: A Thousand Words

2008-03-30T14:10:00.004-04:00

Women of Words presents a special night of art and poetry on Wednesday, May 28th at 6:30 p.m., held in the beautiful setting of the new Levi-Heywood Memorial Library located in Gardner, Massachusetts.
Come to our second annual art/poetry collaboration with the Greater Gardner Artists Association (GGAA). Last year's program was a resounding success as six talented poets unveiled the selected art piece (chosen previously at GGAA's show exhibiting over 200 worthy entries) and read a poem custom crafted of the painting or photograph that so inspired her.
This year's program promises to be just as imaginative, reflective and artful with seven distinguished poets: Paula J. Botch, Linda Braga, Dorothy Hayden, Janet Lawson, Marie MacDonald, Corinne H. Smith, and Jan VanVaerenwyck.
For inquiries or directions, please click on the "Contact Us" tab.
Spring is in the air, on the canvas and in our hearts...

Rain in Georgetown

2008-03-27T13:51:00.002-04:00

I’m so glad it rained in Georgetown,
a night that lingers warm in my memory.
Although I don’t remember you, your name –
we were friends of friends,
out together as a favor to them.
And we had a really nice time,
though I can’t say what it was we did.
Then it rained in Georgetown,
the car nowhere to be found.
And I remember us,
stranded on a cobbled walkway
in the misty lamp glow
just looking at one another –
lost, soaked in heavy blue jeans,
matted hair and streaked glasses.
Laughing.
The memory always makes me smile.

Paula J. Botch
Copyright 2007

RHAPSODY

2008-03-26T19:34:00.005-04:00

RHAPSODY
BY
DOROTHY HAYDEN

Sweet robins all come back to see,
how wonderful the earth will be.
When crocus show their festive heads
and tulips rise up from their beds.
Darling warblers resonate their song
and trill and chirrup all day long!
Bright cardinals croon in ecstacy,
awakening springtime's symphony.
Chipmunks peek out from their lairs
to steal a gust of springtime air.
The purple smell of lilacs and fresh
linen breezes blow,
Across the air of meadows where bright
forsythia grow.
Flowers bud and birds arrive,
Oh isn't it grand to be alive?
copyright March 2008

Enchantment

2008-03-23T17:31:00.004-04:00

Dream-cloud, leapt on;
Downy imprint.

Slumber, ruptured;
Sweet compression.

Dance 'round, my hair;
Graceful magic.

Nose-touch, wet silk;
Darkness query.

Whiskers, linger;
Gooseflesh tingles.

Buzz near, my ear;
Feline Faithful.

Contentment, ours;
Enchantment, mine.

Kathy Bennett, Copyright 2005

Small Things

2008-03-23T15:01:00.004-04:00

World shatters, lives
splinter, and small things count.
Spirits plummet
or rise to meet
your precious offering.

Paula J. Botch
August 20, 2007
(Tanka Form Poetry)

Feeble Pebbles

2008-03-22T20:16:00.003-04:00

Feeble pebbles float away on the tide
Tide turns everyday and changes everything
Everything is not what you need
Need is desire that celebrates life
Life flows everyday like the tide
Tide waves back and forth tossing feeble pebbles

Dorothy Hayden

2008-03-22T20:04:00.001-04:00

Dorothy Hayden lives in the North Quabbin region of Massachusetts and is author of “Lake Mattawa Odes,” published weekly in the Athol Daily News. She is also the writer and creator of “Poetic Refrains,” an enhancing visual, musical, and poetic experience that evokes joy and a sense of well being to her many audiences. Dorothy started to share her poetry while she was employed as a director in an Alzheimer’s center as a cognitive means of untangling the brain web that causes this disease. She has been the recipient of many cultural grants from the State of Massachusetts that are used to present “Poetic Refrains” in bookstores, libraries, nursing homes, and assisted living situations throughout North Central Massachusetts. She has been writing in one genre or another most of her life, but visual poetry remains her passion.

Corinne H. Smith

2008-03-22T20:03:00.003-04:00

Corinne H. Smith does a variety of writing: poems and essays, both fiction and nonfiction. Most often, she writes book and music reviews for several library periodicals, for Rambles.net and for Amazon.com, where she is a Top 1000 Reviewer. She is a member of the Western New England Chapter of the National Writers Union. In addition to the work she has posted here, you can check out more samples of her writing at http://www.necarnegies.com/corinnehsmith/.

Marie MacDonald

2008-03-22T20:03:00.001-04:00

Marie MacDonald has been writing since a teenager, back in her hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. Recently relocated to the North Quabbin area, she is majoring in English in college and considers herself a lifelong learner. Marie enjoys writing poetry and creative non-fiction that explores womanhood and femininity.

Janet Lawson

2008-03-22T20:02:00.000-04:00

Janet Lawson is a native New Englander whose writing has appeared in The Middlesex Beat, The Kaleidoscope, The New England Entertainment Digest, and other publications. As a writer since teenage years, she has also utilized creative penning in her professional marketing career. Janet’s favorite genres, poetry and short story memoir, provide the framework for pieces inspired by nature, love, and deep inner connections to the Universe. A passion for life infuses humor, poignancy, and vivid imagery into her well-crafted works, characterized by clear and bright insightfulness.

Paula J. Botch

2008-03-22T20:01:00.005-04:00

Paula J. Botch has written poetry since her teen years, work that usually “just appears” and is fully formed. A major influence is the work of singer/songwriters and poets of her generation, and she prefers free verse and prose poetry. An ongoing project is “Always the Laughter,” a book of funny stories about her parents and siblings, and she has written several short stories and memoirs. Paula's work has been published in the literary journal "hoi polloi," as well as in the Athol Daily News. She feels she has done her job when readers or listeners understand her work and are truly touched on an emotional level. Paula lives with her husband Johnny and the “fur kids,” big boy cats Huckleberry and Tripod.

Kathy Bennett

2008-03-22T19:51:00.003-04:00

At a creative writing workshop held at Athol's Bruce's Browser in 2005, Kathy met many talented and interesting writers and helped form what was later called "Women of Words." Strictly as a hobby, she writes mostly poetry but has also delved into other writing such as short stories, essays and memoirs. Perhaps her love of writing was discovered when her eighth grade geography teacher encouraged her to take on a penpal. Throughout her remaining high school years, she enjoyed writing to teens all over the world.