NOR’EASTER

Small craft advisory.

northeast gale.

I grab the gunnel,

stare into the deep.

Scared icy with fear.

Reach to Gloucester.

Bundle the mainsail.

Ride the jib.

Swells lap the mast.

Cleats clangs.

The Pearson creaks and groans,

riding walls of ink.

Sky and water fuse.

Guided by the compass,

charts blow useless.

No visible landmarks.

No two-way communication.

Hope the sound of an unseen buoy.

Captain Meersman,

Commands the tiller.

Happy it’s not a golf club,

or gardening tool.

Her confidence honed driving a race car,

climbing in Nepal,

investigating homicides.

Kathleen Skinner Shulman, New London NH

CANYON DE CHELLY

Sheep graze on the fine green shoots of the lush desert in April.

Rock worn by feet, sun, and water

shapes the steep canyon trail.

I crawl into a shallow cave.

Feel the heat of the flat smooth sandstone.

My eyes trace petroglyphs in the rock.

I appeal to bear spirit in this silent space.

I listen and do not know.

I cannot hear my shadow.

Kathleen Skinner Shulman, New London NH

                                             OUR SUN

                               Mighty Sun we salute you

                     A rising Sun will enlighten our day

                Burning brightly filling us with warmth

     A sunset has a peaceful effect on our state of mind

              The magnificent Sun which we orbit yearly

                       The great Sun we observe daily

                              What more can be said

                                   Thank you Sun

                           W. D. Tighe, New London

                                   SUN STROKES 

                      Witching hour fast approaching

                                              as the

                  Sun slowly creeps up the mountain

                                                and

                                    Night falls down 

                                               ~ ~ ~

                       Dutiful cricket mesmerizes

                                              ~ ~ ~

                               chirp-chirp-chirp

Debra Lamson Perkins, New London, NH

Salutations to Laureates 

and Other Fine Poets.

 I can salute who I damn well please.

                              R. Manchester

On a sunny day

the poem was Halled out

of a New Hampshire hay field

by a woman. Jane. It was written

with a touch of Frost, cold

as Maxine's wolf. It could stand Pat

as written, or perhaps include,

in the field, Richard's groundhog,

or Cynthia's ghost. Maybe more 

Peary and thrust which netted

Marie and Eleanor and, sadly,

has passed by DV. Butt, I have

witnessed the sly wit of Pat

and Joan, felt the memory 

of Ellen's loon and saw the anguish

of Peter's dog.

The sun shines here and there

and from time to time

illuminating some more than others.

However, on any given day

that bright ray of light can be anyone. 

SUN SALUTATION

Unwind the mind

Align the body

Inhale exhale with twelve Asanas.

Start the day with intention.

Clear the pathway

Synchronization 

Bend and arch

Face the sun

Feel the heat

Release tension

Energize revitalize

Be the mountain

Salute the day

Repeat the steps

Sun salutation.

Mary Blohm, Newbury NH

THE GIFT OF HOPE

Good morning dear Sun.

I see your glow rising in the East.

Hide no longer behind the trees.

Come find me here where the loon swims

And listens for the sounds of the lake.

Soothe the pain that holds me hostage.

Touch the music in my soul.

Bring to life my song. 

Find me by the water’s edge

Where the shore trees lie 

Mirrored in their silent form.

A dragonfly rests on a lily pad.

It waits to bathe in your warmth.

O morning Sun – I, too, need you.

Speak to me with your light.

I will answer – with hope.

                  Florence Wiltshire Millett, New London

SALUTATION TO THE SUMMER SUN

At 4:44 AM rays of light slip softly through the trees

dismissing the darkness of night as the robins, nuthatches,

cardinals, finches and other local birds begin their

choral cacophony, their salutation to the summer sun.

This wondrous wakeup lulls me back into semi-slumber,

where I dream of wilderness and wild things, free

and unencumbered by plagues or fear of tomorrows.

I want to sing with the birds now splashing in the birdbath,

shower outside under this star of ours saturating

the sky with warmth and glimmering highlights.

First the sunshine spotlights the burgundy Japanese maple, 

then the weeping willow, as it rises into the sky,

producing ever-changing museum quality works of art 

right here in my own backyard with no admission charge.

Dianalee Velie, Newbury NH

EACH SEED

I place each seed

as common and as 

extraordinary as this day

into the warm ground.

They fall gently.

I kneel as in prayer, 

and smooth soft flakes 

of dirt over the tiny 

kernels of life. 

Each is different, 

as each snowflake is 

different, as we are different.

I pat the ground leaving handprints,

a little bit of me in the natural selection,

in the possibility of growth. I salute

the many-colored sun,

the blessings of rain, and 

the miracle of growth. I do pray.

Jennie Pollard, Windsor VT

BEWARE OF THE SUMMER SOLSTICE

I live in a poorly lit, cold cave 

til spring and hope begins.

The equinox, subtle promise,

produces reduced hardship.

This week’s summer solstice

brings what father warned, and 

I might learn from his poor choice,

shortest night in marriage month.

Dan H. Allen, New London NH 

SUMMER’S GOLDEN ORB

Swathed in night’s black velvet

I toss and turn

Waiting for dawn’s pale white sliver 

My eyes close briefly

Opening them I see

Rimming the horizon a thin band of light

Becomes a pale sun moving slowly upward

Evolving into a blinding yellow sphere 

Birds tweet their welcome

To this golden orb of summer

Natalie Davis, New London NH

A VAMPIRE’S LAMENTATION

Sun—of whom I once loved—

my day-riser, my lover, my god…

please remember me

as the young sun-bather-worshiper

I once was: 

pulsing with life and 

salutations of your dandelion-arms.

I ask that your reflection upon

the vacant moon is a reply, a song,

a sign, that you remember me alive.

Amber Rose Crowtree, Grafton. NH

SALUTE TO THE SUN

September sun, eager to set

to get on with autumnal art

the stirring of seasonal colors

the harvest, the gatherings

the winter sun whose pale rays

and thin light conceive chill and cold

encouraging the den animal in us 

to curl up near a fire and nap

the sun in March, an earlier riser,

reminding us to look for diamonds 

on new snow, to feel the promise

of walking without jacket or hat

and summer sun that sits on my

shoulders like the warm arm

of a friend who doesn’t speak

but says what I need to hear.

Pat Whitney, Sunapee NH

HI, HO, SILVER

Radio blasts pounding notes of the William Tell Overture

Followed by thudding horse beats

“Mighty Hi, Ho, Silver,” exclaims the Lone Ranger

Followed by Tonto, his side kick

Piled in the dish drainer- the first load of dishes

Sink on a western plain

I sigh, ”Now to put the first load away.”

“May we help you?” asked the Lone Ranger

“ Yes, yes, yes, ” I gratefully reply

Tonto moves to the dish drainer, picks up a dish

throws each one to the Lone Ranger, who piles them in the cabinet.

“Thank you, my friends for making a hard job easy.”

As they thundered off, I headed upstairs to my bedroom.

Natalie Davis, New London NH

PLEONASM

     I am so bored

    Think I'm going to die

     I'm so empty

     I cannot even cry.

           So Bored 

                            Sia

My sixth grade teacher,

Miss Joan Hay said to us

one day, "write a poem

about your life".

Oh, how boring! My life?

My boring, quotidian life!

And so I thought and thought

of what to pen, and thought

again. So in the end, my poem

as was formed.

My Mundane Life 

I am so unexceptional, 

so unremarkable, so temporal,

so run-of-the mill, so plain

vanilla, so common, everyday,

so lowly, uninteresting,

so unexciting, so banal,

so mudano, so banale,

so lifeless...

that my mother no longer

sets a place for me at the table.

Robert Manchester, Concord NH

SEARCHING FOR MY MOTHER

You smile from a sepia photo,

Dark hair scooped into a pageboy.

Tailored suit a tribute to your mother’s talent.

Stenographer’s pad on your lap.

How did you form your script?

With your left or right hand?

Were the loops tight like

The gauge of your knitting?

Puffed like your yeast rolls?

Quick like your knife that chopped celery?

Slow and deliberate as the stitches in a hem?

Sharp as the prick of the pin in my diaper?)

Smooth as the linen you starched and ironed?

Erratic as his moods?

I want a trace of your handwriting,

Laundry list, birthday card, favorite recipe.

Favorite prayer to Saint Jude,

Note to my teacher,

Knitting pattern,

Envelopes labeled for monthly bills.

I want to know

How you felt

About what you knew?

Kathleen Skinner Shulman, New London NH

DUST

“Dust is a protective covering over furniture,”

speaks a friend’s stitched sampler. So, 

by all means, leave it alone!

Let it do it’s protecting. 

If you must, open 

the windows and allow 

the wind to blow through, 

to move in and around and out. 

Best of all, you go 

outside and forget 

all this nonsense

of dusting.

Did you ever see a dusty flower?

Jennie Pollard, Windsor VT

‘FLAME OF SPRING’

Upstairs, I slowly move the soft 

Cloth across wooden windowsill

Like quiet wings of a Lunar Moth

Shadows of the empty room fill

With the soft spring breeze 

My domestic chores that day seem long

In spite of this spring day’s rising degrees

Outside, I hear a ethereal bird’s song

In the canopy of Oak and Maple trees

Greeting green leaves, bounce in new light

Seeing a little fellow’s scarlet body bright 

With waving black wings, ready to sail

All atoms in motion, twitching his black tail 

Dark eyes, alert to all within his shire

Stone still, I watched this scarlet flyer

With buoyant spirit swinging in the wind

Racing into the woods to his secret places

With joie de vivre, he lifted me with him

I return to dusting photos of family’s faces

Grinning now, his world and mine blend

Loa Winter, Newbury NH

Dusting upstairs, seeing a ‘Scarlet Tanager’

DAILY BREAD

Light’s fingers prod away your laggard dreams

you throw your window open to the day

and let in rushing flood of morning beams

whose clear-eyed fingers brush dark shades away:

again, night’s bedpost, only what it seems.

Earth rises to the summons of the jay.

The hawk flies over fields before they green,

by nature, tracking hidden mouse’s pace.

You, too, will know your work before it’s seen:

To smooth the tangled things, put all in place,

to fill the steaming cup, to sweep and clean--

to take and share your daily bread with grace.

But after mundane things are put away

will you have had your bowl of stars today?

Joan T. Doran, New London NH

CLOSET TREASURES

April’s cool touch whispers thoughts of spring.

If only by the calendar – I should feel such joy. 

Pinterest vies for my attention – morning 

Emails with speed cleaning hints. 

I laugh and tell them “no thanks.”

My closet is already clean and neat

Along with showers of old memories of places.

Come, and I will show you my treasures. 

That yellow dress was worn for tea in Rome, Italy –

A delightful afternoon at the Spanish Steps.

Those blue slacks were right for walking in Vienna

Where I heard Beethoven’s “Fifth Symphony” at the

World famous Musikverein Concert Hall.

And I shall never forget sitting under the stars at the 

Baths of Caracalla in Rome. My jade green blouse was

The perfect evening wear for a performance of “Aida.”

Though, time takes all but the memories – perhaps on

Another day – I’ll find the courage to let go – 

And empty my closet.

Florence Wiltshire Millett, New London NH

A MUNDANE TASK (DRAFT)

She says, sweeping

is one a them things

you got to do daily, really.

Come to find out, raking, too

like sweeping

takes a strong back

monotony, bending low, loose grip.

It's good to be short, she says.

Short daughter

hides cookies down low

Tall boy stashes chocolate

up high.

But only ol' mamma seems the right

height for a broom

or a measure of quiet moment

with the rhythm and work

of a rake, a broom.

Who raised these kids!

she says, refusing

to help ol' mother?

She says, she says, no - listen! 

Listen, listen, linda listen . . 

There are things 

you got to do

duties, tasks, mundane

or whatnot.

Sometimes you just need 

to wipe and swipe.

Even a garbage can needs cleaning

sometimes.

And sweeping, it's one of them things

she says, you go to do,

daily, really.

Nicole M. L. Gage, Newbury NH

GARDEN TASKS MUNDANE

Simple things to be done

Collection of easy chores

Mundane tasks requested

Off with snow tires

Away the overcoats

Remove woolly hats

Mow the lawn

Prune the trees

Sweep driveway

Trim shrubbery

Plant new bulbs

Realign the patio

Exercise often

Enjoy springtime

Celebrate summer

W. D. Tighe, New London

THE DUMP RUN

Covid – 19 changed my life.

It’s arrival shock shook my timbers.

No longer could I peruse the castoffs,

nor leave my meagre prize,

yet we relish

each visit’s catharsis.

Dan H. Allen, New London NH

CLEAN SWEEP

Romance swept past

us the day you gifted me

a vacuum cleaner

for my birthday.

I grant, you,

the old one

tired easily

and was lately

prone to violent outbursts

of dirt and dander,

the vacuum, that is,

not you, darling,

but the new one

came on bold and bright,

anxious to sweep up

anything in its path,

which is where

I placed myself

unknowingly anxious

to once again

be swept away.

Dianalee Velie, Newbury NH

PERFECT PAIRING

Charlotte was always quite a dish:

exquisite, delicate and airy-sweet--

So light-hearted, bubbly—

So beautiful: berries and cream--

her lady fingers tender, soft.

She turned away from inapt matches

such as Reuben, that wry guy.

She found him sort of cheesy, sour,

parading in his Russian dress—

or svelte Alfredo, rich

and smooth--she termed him

saucy and too unctuous--

Louie, too, was robed in riches

well-dressed, yes--but really crabby--

Spurned, too, was jumbled Mulligan, 

who simmered in a mixed-up stew.

At last came Chuck, a meaty guy

and sizzling hot--providing juicy tidbits

Charlotte nibbled from his plate—

He was tender, too, and sanguine—

she said she’d stake her life on him.

Their marriage was in superb taste:

a grand love feast, a perfect pairing.

Joan Doran, New London NH

CONFLICT IN LOVE

A day—years ago—how well I remember

The first showing of “Gone With The Wind” 

At our local theater—nearly four hours of epic drama.

Ellie and I were excited school girls with front row seats—

Our eyes waiting for the house lights to dim.

In an afternoon of youthful passion, we imagined ourselves

Playing the lead actress, Scarlett O’Hara, whose love life 

Held a self-centered and spoiled teenager in a tangled web—

Never leading to a lasting romance.

Her love for Ashley Wilkes, a true southern gentleman, played

Games with Scarlett’s psyche—her mind lit with fire.

Filled with conflict, her marriage to Rhett Butler, a dashing,

Scandalous businessman, was in shambles from the start. 

Rhett, forever bitter, tried to punish her for it.

Scarlett—in the end—realizing she must move on.

Florence Wiltshire Millett, New London NH

WHAT HAWTHORNE NEVER TOLD US

Don Juan's secret flight

was to meet with,

on a warm summer night,

that so pious, so fine

married woman,

Hester Prynne.

A joyous romp

the sex so fine

would leave our Hester

with a telltale sign.

Don skips back to Spain

leaving both Hester,

with her scarlet sign,

and pastor Arthur

to suffer guilt and pain.

Don Juan always wished 

he could return for more

because as he said,

she's an A-1 whore.

Robert Manchester, Concord NH  

THE PERFECT LOVE AFFAIR

First to sign, the marriage log

Miss Piggy, Kermit the Frog

Earl and Opal, an elderly team

Their love special, full of esteem

Next to join, what love has dealt

Pianist Schroeder, Lucy van Pelt

With friendship confirmed, by design

Garfield and Odie, a pet team divine

Beetle Bailey, Miss Buxley on a date

At Camp Swampy, the Army was great

From the marine world, oceans and toil

Comes Sailor Popeye, with his Olive Oyl

Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, a really cute pair

Snoopy and Woodstock, a platonic affair

For sibling rivalry, comes a double whammy

McPherson kids, sister Zoe brother Hammie

From the Okefenokee, comes quite a few

Pogo Possum, miz Mam'selle Hepzibah too

Another crew, from the Georgian scene

Albert Alligator, Miss Sis Boombah serene

All these affairs, from a fictional land

Sensual endeavors, aspirations grand

We wish them well, in their future life

Completely free, of stress and strife

W. D. Tigh, New London NH

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

They almost rode past each other in the Texas badlands,

the dust swirling around their galloping, obedient steeds.

Coming to an unplanned halt, they circled each other,

a perfect ying and yang. The two masked men, intrigued

by their opposite replications, the Lone Ranger in white 

on his alabaster horse and Zorro all in black with his ebony

stallion, wondered what lay hidden behind their facades.

Only one way to tell, they decided and road off

into the sunrise, into a new time slot, into prime time,

and into the 21st century. Tonto sold their story,

admitting to the paparazzi the Lone Ranger 

had been alone too long. The couple, now retired,

bought and restored and old Victorian house 

in the city by the bay, took up golf and hired 

Tonto as their publicist to keep their names 

                                               in the supermarket tabloids.

Dianalee Velie, Newbury NH

TIME FOR A CHANGE

With a very small bag she climbed on the plane

her destination Africa, an adventurous plan.

She ditched boyfriend Ken, so empty headed,

sold the pink Cadillac to purchase a ticket.

So much stuff to get rid of, the task was daunting

she discovered Marie Kondo and emptied her closet. 

The gowns and stilettos were listed on eBay,

the dream house sold quickly, it was now called mid-century.

Finding a new man on the dating app eHarmony

no possessions would be needed where she was going. 

An independent woman Jungle Barbie was ready

to meet up with her real man who called himself Tarzan.

Mary Blohm, Newbury NH

ASSAULT ON KEARSARGE

“I am late, I am late for a very important date,”

Alice gasped,

Owl commanded,” Follow me!”

A tug on her skirt, 

“We can’t keep up,”

cried Winnie the Pooh and Piglet

Running to them, Jo scooped them up,

put them in her backpack.

“I am with you, Alice. We will be the first women to lead

an assault on Mt. Kearsarge.”

“How will we get to its base from this beach road?”

Suddenly eagles swooped down, picked them up.

“We ‘re scared,” screamed Pooh and Piglet 

All the expedition members fell asleep.

The eagles dropped them at the trailhead in Warner.

Pooh and Piglet stood at the trailhead, a large slab of rock,

“We can’t climb that,” they moaned.

“Yes, you can with our help,”

Alice steered them up the first steep rock.

From there Pooh and Piglet tottered and crawled up the rocky path. 

When they came to a steep rock section, 

Pooh and Piglet in tears. “We can’t do that.”

“Go around to the right, Alice stated. 

Jo stayed behind them and gave them

a hand or push when needed.

Reaching a huge rock face, the access the summit.

Pooh and Tigger moaned, “We can’t. We can’t.”

Alice gave Pooh a gentle push.

Jo picked up Piglet when he was out of breath and couldn’t move.

On the summit, Jo held Pooh, Alice, Piglet

Pointing north, Jo exclaimed, ”The high peak- Mt. Washington.”

Natalie Davis, New London NH

DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR BROKENNESS, LOVE

“Don’t sit in that chair moping and expecting me to fix it”

Hide 

Run 

Deny

Shout

Rant

Loose sleep

Turn away

Drive fast

Swallow cookies

“Get creative, just stop pretending to read your lecture notes.” 

Invent a reason

Pretend it’s fine

Slag your thirst

Binge watch Netflix

Slam your feet on a treadmill

Max out your credit card

“I’m fixing meals, engaging in zoom, pretending. Please know how I feel.” 

Sadness like a jellyfish

Undulates with stinging tentacles 

Coiled to unleash the venom of memory.

Temporarily Paralyzed between 

then and now 

flight and surrender

“Use your power to help me find a way forward. Stop ignoring me.” 

Who will love me now?

Hold me as I sob?

Keep silence?

Look beyond the scars?

Bring Hot Tea, that cools as I drift?

Will I embrace the broken me?

Kathleen Skinner Shulman, New London NH

Martha’s monologue imagined during the pandemic of 2020 as George continues to read at his desk, remaining silent. George and Martha are character’s from the film, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (Screenplay by Ernest Lehman adaptation of Edward Albee’s 1962 play)