How Sweet it Is! A Visit with Kathy Her crystal blue eyes cannot hide All the love of life within Love of family, love of friends Sparkle brightly in them.
They dance and laugh Staring straight into mine With excitement to see me Her eyes brightly shine.
Her eyes always searching As I come to cheer Lovingly plotting how To help me while I’m here.
Each time her eyes greet me I am better than before So I return quite often To look into her eyes once more.
Now cancer has closed her eyes Sparkle extinguished, laughter gone Yet her crystal blue eyes in my memory flash And our special friendship lives on. ‐‐ Judy Lasure
October Moon Oh what a beautiful moon / this October night Shinning full / with its luminous light Fishing pole in hand / and expectations high Catching the moon / through my fishing pole’s eye
Sitting on a rock / by Sandusky Bay The Marblehead Lighthouse/ guiding the way Glimmering water / so smooth and tranquil Catching the moon / through my fishing pole’s eye
Listening to the ripples / gently touching the shore A Train’s whistle / breaking the silence / no more Jumping fish/ flash by and by / casting spirits / high in the sky Only caught the moon/ through my fishing pole’s eye
Falling leaves / rustle down to the ground Readying for winter / with one final sound Leaving memories // never to die Catching the moon/ through my fishing pole’s eye — Paul Herrera
Merrily We Go ‘Round Again I don’t write for children, no. You might laugh, or think it a flaw of mine, but I can’t write what I don’t know. No, I don’t write for children. You can laugh if you want. I pretend now to be innocent, my face childlike, my exterior friendly, and yes most children flock to me like a giant jungle gym, climb over and wrestle me – see me only as one of theirs, giggle and tell me secrets, but I still don’t write for them. You see, no one can comprehend the word “Jaded” like my inner child, who is and was everything at once: mother‐father/therapist‐oracle/housekeeper, thrown headfirst into the complexities of life unprotected; left to drown in adult emotions impossible to name, unable now to remember the simplicity of things such as: “happy bees”, “the color yellow” and “this is a family”. There were even some who considered me a wise child… wise well beyond my years. “See Dick run! This is Jane. Where is Spot?” No, I do not write for children. Not the way you think. Sometimes, I write epitaphs to the children some of us should have, could have been. — Jen Pezzo
Stark County District Library’s 2012 Poetry Contest • Page 10