"Hello, I'm Here. You're There," Rosemary Yanik

Hello, I’m Here. You’re There

By: Rosemary Yanik

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

I’m talking to you even though you seem so far away.

I’m sending my thoughts

And hoping you hear them.

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

I miss our time together,

Our talks, our laughs, our sharing.

I’m holding on, moving forward,

But I miss having you beside me, around me.

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

It’s difficult to enjoy

the creative pursuits when you’re

not here to discuss the outcomes

and see the results.

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

You were my support and motivation to accomplish.

Now I am by myself,

And the excitement to create must be there with you.

It’s harder to find it here with me.

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

My tears touch my heart.

My heart touches my mind;

My mind touches my spirit;

My spirit calls for you.

Hello, I’m here. You’re there.

(2013 Poetry Contest, 1st Place, Wood County)

"Another Birthday," Carolyn J. Rebar

Another Birthday

By: Carolyn J. Rebar

My friend said

Write a new poem

A horn trio for inspiration

I was paralyzed

Now I walk and live

My daughter had breast cancer

Now I live

My DNA walks and talks

In my granddaughter

Now I live as the

Later years bring

Light of dawn as I rise again

As music begins, new music

I live and touch the end of my life

Why should I write anymore?

I will write until the white roses are gone

Until I say goodbye to the fireside,

The wine, the husband, the family

I live now but not later

Not later, live now.

(2013 Poetry Contest, 2nd Place, Wood County)

"January Corn Stalks of Wood County," Larry E. Slaughterbeck

January Corn Stalks of Wood County

By: Larry E. Slaughterbeck

Today is a cold and blustery wind

Howls and blows my leaves…

Those warm summer nights,

Now, only a remembrance…

Are gone…

And necessity to grow

And produce.

Is gone…

The Kernels from my ears, all in a row,

To feed the hungry world…

Are gone…

Even the upland hunters of the fields,

And the pheasants, too…

Still I stand erect and all I have..

Till Spring arrives…

When that tractor plows the soil…

And I am gone…

(2013 Poetry Contest, Honorable Mention, Wood County)

"Gone," Tom Doenges

GONE

By: Tom Doenges

There’s little left that I can do.

My bones are weak,

my strength is gone;

my days of lifting children high,

of sending kites

up to the sky,

of playing softball on the lawn,

of climbing sand dunes

by the lake,

of nailing shingles on a roof,

of painting a gable,

of planting a shrub,

of trimming a tree,

of being half the man I used to be.

Gone

I’ve thought about it a lot;

questioning

why I’m still around.

I always felt,

contemptuously,

that if one takes up space

without producing

for the common good;

without earning a place

in the scheme of things,

it’s time to go.

And then a grandchild smiled and said,

“Grandpa,

can you help me with this?”

A neighbor

needed me to

fix a faucet.

A stranger

asked me to show him

the way.

I held the door

for one older

and more crippled than I.

I prayed

with a bereaved

friend who sought comfort.

The more I helped others,

the more I found

I had much to offer.

I felt guilty

knowing my own depression

was depressing others;

especially

those I love most.

And at last I realized

that I still have much to do

that does not require

physical strength;

and all at once,

my fears,

my doubts,

my depression;

Gone.

(2013 Poetry Contest: 1st Honorable Mention, Lucas County)

"No Purple, Please," Mary Alice Henkel

NO PURPLE, PLEASE

By: Mary Alice Henkel

When I am an old woman.

I may not choose to wear purple

Or learn to spit.

I will, instead, learn to clutter.

I plan to drop my coat on the nearest chair,

And leave it.

Along with last week’s unfolded laundry.

I will find joy in stacking last week’s (and months) daily press

And unopened junk mail

Left hither and yon on top of, and in boxes and half opened drawers.

I will continue my clutter in the kitchen.

Yesterday’s dishes will be soaking in the sink

With an array of well stained coffee mugs.

I will bask in my clutter.

And will hire someone to tidy up once a week or so.

When I am an old woman.

I will sit enthroned upon an antique chair,

At a card table used for a make-shift desk.

In the midst of the clutter.

I will take no notice of the one who cleans for me.

And I will choose to ignore her bemused smile.

I will detach myself from hearing aids.

And will sit undisturbed by the cleaning which goes on around me.

I will calmly indulge in the lost art of letter writing.

And who knows? In the future I may even learn to spit. 

(2013 Poetry Contest 2nd Honorable Mention, Lucas County)

"The Beautiful Garden," Richard F. Berkhoudt

The Beautiful Garden

By: Richard F. Berkhoudt

In the garden of my mind I rest for hours.

A kaleidoscope of thoughts and pretty flowers,

Accompanied by song of feathered friends,

Bring wishes that the day might never end.

First light of morn in radiant hue,

Falls on my footprints in the dew.

Behold, I muse, a familiar story-

Of spider webs in morning glories.

The zenith of the sun most high

At midday fills the summer sky.

Illuminates, as a painting framed,

Pert daisies, roses bloom un-named.

Afternoon’s glowing warmth does nourish.

Garden, grass and hedge all flourish

In dazzling array, a sight to behold,-

Some tones delicate, others most bold.

But the fairest flower among all these

Standing in the twilight breeze, is my beloved holding sway,

Mid posies tended through the day.

Her gentle hands bring forth this beauty,

Pursued as pleasure, not as duty.

By cruel misfortune were I rendered blind,

I could still seek haven--- in the garden of my mind.

(2013 Poetry Contest 3rd Honorable Mention, Lucas County)