Decades apart, four down and five up over
across. Big hair, snap bracelets, itchy
sweaters for me. I – pod, I – phone and all
the technology in the world for her. God has
bless me with a blessing 13 years ago. Sometimes
when we disagree on something or she thinks I
don’t understand her, it is like we are from different
planets. I have to reminds myself that I was like her
when I was her age with my mother and my mother before
me.

Things are so different since I was
her age. Just much different than I remember
though. Someday, she will grow up like I
did. I prepares for that day because she is like me
and is one tough nut to crank. Like my mother did,
I will let her go. She will fly on her own without me.
I am okay with that because one day, she will have a
daughter who will be spinning image of her mother.

I soothe your sores and cool your drinks
And make the floors of skating rinks.
I float in punch in cubic form.
I’m fun to crunch when you feel warm.
I’m great for sleds and slides and falls
And penguin beds and igloo walls.
On frigid days, I’m hail or sleet
Or slipp’ry glaze that coats your street.

I shape the flakes in snow that drops.
I’m crust on lakes and puddle tops.
The fossils found preserved by me
In frozen ground teach history.
I’m bergs adrift on northern seas.
I’m nature’s gift adorning trees.
A hanging spear from eave or wire,
I’m crystal clear and gleam like fire.

I take great pride in what I do.
But deep inside, I’m feeling blue.
For this I know, in time I’ll meet
A fearsome foe whose name is Heat.
He may appear as flame or sun.
When he draws near, this life is done.
It’s then I’ll learn, both if and when,
I can return to life again.

Should I revive as polar ice,
I’d be alive in paradise.
For life is grand where air is pure.
As glacial land, I’d be secure.
A million years ‘neath Arctic skies
Would end the fears of my demise.
A new ice age would come to Earth,
The final stage of my rebirth.

Words
Flowing like a river over the paper

Fast and furious, frothing white water
It sweeps me along, faster and faster
I’m drowning in words, gasping for air.

Swirling, whirling, rolling off my pencil-tip,
Trap them before they fly away, those fleeting bits
Of strong vowel, slippery consonant.

Inspiration strikes, then flees, a hit-and-run.

Words
Flowing like a river over the paper.

If you’re not careful, they’ll pull you in too.
They change lives everywhere, they open minds to the truth
Weapons greater than the sword or the tooth.

Powerful, though they’re mere centimeters long.

Words
Flowing like a river over the paper
Spill over and flood the world.

Before I begin,
Don’t think this man is mad.
But a disease has taken over,
His senses have not been bad.

In fact they were increased,
Especially in his ears.
To hear something no longer living,
A heart beyond years.

And a bird who spoke,
Only one word to the man.
Not a song or a flap,
Of the wings as he ran.

His face was terribly drowned,
In his own sorrow of past.
Only he hears the terrible beats,
How much longer will it last?

And the bird, oh the bird,
With its red beady eyes.
Watches carefully of the man,
As he begs and cries.

For the deceased is alive,
Risen from its grave.
Come back to show him,
The regret in a rave.

A blackened painted creature,
A top of a chamber door.
Speaks only a remembrance,
Of the love lost Lenore.

The vulture eye as it sleeps,
Is watched in the night.
For seven days straight,
With a stream of lamp light.

And a glimmer of amusement,
That this figure stares.
Closely in his heart of triumph,
Does he even dare?

Whether spawn of devil,
Or thing of evil on the door.
Whether sight of horror,
Or pale blue pulsing beneath the floor.

A deed must be done,
So his horrors may be locked.
Underneath the floorboards,
Will the evidence be blocked.

But still as he chuckled,
He began to dread and fear.
Of his soon come endings,
The sound grew near.

And now the heart,
Just beneath the floor.
Will now come rapping,
Tapping at the chamber door.

And again he was defeated,
By his own two ears.
The pulsing of the floor,
As the bird grew near.

The tapping of the door,
He no longer took.
The rapping of the board,
He will no longer choke.

A shriek of guilt in the sound,
Came tapping at his chamber door.
No longer standing innocent,
Never-never more.

And the next time I hear rapping,
Tapping at the chamber door.
I will remember the pulsing heart,
“‘Tis some visitor, and nothing more.”

Poetry can lightly touch the heart
Or bring heavy sadness and tears.
Every poem has a message for someone;
True love, sad despair, gay laughter,
Rich meaning, or silliness, it’s all there.
You bring what poetry needs to have meaning.

Larry B. Tibbs
Spring Garden TWP
Acrostic POETRY
2/16/12

Inside and me there lives The Poet
Many times I have come to know it.
Its’ face it really never shows
Sometimes moving fast and then so slow.
Through my mind in needs to go
As the lines in words, they do flow.

On a paper, with a pen, I write them down
Sometimes changing them all around
From the beginning until the end
The Poets words I will defend
Never knowing what it will send
This is a blessed, trusting friend.

As through my mind it stops to say
Let’s write another poem today.
Upon my face, it brings a smile.
As I take the time to sit awhile.

Over the years I have missed many lines.
When I do not stop to take the time
To listen as you sent those words and rhymes.
I will write them down some other day
As I get so caught up in life’s busy ways.

Now I realize this is almost like a game.
Those lines never come back to me the same.
They pass through my mind and then they are gone,
Then quietly, swiftly, they move on.

Here, upon life’s path, I will walk
Now and then I will hear you talk.
Now with those visual lines I see,
Those many poems you have composed for me.

Your presence surrounds me in a deep in silence still.
The air, it sometimes brings a chill
Followed by a flash of lines
Filled with warmth brighter than sunshine.

Never more myself I need to remind
This gift, it travels through my mind.
Its’ face I cannot see from here inside of me
I wonder, oh, how I wonder, who could The Poet be.

Today in a mirror, my eyes, I caught your stare
Throughout life I now realize you were always there
For together, we have gone everywhere.
Those many words in lines we shared.

Another of life’s lessons learned
I close this day without concern.
The Poet inside of me, it lives
All of my thanks to God above I give.

I pray each day you take the time
Just listen to those words and rhymes.
They are sent to me from heaven above
Filled with His everlasting love.

If into that mirror, at that face, today you gaze
Then turn away a to give God praise
With light in your eyes you will always find way
As you travel through life from day to day.

If you are wondering how all of this I know
You see The Poet who lives inside,
Just told me so!

Mary Wright Longstreth
Spring Grove Borough

I an t no good at ritten poetry,
can t rit them words rythmeticly.

I really try with all me might,
try all day til it s night.

I ll never be no Longfelle ,
it an t them words,
it s jus me!

By Sandy Chamberlain Smith
Chanceford Twp
717-927-6412

What the mind cannot contain
The letters give release
The spirit is unbound
The body feels relief

My heart grasps at fickle words
To voice what makes me, me
To lay my life upon a page
And allow the world to see

Me.

-Lyndsay E. McClain-
Spring Garden Township

Invisible threads, by which a spider hangs its prey;
a bird, tangled in such threads;
and you, afraid of such powerful jaws as they

that engulf the bird and make feathers into arachnid beds.
You ask: “How can such things be?”
I reply: “Perhaps we should be asking how our heads

are incapable of fathoming that which they see.”