APRIL: A Shower of Poetry
Phil Hansotia & Wendy Schmidt
I will sometimes hear,
a familiar voice,
in wandering crowds,
or see a face,
passing beyond boundaries.
Then call out her name,
and run to catch slender hands,
only to find a startled stranger,
staring back at me.
The mind conjures cruel ghosts,
it fools weary eyes,
into believing once more.
Signs will slowly fade,
in these long empty days,
but love does not falter.
It travels through time and space,
It breaks the bonds of our bodies.
It lingers in sunlit moments,
and bright bird songs.
Wish upon one star,
burning in the falling night.
Search for an answer,
in it's knowing light.
I will always feel,
the lack of this first link
Yet, lifetimes are not lost,
when kept kindled in warm hearts.
-- Wendy Schmidt
Phil Hansotia is a retired physician who moved to Ellison Bay in Door county from Marshfield Wisconsin in 2004. He is a member of the Wallace Poetry Group and an active member of the WFOP and has published widely.
The Poetry of Norb Blei
He left noiselessly
Taking his sense of poetry with him.He sat in those words.
.For him, his cup of coffee was a poem.
The unfinished moon and the howl of the coyote, a poem.
A fallen tree and a crow complaining of his presence, a poem.
He drew stick figures and spoke sentences that dangled
and floated like fragments in the wind.
He’d call that a wind poem.
For him, sunsets, old men, ripe apples,
and old typewriters that could speak no more were poems.
He’s gone now.
The last time I saw him, he was in a bed at Scandia.
He did not speak but squeezed my hand. Jude was there.
I left without a word. The next day he died.
I suppose that was a poem too!
-- Phil Hansotia