"In Sight." By Catherine Norr

"Let the mountains bring peace to the people." 
Psalm 72:3
© Mark W. Ó Brien 2015

We were to rendez-vous at the sturdy oak tree I could see towering over the cornfield. No stubbled cornfield then, but full-grown stalks waving in the light wind steadily blowing across from the mountain beyond. What is it? – maybe a quarter-mile? -- maybe even a mile across the field? – I am fit, able to handle that even though my boots are feeling heavy already.

I make my way off the highway, down across the ditch and into the corn. Unbelievable! How can the road be that much higher than here, walking through the cornstalks that are taller than I am by a foot and a half! All I see is a forest of stalks, surrounding me, blocking my view, disorienting me.

So this is what the corn-mazes are all about, I think…only no pathway out. I begin to panic. I’ll wander in circles, lost, for days, weeks – they’ll find my body at harvest time

I begin to take a few steps, then leap up as high as I can. There! A glimpse! The tree – my goal – my target – my destination! Step, step, leap. Step, step, leap. Step, step…

Mockingbird chortles

Accompanies my journey

New dawn clouds hover

~

© Catherine Norr 2017

~

Catherine Norr hosts the Arthur's Market Open Mic. in Schenectady, is the author of “Return to Ground” published by Finishing Line Press. She lives in Glenville with her partner Dave.

"They Remain." by Brian Dorn

In hours of darkness, trees deserted by disloyal leaves brace for the torturous winter ahead.  A mountain hardened and trampled shows little mercy for the high-spirited who somehow inhabit it.  The evening shivers as time slows and frosts over.  But the faithful remain in grateful adoration awaiting The Maker's glorious light to shine on His abundantly majestic garden.  They remain (and will always remain) to live one more day on top of the world.

Branches raise their hands

Awake in the night garden

In holy worship

~

© Brian Dorn 2017

~
Brian Dorn is a man of his word (which happens to rhyme most of the time).  He's the author of From My Poems To Yours (The Live Versions).  Visit his website at www.briandorn.com 

"Turtle." By Bob Sharkey.

"...and this, as evening fell..."

© Mark W. Ó Brien 2016

Meany’s heart was still beating at a scary pace.  Racing in flight from the horror of the walk-in closet full of tiny green boxes. Way out here in the countryside.  Why?  He shuddered at that close memory, at the immediate signals his body had given to run from that house down the road and abort the break-in.  Now, this hill shifting to darker greens in the fading light.  Looming above the lighter colors of a field.  The hill lying there like a giant flattened sea turtle.  Its neck extended, flippers spread out in vulnerable surrender.  Meany thought of how often men (and boys) had been ordered to “take this damn hill before dark.”  The names of hills of battle shuttled through his memory.  As he stood watching from the margin of the field, green shifted toward black. His heart slowed.  “Getting too old for these assignments,” he thought.  

Lone redwing blackbird

Posted as thin sentinel

Beside mint green field    

~

© Bob Sharkey 2017

~

Bob Sharkey is the editor of the annual Stephen A DiBiase Poetry contest.

"One autumn evening, in the long shadows." By Tess Lecuyer

"One autumn evening, in the long shadows."

© Mark W. Ó Brien 2015

The wild red barns herd their gangling offspring

slowly to safety and rest. 

snug by the cowling

of crisping forest

down at the throat of the hill

~
©Tess Lecuyer 2017

Tess is a long time member of Albany Poets and further examples of her work may be found here:  Tess Lecuyer.

"Angel Lights." by A.C. Everson

"Live in each season as it passes..." 
-Henry David Thoreau
© Mark W. Ó Brien 2016

Her shoulders carried the pack full of fine repast and blanket waiting for just the right spot, thinking the ridge above likely but for grumbles caused by too small a breakfast, rushed due to a change in the weather and the sure feeling that today was the day for this hike.

Crossing the field her load that weighed heavy in her soul lifts when looking up she sees Angel lights. Yes Angel lights, that’s what old mother called them. Long ago stories told to young ears that believed everything, wonders now who visits today. Could it be him?

She said they come when

The light is just right maybe

Doors in clouds open

~

© A.C. Everson 2017

A.C. Everson is a home grown poet, sculptor and performance artist. Her words can be found at albanypoets.com. Her art can be seen at Breaking My Art on Facebook. 

"Sometimes There’s a Glimpse." By Charles Rossiter

"Touch."

© Mark W. Ó Brien 2016

Lying flat out on volcanic ash at Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho looking up at the million million stars, or standing on the National Mall in DC surrounded by buildings of power, tears streaming because the gospel choir broke on through. Evening shadows climb slowly up a steep hill outside Taos. Venus on the horizon, the first stars. Somewhere a cloud reaches to a mountain, or does the mountain reach to the cloud?

moonlight on the water,

ocean waves along the shore,

my feet sink in wet sand

~

© Charles Rossiter 2017

~

Charlie Rossiter is the host of: Poetry Spoken Here--new podcast 1st & 3rd Fridays
http://www.poetryspokenhere.com/ 
His free ebook "Poems People Like" is available here:
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39347
and you may hear Charlie read here at: www.poetrypoetry.com
"where you hear poems read by poets who wrote them."
 

"Because God's grace has spilled over into our lives..." By Mark W. Ó Brien

"Because God's grace has spilled over into our lives..." 

© Mark W. Ó Brien 2015/2017

I dreamed I found the Seanchaithe's buried treasure and hoarded bequests in my mind brimming with the light of great stories. Inside my head I stood beside Ononta'kahrhon as nightfall arose from an expanding afternoon. Suddenly, I knew I must pour this light out like a bucket of sunset upon the heads of my children's children. The light, of memories of a future far away place in June. The light of an unexpected fire that I drew on a chalkboard, as an apprehensive child, when I looked out the window 'til the window disappeared...


It was a good dream,
I saw my dark haired grandchild
climbing up your hill!

~

© Mark W. Ó Brien 2015/2017