YOU WERE THE ONE
who was into cars,
having grown up without a family car,
running all the errands on your bike,
grocery shopping for your mom.
That was the one you bought for $2,
with your mother’s permission.
although she couldn’t help you pay for it.
Then later you replaced that bike with earned proceeds
from yard work, from paper routes, and grocery store,
working your way up from stocking shelves to assistant manager.
Cars were important to you.
You restored early Thunderbirds in our garage
and drove them in parades.
I even helped you out by driving one in a Green Valley Parade
while you drove another.
You had our photograph taken with the ‘57
in Saguaro National Park West.
You hated to give up the Lincoln
but the Mercury was newer
and it was the last one
©Margaret Ann Adams
Come up to the mountain
climb the glittery rocks
tip toe in the water
Oh! a cold shock
Look down to the valley
all sleepy, all still
so peaceful, so quiet
up on this hill
Wander through trees
touch their rough bark
hug the black trunks
joy in your heart
But now to the desert
the cactus and sun
the dry breezy air
your work is done
Oh but where is the sea
the sand, the waves
the push of the water
those happy young days
By Mary DeSmidt
Who is that Woman in the mirror I see?
Can this be? Is it ME?
Hooded eyes and wrinkled brow.
Do I see ME in there now?
My face has changed;
a shock I see, but true. I no longer
resemble the girl I once knew.
Mismatched to what I feel inside.
I shall not look, but hide.
Makeup! quick! Holds the key.
Open the cabinet; look and see
Surely it will hide the REAL me;
The one I do not want to be!
Old and wrinkled, weathered and
Worn revealed in the mirror
The truth I scorn!
One day a change began in me
to look within myself and see
My beauty now shines within
a Spiritual path I have begins
Each year of life marked on my face
bestowed on me an act of Grace.
Thank you God for helping me
see the person I have grown to be
By Jan Ingram Smith
Only the gods
Can change the past
But they’d rather not;
Too much trouble;
Better to let the past go;
A load of useless rubble;
And reconstituting it
Not worth the trouble
Rather if they must:
To the historians
With hard working brains
Who easily conspire to show
How events happened
Along an endless line
Set by time’s arrow:
Fired down a one-way street
In a static city
Where humans visit
From time to time
And then sleepily
Go home again;
By VA Levine
You Make Me Laugh
Oh how you
make me laugh.
You brought laughter
into my life.
You are the love
of my life.
of my joy and love.
You are my love.
You stole my heart.
You are the one
who I will love
all of the days
of my life.
By George Charles Riek
The moment you see, touch, smell, feel
Something of value
In great abundance
It is yours
A dance in the joy
Releasing all fears
In knowing the gifts are free
Promotion in relationships
Or walking in goals
Whether it is the love
Of humans or sunsets
Your moment has arrived
Your treasures are hidden no more
By Lea Dingman
Love on the Line in 1953
Today I saw a lifeline strung
On a clothesline, where it gently swung.
Calico aprons waved at me,
And billowing sheets, like ships at sea,
Beckoned. and at a glance,
I saw a most amazing dance:
A flowered skirt flipped her hem
At sturdy jeans, flirting with them,
While dainty diapers, white as snow,
Formed a chorus line a-row
With checkered dish towels, who joined in,
Kicking their heels in the playful wind.
Tiny pinafores pranced to and fro,
And work shirts of blue indigo
Marched proudly in four-four time,
Glad to be free of their weekly grime.
Socks of every color and hue
Pointed their toes in a pas de deux.
I saw the dance of life today –
So full of grace, that humble display.
By Elizabeth Parks
Rise and shine they say
But as the nights grow longer
I'd rather sleep in.
By Joyce Patterson
This morning, at dawn, the desert returned.
Gone, the jarring, too-intense green.
In its place, subdued subtlety.
Soft, multiple shades of green
interspersed with glimpses of
blue and yellow, brown and white,
lavender, pink, and rose.
Softness. Gentleness. Rightness.
All presented to the eye upon a platter
of textures so varied and numerous
one wonders how could be conceived
such variety, so many types
of twists and turns and tied-off knots.
And everything catching and reflecting
the new and rising light.
From this angle and that;
from this perspective and that,
all along and over there.
This is to say nothing of the blue sky
slightly off stage above,
and the the butterflies fluttering everywhere.
All an orchestration of an unbelievable sight,
accompanied by the soft sound
of boots swishing through the grass
overgrowing the path.
Grass long and thick and matted
like the hair of a sleeping child.
And the only other sound is the flute solo
of a cactus wren’s sweet song.
The Sonoran Desert in all its glory.
One of Earth’s most beautiful of beautiful.
By Syl Rex
The wind is sharp, like the shadows
that come late and leave early.
The rain comes, turning glass to cellophane,
distorting things like a funhouse mirror.
The hummer’s sweet sop lays empty.
The sand hill’s open -tomb cries fall from their gathering spirals.
The apples are blushing now
and the grapes burst in bruised purple.
The dock lays on shore like the remains of a leviathan,
its bleached steel bones splayed in fossilized forms.
The tops of trees hint at color,
dropping a few leaves as memories.
The seasonal inhabitants have left the beach hollow from their summer cacophony.
It is time for the natives to reclaim it.
The fox’s clawed paw prints and the otter’s clawless ones
etch over the webbed prints of goose and sea gull.
The talons of the eagle, all bump and ridge and blade,
are occasionally embedded over wing scuffs or scales.
Autumn, always the diva, throws a wild color and light show as it leaves
for the wings… so somber winter can take center stage.
By Lisbeth Lutz