Non-conformist of seasons,
Disheveler of nature,
Disturber of my peace,
You arouse once more
That sleeping gypsy in me.
Unleash my formulated life,
Unfetter my soul.
All of nature revels with you
In one last protest
Against the white death of winter.
The leaves escape
Their bondage on the limb,
Fleeing responsibility.
But discontent to lie and rest,
They sweep along the earth
In a frenzied dance.
Oh wild days of autumn,
I rejoice secretly
In your erratic disorder
And find it hard to contain my spirit,
Yearning to be released,
To shout with the sounds of autumn,
To fly with the scattering leaves,
To sing with the sighing wind,
To float like a trail of pungent smoke
Wending its way to the misty heavens.
Betty Schumack, Hopkins
We were asked to write poetry,
A difficult task for me.
To find a theme, and make it rhyme,
I’m really having a terrible time!
And then, to think that what I write,
Must be read aloud in class.
Oh, I’m glad there are no grades,
I know I would never pass!
But how did they do it -
Those poets of yore?
Did they weep, did they ponder,
Were they pacing the floor?
Oh, I wish I knew
How to make words flow,
But I am all stopped up,
I cannot seem to “GO.”
Guess I’ll have to admit
I’ve got no inspiration,
but I’ve learned me a rest,
I’ll take another vacation!
E.L. Walker, Eden Prairie
This day you will receive a gift
All new and neatly tied
A package delivered just to you
With 24 hours inside.
You can keep your gift
All to yourself,
And none would be the wiser
You can keep your love
All to yourself,
As mean as any miser.
You can share your gift,
If that’s your wish
With those who need a friend
And spend some of these precious hours
To make their loneliness end.
The way you use your gift will show
Your heart’s not drowned in sorrow.
And after sleep you’ll wake to find
Another gift - Tomorrow.
Mary Lepore, St. Paul
Her white hair is bent into the garden,
sloping away itself.
Daylight swoons all around.
In the razed shrubbery
from the day before's gristle, her hands
nurture this fertile place that already looks
evergreen and eternal.
Like a time bent flower God planted so ineffably.
Gary Thompson, Bloomington
Little summer bird,
Why do you sing?
The clouds have turned to gray,
Winters snow will come,
Or is that your strength for today?
Teach me to sing.
Wandering Butterfly,
Why your aimless flight?
Stop your foolish play.
Do as the Honey Bee does.
Or is that your strength today?
Teach me your aimless flight.
Laughing Brook,
Why do you laugh?
The drought has come,
Your waters will no longer flow
Or is that your strength for today?
Teach me to laugh.
John Bluestone, Minneapolis
A stranger without a face
has no life nor race
gets lost in a crowd
never says a word, just proud
there is no one to care
Life isn’t fair
For the stranger without a face
So sad is the case
The change of seasons
rolls around like sore lesions
when it’s cold
there is no where to go
but to pace in the snow
Leaving empty tracks
waiting around to see
that maybe someday will be free
this stranger of mystery
with no case, no race, no face.
Gen Bialke, Fridley
|
Press and Publications 
