Dear gentle reader, we humbly beg
Pardon as we wax poetically, leg
after foot of pentameter, ramifications
of beautifications splintering like glass
so many shards, pardon the largess
of a poetically inclined mind -

Drivel like the above shan't, we hope,
Be found 'round the work we love -
Here, for your gentle perusal, we proffer
Thoughts, minds, hearts - all we can offer.

The pen is no mightier than the words it writes
The sword is no sharper than its blade
An arrow may miss the target in its sights
But the love of family never fades

Swirling autumn colors, leaves released,
Dazzling dance bewitching through the field;
Natural splendor, final glorious feast,
Summer's death deceptively concealed.

Of how many circumstances
does the poet write
making use of all the paraphernalia
in the world itself
making use of the unaccustomed
behind himself
and the indivisible need inside herself
and the hot house of indescribable
stretched out before himself
both disengaging and astonishing
the most abnormal self
as if possessed by all variations of  life
backwards and forwards
and even the long strung out moment
that unshuffled agate eyes will shout.
I promise you this:
even inside the windowless room
the poet will write.

Betty Ann Whitney, Wesley Chapel, FL, USA