[Critique Group 2] Pieces for May 29th Meeting

[Abbie Taylor]

###1. Poetry from Valerie Moreno

A Question Of Dreaming

As a child,
dreams were bright as pennies,
glimmering like stars in Automn.

A trip to a zoo,
cotton candy at Cony Island,
ice cream and cake on birthdays,
these held magic wrapped in assurance.

The dark ones seeped in,
dirty water flowing over simplicity--
the hard smell of alcohol,
slaps and angry words cutting heart and dignity.

Wrestling with life that became nightmare,
dreams became desperate reaches
outside simple expectation.

Light spread through music--
a golden charriot taking imagination
to land and water fresh and clear.

elderly, the two merge--
simple joys and music take me
above the flat everyday needs
with songs, voices, touches 
of love and dignity I choose.
Soft as cotton candy,
resilliant as a winter star.

###2. Poetry from Alice Massa

Dreams, a Revised Edition:

When David Hartley-Margolin Narrates My Next Book

a poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

After our time together in the early 70s
and then annual letters
tucked inside artistically unique Christmas cards,
our lives intertwine again
as our books cross in the mail--
mine sent from frozen land beside a Midwestern lake
during the Christmas rush,
yours sent from a southern state beside the Atlantic
during a re-awakening spring.

My book, six-by-nine, soft cover;
yours, an ample and impressive
twelve-by-twelve tome, hard cover
with glossy jacket,
beautifully thick pages.

Mine is memoir and holiday poems;
yours is the biography
and art history of a painter
from Orvieto, Italy--
someone you had come to know and admire.

For the release of my book,
I made the announcement 
on my low-traffic blog;
your book release was a gala affair
at a performing arts center
on your university campus.

I am never surprised by your success:
I smile at it,
am immensely proud of you.
While I can be so competitive,
I never had a desire to compete with you.
Although we both grew up
in rural areas of Indiana,
I always knew that you ,
my dear friend,
were playing on a higher artistic plane.

Your world was of the visual arts;
my visual world was...
melting, melting.
So, you settled in the South;
I traveled to the North. 
Then, after all of these years,
because of these two diverse books,
our lives intersect again.

Now, we both are on that retirement stage--
where dreams are reconsidered and revised.
You say you will not write another book;
you will spend part of your time--
not returning to Umbria--
but on your once-upon-a-time Hoosier farm.
"Did I tell you
my dream is 
that David Hartley-Margolin
will narrate my next book?"

###3.  Poetry from Leonard Tuchyner

Year of the Cicada 
Sultry summer day is dawning.
Sol’s heat begins to rise.
A solitary insect sound
slides from a soft dewed leaf --
a singular star
that flickers faintly in early light.
Another song twinkles somewhere,
though hard to tell whether near or far.
A tide swells from all sides.
Every leaf, on every bush and tree,
alive and green, is singing
a tambourine hosanna to torrid light,
until day dazzles in brilliant tones --
Swamping senses with relentless crescendos
of endless steel drum tympanic droning.
Ringing ears have no place to hide.
A billion chimes invade our minds.
Oh to bask in music too bright 
to leave room for shadow of distinction,
and lose ourselves in divine extinction,
within a boundless ocean.
Shall we refuse to lose our minds,
escape to quiet places
behind sequestered walls?
Or simply choose to turn away
from this stark exquisite beauty
of a world in which we abide
by turning deaf and blind?

###4. Poetry from Brad Corallo

Ode to Google by Google
C By Brad Corallo

NOTE: Google's corporate motto is: "Don't be evil!"

We data mine your activity.
And you acquire more stuff.
We so want your data,
we just can't get enough!

It's almost like magic
with every last click,
through our lightening fast servers
bits of data move quick.
Our service is free 
so there's no need for permission.
All's fair on the web.
It's Sort of like fishin'.

We continue to develop 
new toys and new service,
all for your good,
no need to be nervous.

We monitor email
and the sites that you visit,
your purchases made,
every doo dad and widget.

Just tell us your needs,
a song or a book?
Hardbound or electronic
to read on your Nook?

You get ads and free search.
We get data retrieval.
We're your friends here at Google.
Our creed's" don't be evil!"

We value your trust;
not to mention your data.
We're 24-7
here now and here later.

Though our profits are huge
our success never hurts you.
We're high minded people
of irreproachable virtue!

So log onto the net,
and make us your home page.
We're delighted to have you:
Old digital sage!

###5. Poetry from Abbie Taylor

An OUT-OF-THE—ordinary MAD MONDAY

After sleeping in over the weekend, 
seven a.m. comes too soon. 
I wake to an NPR news report 
about another suicide bombing, 
brush my teeth in a fog, 
pull on bathrobe and slippers, 
check email at the kitchen table till eight

when I eat a hurried breakfast 
before dashing off to water exercise at the YMCA, 
realize after I arrive that I've forgotten my underwear. 
At least my swimsuit’s on under my clothes 
so I don't have to jog naked across the pool.

After I get home, 
I battle computer issues instead of writing, 
stop only long enough for lunch.  
When my groceries arrive, 
I chat with the delivery lady, put things away,
before I steal some quiet moments.

In the evening after supper, 
I practice with my women's singing group. 
Then it's home again 
where I snuggle in the recliner 
with a good book, magazine, or podcast. 
In bed, I close my eyes, 
drift to sleep in silent darkness. 
Tuesday will be better.

Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbietaylor945 at gmail.com
Order my new memoir at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com/memoir.htm