Anchorage, Alaska
There are caves with icicles, with no light,
No radiant meadows with room to expand
When the sun comes in one direction,
Up, not down,
Of course, I’m not as real as the coming of the sun,
Nor is this wasteland I live in,
I’m a figment of someone’s imagination,
waiting to wake up,
from this nightmare,
Say nothing as in the movie,
Be quiet, be very, very quiet.
Nothing is more real than the coming of the sun,
The bus I ride to the market isn’t real,
nor is lying in bed after dawn.
I will wake up and be someone else,
I forget sometimes,
I’m a dream someone else is dreaming.
I believe when she wakes up
The fences of frost will melt out of the way,
life will be better through the gate of intention,
everything will always be pleasant
and I will no longer exist.
No words to say
And no way to look out
Anchorage, Alaska
On the caves
Or the clouds
But what I represent will be inside of her,
And she will remember the photos we took
Of each other in Anochrage, Alaska<
Of the caves,
Of the meadows,
Of the country
Before I disappeared,
She gave me a blank stare
Like a child looking for crumbs left behind,
I smiled while watching the sky,
she waved as I faded,
her back facing the coming of the sun.
Renee Bray, January 6, 2025
Food for Thought
Prompt - Inner Acreage Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
The Wind and the Boats
Version 2
The trees who hug,
who love you,
who will not hide from you the wind,
It touches,
and kisses your wet cheeks
The wind is also precious to the boats,
so necessary to sail new heights
above understanding
As your lips lay on the pier,
on the grass near
the ships call the wind to take them places
and back
Your lover calls your name as he lands,
the trees speak as you run,
Don’t be afraid your lover loves you,
The wind loves you too,
It has brought your lover home,
so love the wind,
Kiss it back.
Renee Bray, February 20, 2025
Food for Thought Poem
Prompt 1 – Blessing the Boats by Lucille Clifton
Equal treatment
Leaves in autumn
fall as they fall.
There’s no trumpet playing
or woman in black interpreting their pattern on the pavement.
They had their tree time
and now that’s over.
Every leaf is satisfied.
Every leaf has had a chance to bud
and a final fall.
We see this equal treatment
from Mother Earth’s loving hand,
and sigh with recognition.
We know she gives us similar portions of
precious time and earthly space.
Sue Cohen, February 13, 2025
Black Dog In Muddy Weather
For Quinn, my dog
He hops out the boot of my car like he always has,
thrashes his thick club of tail at the cold air, warning
that joy is on the way.
At some point in life I forgot how to play, but never him,
blessed angel who warms my bed and cleans my plate,
they didn't watch the gate when this one got out of heaven.
Miracles occur, and this one is mine, and he trots over there
to sniff dirt or let a stranger stroke his head,
paws disgusting with February caked in the grooves.
I don't care, I don't care, I simply don't care;
if I can watch a creature love the idea of life,
let him roll in whatever he pleases, it's of no consequence to me.
Sam Woodbridge
Food for Thought, 6 February 2025
Prompt poem: Black Rook In Rainy Weather, by Sylvia Plath