http://thebeginningfarmer.com/wp-content/export.php “In the Light” by Judith Bader Jones Alone at a table before music calls crowds, she grazes news from Switzerland, translates foreign phrases into partial sense like the rocky way she fumbles through the idea of being loved by a Venetian whose eyes emit light when silence stills his soul. He likes her Kent filter tips and the swish in… Read more »
On sleepless nights as swallows circle barns and oval raindrops rattle tin roofs, I enumerate old lovers — men I hoped would love more than the turn of my youthful curves, men who sleep now in beds far from alfalfa, levee roads and the girl who rode a horse until she tamed the fury in his step, pulled the reins… Read more »
I sit on the patio balance thoughts on the moment. Life bears down, counts out my days, but I will come again, like a gardenia’s scent, travel in the air or blossom — on the fence a moon flower — one light in the night. Moon Flowers on the Fence, Finishing Line Press ––Judith Bader Jones, poet, lives in Fairway,… Read more »
I saw the last of them: Men of little flesh, they faded like pages and at last became paper, and one or two, painted in oils, were hung among their books. They taught the use of The Readers Guide to Periodical Literature, taught The Canterbury Tales from thirty-year-old notes, sent us to study manuscripts on microfiche, and took sabbaticals,… Read more »
Trees bloom our town into being. Forsythia crown our elbows in gold and redbuds lance our eyes. The hulking sheriff blows kisses to ladies aged past his own grandmother, and you take your shirt off in the yard until I kiss the last snowy remnants of your skin into last week. When a thunderboomer piles in, your rake your teeth… Read more »
It was late fall when the clouds came in from the mountains, and brought the rain that scattered the tourists and forced the shopkeepers to unfurl awnings and open the umbrella’s out on the patio overlooking the piazza. “You should seek cover,” the headwaiter said, turning to the old man sitting in the wicker chair in front of the Hotel… Read more »
A door just opened on a street–– it launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself as one opponent calling out checkmate an hour past midnight. Meanwhile back at the branch, the long-awaited return of the cardinal, St. Francis in the iris bed, snow making a little cap for his stony head, the sparse grass beneath naked trees since… Read more »
If you don’t know what to do on Father’s Day you can check out some talented writers at the Great Day Cafe in downtown Overland Park. We will be there from 1-2 pm tomorrow. Carol Katsantoness has put together a great line up of talented people.
How to Get an Unusual Name Pick ancestors from a foreign-speaking land. Begin with a name that is little heard even there. Now stir up some rebellion. Politics and religion work best. But first make sure you’ve chosen visionary or stubborn stock. Neighbors must wish them dead, must drag ancient uncles from their beds to execution by… Read more »