First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window – First Place: Vaughn DeLeath Neeld

Saying Goodby

I wipe steam away
from the shower door;
moisture drips like tears.
You stand near the sink.
If you placed your hand
on the cooling glass,
and I did the same,
we might be able
to recapture warmth.

You dress, saying nothing,
exit. I am mute.
Behind the front door,
I look through the glass.
You slam the car door.
Its glass is too dark
for me to see you.
As you drive away,
my tears mist the pane.

 

First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window  – Second Place: Elaine Ricketts

What Sue Saw

At Tranquil Acres they shared a room,
Jan by the window, she didn’t like the gloom.
Sue was kind of old, her eyes were blind;
Peaceful and sharp as a tack was her mind.
She faced the hall, liked to hear the sounds
As the nurses back and forth made their rounds.

Jan sounded real sick, but had good eyes.
She’d tell Sue about the lovely sunrise
And flowers and the pink blooming trees,
Blue sky, shaped clouds, butterflies and bees,
Rose bushes in pink, yellow and red.
Sue would smile big, sitting by her bed.

Too quiet one morning—Sue knew things weren’t right.
Found out Jan left her, passed away in the night.
Sue would miss Jan so terribly much
With her window view special touch.

A week later Sue’s granddaughter was there.
“Ann, are the roses in bloom or are they getting bare?”
“Gram, what roses are you talking about,” she said.
“Right outside the window, over by Jan’s bed.”
“Honey, there’s nothing there but a huge brick wall.
What did Jan see? Can you tell me about it all?”

Sue’s unseeing eyes sparkled as she told
Of the sky, birds, clouds, flowers, bright and bold,
Sharing all these things with her Ann, again
She realized what a wonderful friend Jan had been.
Forever, as long as Sue would live,
Jan’s window view is hers, to share and give.

 

First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window  – Third Place, Cheryl Miller

A Feathuh in Huh Cap

Ah had resahded heuh fohr seven yeuhs, that wintuh – long enough
to move to the bed bah the window, mahnd you.
Seven yeuhs, or was it eight, of changin’ CNA’s,
changin’ diapuhs, changin’ sheets. So much same in all that change.
Creamed rahce, cream of mushroom soup, creamed peas,
ahce cream in little cahdboahd cups – creamy, dreamy changes.
Well, Ah had just awakened from mah nap that aftuhnoon
when Ah saw it – a lahge buhrd with whaht feathuhs
fallin’ outside mah window. Blip. “Did Ah see that?” Ah wonduhed.
Ah tuhned on mah call laht, and presently Cathy came to the room.

“Sally, Ah think Ah saw a lahge whaht buhrd fall outsahd the window.
Would you be so kahnd as to look out theuh?”
“I’m Cathy, Sweetheart. Did you just wake up?
Were you having another Florida dream?”

Well, of coh-us Ah knew she was Cathy,
but she looked so much like mah Sally, God rest huh soul.

“Ah am so sorry, deuh. Please forgive an old woman again.
Howevuh, Ah do believe theuh may be a big whaht buhrd lyin’ outsahd the window?”
Would you be so kahnd as to check?”

“It’s coming quite a blizzard out there, honey.
Maybe you saw a gust of wind.”
“Oh, well. Puhhaps that was what Ah saw.”
“Maybe you saw some snow slide off the roof?”
“Oh, of coh-us. That most probably is what it was.”
“Do you want to get up, Sweetheart? Here. Let me help you.
Do you want to come down for a cup of juice?”
“Well, yes. That would be lovely.
Let me comb mah hay-uh down a bit, and Ah shall be theuh duhrectly.”

Well, you know wheuh Ah rolled my chay-uh as soon as she was out the doh-uh,
and Ah could scahcely believe mah ahz.
Theuh in the snow was an egret – a snowy egret heuh in nothwest Colorado.
“Sally! Sally!” Ah yelled lahk Ah was callin’ hogs.
Ah’m sure Ah scared the poh-uh child out of huh wits.
She came dashin’ into the room.
“Ohhh, Ah didn’t mean to frighten you, deuh, but look, look heuh out the window.”

Fohr Christmas that yeuh Sally wrapped that feathuh
in a box lahk a long-stemmed rose maht come in, and
it’s hung theuh on mah bulletin boahd evuh since –
must be nahn, ten yeuhs now.

First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window  – First Honorable Mention, Alice Schock

Autumn ExtravaganzaHuge, grayish, Chalk Cliff sculptures
Northern backdrop within my view,
Glorious, resplendent, Colorado sunrise . . . .Magnificent Collegiate Peaks surround me
Marching southward, Santa Fe bound.
Patches of aspen—golden, bronze,
Peeking between these mountain giants.Nineteen-fifties, Deer Valley cabin
Picture frames my mountain view;
Billowy clouds—first gentle ivory,
Turn shades, to whipped cream, purest white.Suddenly, seven wandering deer
Meander, then pause, before my window;
Two fawns, content to munch lush, green grass.
Five does, expectantly hope for handouts,
Longingly peer into my window;
Ten sad eyes, patiently question me.Attention—Do Not Feed the Deer!
Those signs have alerted me . . . .Motionless—I am content to gaze.Finally, all seven deer slowly bed down.
Soft, moist grass, just beyond my picture window,
Early morning, two hour naptime.Marvelous Autumn SpectacleBefore my very eyes!

 

First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window  – Second Honorable Mention, Jane Carpenter

NighpieceA new place, a new window
Commands an ombered view,
The shadows saying more
Than sunlight can, more subtly.
The bed becomes a barque,
A ceremonial craft to sail
From one mysterious dock
To this, where leaves rustle
And tell a story about weather:
What’s coming, and when.
There’s a street lamp pooling
Diffused light on wet pavement,
And a poor, wet cat seeking
Shelter passes by beneath
The frame of window, my
Reference point where
Everything is unlearned,
Unfamiliar because new.
It will come, though,
Familiarity must be earned.

 

First Quarterly Contest, Theme:  View from a Window  – Third Honorable Mention, David Morris

Five O’Clock SkiI look left.The sun is just now
spontaneous combusting
behind distant shadowed humpsa silent conflagration
of amethyst and ruby.Cottonwood branches
dark but smeared in snow white
like the wings of magpiessurround the fire bright flareand just that fast
I’m outside looking in
at a short-lived radiant landscape
through a tree framed
stained sky window.

 

4th Quarterly Contest – 1st Place, David Morris

I Get a Lecture at the Popular Bar

The problem with you
with most people
you’re afraid
to take chances you
wade the slow water.
Now me
I bob and feint
like a Dipper Bird
on the farthest fringes of fragile ice
fling myself fearless
into life’s black fast
winter water
scrabble hard along gravel bottom
then
when I’m good and ready
leap up and out
wings hissing
and often as not upstream
of where I went in.

- David Morris

 

4th Quarterly Contest – 2nd Place, Cheryl Miller

Caught By the Big One

Well, first there was Annie—
this aerobics instructor at the club we was remodelin’—
about five foot four, I’d say, and solid as a brick outhouse.
On her arm she had this red rose tattoo
that I don’t reckon will ever sag into a hibiscus.
She liked to watch herself—her calories, her form,
her reactions.
I figgered we was a lost cause when she said—
for about the eighth time,
“Oh, what were you saying?”
I think all those piercin’s in her ear might ‘a damaged her hearin’.

And then there was Carlina—
this waitress at Ojos Rojos—
maybe five foot two,
wiry as a prison fence and
mean as her mascara.
She had this black rose tattooed mighty high on her thigh.
I guessed we was a last cause when I asked her out for coffee.
She glared at me out of those black-rimmed eyes of hers and growled,
“I got three kids at home; what do I need with another one?”
Whew! It could be I was just wantin’ a cup of coffee.
Women. Who needs ‘m.

Well, yeah, but later there was Elizabeth—
this scrawny little librarian who helped me set up my Hotmail account
so’s I could e-mail by brother down in Oklahoma.
I doubt if Ms. Elizabeth had any tattoos.
During lunch I seen that behind those magnifyin’ glasses of hers
She had eyes that could read a feller and know he don’t know.
I reckoned we was a lost cause when she said,
“So, you’re from Oklahoma. Have you traveled much?”
Was she tryin’ to be funny or what?
These women can be hard on a country boy.

But, finally, along came Bethany—
the new church secretary.
Five foot ten, she was, with a cross tattoo on her ankle.
I first caught sight of her at the Fourth of July picnic out at the lake.
She was servin’ baked beans and visitin’ with folks.
Those eyes of hers just seemed to kinda give and take.
I realized I was a lost cause when I asked her if she’d like to go for a walk later,
and she smiled at me with those big blue eyes and said, “Shore.”

- Cheryl Miller

 

4th Quarterly Contest. – 3rd Place, Cheryl Wilkie

The Bard of One-Upmanship

“Bellowing Bob” considered anyone telling
a noteworthy account fair game
like a big fish caught
or one that got away.
He’d swoop in and tell his own fish story,
akin to Moby Dick,
and caught in small Barlow Lake.
“What, you hadn’t heard that one?
The Game and Fish Department
relocated it. Still a kicking, ya know.”
Rick McFey, Bump Town’s bartender,
won a thousand dollars on a lottery ticket,
but his news of good fortune
was soon countered by
Bob’s expose of being ushered out the door
by Las Vegas club bosses because
he couldn’t quit winning,
no matter how he tried to lose.
Jack, the butcher, lived in a haunted house
and once voiced his shaky experience
of ghostly clanging and moaning until break of day.
Bob stood his full stature,
barely waiting for the butcher to finish,
before proclaiming, “Just a fortnight ago,
a heart-pounding terror besieged me
when a hideous monster arose
in a cloud of steam from my walking shoe.
Its glowing eyes spoke of unspeakable threats
as steam clogged the room
and stifled my breathing.”
On and on he went in gnarly, chilling detail,
punctuated by trembling inflections.
One woman whispered,
“Of course it did. Those grubby
old shoes, I’m not surprised!”
Still, she listened.
Other men told stories full of malarkey, too,
yet none of them had the stature of
“Bellowing Bob’s” infectious delivery of tales
that could open magical doors in the dullest of minds.

- Cheryl Wilkie