May 2023 Poetry

Tribute to a Fallen Uncle
Memorial Day in the heart of France
To our fallen we pay homage due
Late in May o’er the past we glance
To an uncle that we never knew

On foreign soil he lost his life
For a country long mired in war
And we recoil from the tales of strife
And horror those brave men bore

In duty and honor they paid the price
That freedom so often demands
Our debt we ponder, to keen sacrifice,
Assuring that their memory stands

So wreaths are laid and speeches made
We salute with our 21 guns
Respects are paid then Taps is played
Thus we’ve honored our country’s sons

Memorial Day in the heart of France
To our fallen we pay homage due
Late in May, a privileged chance
From a dear uncle we never knew
Cheri Scott, Grand Junction
Grand Valley Power consumer-member
Spring Concert
Melodic harmonious blend of sunrise spectacle,
Concert orchestrated through divine inspiration.

Brilliant daylight sounds:
Fluted robins trill soprano notation,
Trumpeting geese add martial brass.

Morning mezzo-forte crescendos to
Afternoon’s fleeting forte,

Soon tempered to sonorous evening echoes:
Sensual loons’ trombone slurs,
Tympanic resonance of distant thunder.

Melodic blends fade to pianissimo
As sunset’s curtain closes;
Nightfall shattering Spring’s pristine concert
of emergence.

Revolving planetary stage of God,
Maestro of eternity’s score.
Mary M. Dodson, Venango, NE
Highline Electric consumer-member
Not Alone
Out of my bedroom window
I see your little white pansy face peeping over the edge of the pot.
I planted you last year but you seem to be saying here I am again
You are not alone, you are not alone.
On a branch nearby
I see a bird with its black beak and black tipped wings
Shimmering in the early morning sunlight.
It is calling to its mate or its babies, but it is also calling to me
You are not alone, you are not alone.
Inside my kitchen I pour a cup of steaming coffee.
The aroma fills my heart as I warm my hands on the cup.
Then the phone rings,
I hear an excited voice.
This is Shelley Shane. Is that you Mary?
Do you remember we were at Barnard College together?
I felt so alone this morning that I had to find you
On Google I did,
I scream with joy,
And then we talk and talk
And reminisce about all sorts of wonderful moments in our youth,
Before she goes, she says
We’ll talk again we will
We are not alone, we are not alone.
Elizabeth Brittan
SDCEA consumer-member
The Day Before Spring
The day before spring, just another day
Wandering within a mountain wood, I listen
Subtle tellings hold such a lesson and have such a
lot to say
A crystal stream lies whispering
Struggling to shed its brittle mask
The chatter increases with every warming drop
The earth is gently pulling from beneath the
glistening trance
Sunning in the brilliance of a futures promise
A lazy breeze rolls by, trees sing warning of summer
Small silent creatures watch distantly
Leaving delicate impressions to their past as the
music of life emerges around them
Not a symphony envisioned can encompass
such songs of hope
Nature gives itself again, an offering of new
beginnings that embraces all who venture there
I am reborn in the simple pattern, humbled by
every detail
On the day before spring, I listened
I heard all there is to know
The beginning and the ending awakens beneath
the snow
Jim Engel, Monument
Mountain View Electric consumer-member
The Moon the Valley Lit
A darkened moon, the valley lit.
Nocturnal shadows played.
The breeze did whisper silent sounds,
As leaves and grasses swayed.

The water moved its noiseless course
In peaceful quiet flow,
As drops of moonbeams fell upon
The ripples there below.

But something in the shadows there
Made creatures pause in fear.
For in the darkness danger lay.
The predator was near.

He moved unseen. Each step upon
The forest floor he crept.
Past burrows, nests, and hidden lairs
Where daytime creatures slept.

He smelled the air for sign or scent,
A clue that might betray
A careless one, a midnight feast,
An unsuspecting prey.

Then suddenly a broken twig
Revealed to him his prize.
He crouched in place without a sound
And watched with piercing eyes.

One more noise was heard that night,
And death, the sound of it.
Now, silence in the shadows where
The moon the valley lit.

L Jay McDonald, Nunn
Poudre Valley REA consumer-member