TREASUREHere it is once again, way back in the closet,the box of treasures collected by children.Feathers, one huge and black from a crow,one tiny from Felicia the finch.And stones:My mother’s rock from the quarrythat inspired a song “Rock of Ages,”New Zealand jade, a rounded pebblefrom the Dead Sea.This is where my penny went,the one I wore in my shoe at our weddingand the cigar, still wrapped,from when our son was born.Keys, shaped for castle doors, for valises,for piggy banks and diaries. Keys lost,found far too late for any locks.I remember the dandelions blown in the windand this one glued to a paper plate, imprisoned,never to blossom and this Saskatchewan wheatpulled up by Uncle Alf when he stopped the truckto find a souvenir that last evening.And this one magnificent marble!What is not a treasure?What can be tossed away?
LOVE MENDEDThat old threadbare word – loveflows in a fabric patternedwith shades of crimson colors,whispers of mauve and the yellow of dry sun.Chopin wove love into the air,Monet stroked it onto canvas.That word so often patchednearly falls apart, its meaning frayed –until a newborn criesor a daughter becomes a bride,until the lace of fifty years togetherfully knits. Love unravelsuntil a friend perceives and cherishes,until there is an ear ready to listen,a shoulder to cry on. Love is repairedwith the consecration of all the threads.Then, there is delight in love’s stitching,the worn word renewedinto the One Love.Mended.
MOTHER’S DAYMint leaves from her garden,baby carrots, snap peas,red-ripe tomatoes and apricots...As with paint pots before canvasand her hands the brushes,she arranges the color of the meal.Monet’s gardens stay for centuries,hers are devoured in an hour,live only in memory. Meals:potatoes sprinkled with parsley,lamb with Asian pear and kiwi salsa,chipotle glazed apples,chicken orecchiette soupwith lemon grass and cilantro,vanilla bean soufflés,flour pudding, corn poneswith butter and syrup.Her hands fashionbok choy cooked crisp-tender,haggis and ale, oatcakes and mutton.A treat of strawberry ice cream,grilled cheese, chocolate milk.Mother.Warm bread, the morning’s cream,corn cob jelly, French toast.Acorn mush, piki, and a sprig of sage.The maker of fine art.My mother.
I WONDERI wonder what joy isAnd where is death.I wonder about the newborn babeAnd its one and only breath.I wonder where love goesWhen it steals away,And the place where the years goDay by day.
REVERIESEnchantedare the cottonwoodsHauntedwith the sound of a breezeMagicare the river rocksCharmedI am in my reverieI wishthat I could ever beContentas flowers in the fieldUnitedas the grass and treesCapturedas to peace I yield
WHAT COULD YOU DO WITH A BUBBLE?A child could see a rainbow in it,A frog could be born.Time could do somethingReally special.Waterbug could do hisHunting, free to breathe,While old men sit still toPonder its beauty.A scientist could measure it,Probing its mystery.What could I do with a bubble?I could watch it.That would be enough.YELLOW TREE ALONEYellow treeStands glowingIn sideways lightRegal and gloriousHer beautyHer messageFor life’s meaningWastedWith no oneTo see that goldenRadianceShe singsTo no oneWho’d hear herBut to the Sun, RaThe Giver of Gold
Color of a Brisk and Leaping Day
You lean to a silver pond
in a brittle pose staring
while circles try to reach you
your palette is dry
mudded to burnt umber
How unlike you
your stiff drooping
how unlikely on this silver day
for wind blew last night
cleared the air, promised
a day fair and sunny
I remember the amber
and the leaves deep gold
when that day itself leapt
far out into all colors
except red which I banished
That day we danced
into intersecting rainbows
each moment luminous and pure
We twirled into the day
the one colored with laughter
that brisk and leaping
zestful soaring day
just the two of us
While every poem is a “good” one, some are more eloquent in style and language. After reading and rereading each poem, I was overwhelmed with the task of choosing. There were so many wonderful works entered! Finally, after much contemplation, I had to create a tie in the third-place winners and add more honorary mentions.
I have a criterion in mind. First, I look for meaning, then language, then cadence. I was drawn to poems that evoked an incident that we could all partake in, such as the despairing feeling of giving up hope at sea, or the experience of the summer heat. In other poems, including top prize winners, I found an extraordinary use of language (especially in verse by Ms. Khalsa and Ms. Schmidt). Many thoughts and lines will always be remembered.
Marlene Hitt, editor of CQ vol. 50 no. 4, Winter 2024
and Judge of 2024 Annual Contest
FINAL NOTEGod you were a terrific writer,But your greatest poem writPeals in the hearts of your children,Squeals in your grandchildren's joy,Resounds in those who knew your name,Heard your voice and felt your touch.I miss you.Joe DeCenzo
The tenth Poet Laureate of Sunland Tujunga, Alice Pero wrote a poem for Marlene as well.
DEAR MARLENEI have seen your wingsthough to mostthey are invisibleWhere you flywe will be astonishedas you make new lifeNo one diesI salute youyour beautyand strengthYou have brought joyto many livesInvincibleas body is but dustwhile spirit ever rises
With much love,Alice Pero18 Jan 2025