plastic wheels rumble across cracks splitting sun-beaten sidewalks cornfields fade behind like mirages, opening the vista of red-brick buildings in the heart of town i’m eleven, Emily’s twelve we jingle mismatched allowance change and crushed baby-sitting dollars, shoved into our jean shorts pockets for an afternoon of opportunity start with comics at Around the Corner Books scented stickers at the Variety Store Ahoy Fountain Cokes with every syrup flavor finish with foosball at Sun’s Arcade our worlds stretching with possibilities as our rollerblades rocket us into more places without parents, still no doubts we’ll return home in a small town that watches its neighbors — finding preteen Freedom. DVWG Guest Poet Erin Schalk

Ramshackle old house, Near the foot of a hill, In the shade of a huge old tree. Its windows all broken, The door hung wide open, One last shutter banged often in glee. Six boys on a dare, Crept up in the dusk, To prove they had hair, (You know where). They brought along snacks, And a couple six packs, Two candles, three lights, and a flare. A broken old rocker, Was knocked apart proper, The pieces then stacked for a fire. In spreading their bedding, They made the dust fly, So choking they unscrewed a top. Toasted, awhile the sparks did pop. Sipping to the lines of each liar. “Why, I remember the time, When I fought with a lion, And beat him to death with a book.” “Hah! I spent some time, On a Loosiana chain gang. Then escaped twenty years,” (He was drinking those beers.) “With the help of a man with a hook.” The third one chimed in. “You guys don't know sin! I'll tell you a tale from my past. Once upon a long sail, With a whaler named Snail, We ran out of wind, The sheets hung so thin; We got stuck in an ocean, Stuck fast. “The breeze would not come. Then we ran out of Rum. Crackers and Spam were the last things to go. The two of us lazed, In the sun, 'bout half crazed. (I dream't 'bout ham, glazed,) So I called out to Snail, don't you know? “But he wouldn't answer, Though I called, and I searched. Across the whole ship for my mate. So I glanced in the fridge. It was filled with prime rib, Leg bones, and a gizzard, So I ate like a man, from a plate. “Snail never showed up. But a wind, in a gust, Gave me hope to get back to the harbor. It was after awhile, I put rib and neck bones together, And figured where I got my larder.” The fourth boy jumped on, The stories they'ed started. And spoke of a bear he had slain with a rake. Then claimed he had wore, The skin with it's fur, To a king's coronation, on a lake. The fifth boy was more tame. The bravest he'd been, Per his story was to cheat on a test. So the last boy was strapped, And made up a yarn, In a bid to outdo all the rest. He blew a smoke ring, Then opened one more. Took a long pull to get wet. Five attentions went rapt, As he gathered his breath, For a tale to someday repeat. “Walking home late one night, In cloud speckled moonlight, A groan stopped me fast in my track. The trees rustled silver, In a breeze hustled shiver, That chilled, Thrilled, All the bones in my back. “I peered through the edge, Of a forest unchecked, Overgrown and hanging with vines. My blood turned to ice. I screamed out, “NO!.” twice! As a red wolf lept into my face! His lunge knocked me down. Hot breath flushed my face. Growls bared fangs sharp as thorns. In cascade between teeth, His drool flooded my cheek. Wide eyes glowed yellow with scorn. “I knew I was dead. My arms and face bled. Though I fought like a demon He would not dissuade.” The boy's eyes flashed bigger, As his movements came faster. His fingers did swagger to the words of his tale. The listeners enthralled, Did not notice his jaws, Stretch out while teeth grew and glistened. Wild screams rent the night, And with the come of daylight, Only one boy walked home from their mission. DVWG Guest Poet Glenn Willis

A small bird alighted upon my window sill, Delicate, yet bold in its approach, Not aware that the window was open. I extended my hand towards it And it hopped upon my finger. No fear. Just trusting. The little bird and I sat awhile. Quiet in our thoughts. Neither meaning to harm the other. The warm sun beat down on us as we sat there. Soaking in the beauty of God’s creation. But the clouds came, and the little bird flew away. For all things in this world come and go. But the memories remain. DVWG Poet Lynette Tucker

High in the sky he soars through the air The wind rushes past, parting through his golden hair like connecting bridges As he hollers and yells and smiles a blinding light rivaling the sun he flies next to. Daedalus tries to get his warning through the impassable winds as Icarus flew higher and higher, But he could not hear, for the rush in his heart was the loudest above all else As he climbed the sky and saw that sun shine on the blue sea below, Icarus laughed, for his wish of freedom had been granted. And when the wax holding the wings melted, he did not fall What Daedalus could not comprehend, what the moral lesson can not tell you Is that as Icarus plummeted into the sea, he was still flying, smiling and laughing all the way. DVWG Poet Aedan Von Weckmann

We have many friends Who like rats on a sinking ship Have abandoned California Truly makes me want to flip The next time I want to travel To see this nation wide I’ll have friends in every state Across the countryside. Idaho, Texas, and Tennessee Have welcomed these new guests It won’t be long before locals shout “Who are these California pests?” North Carolina and Utah too They’ll seek out places to land What looked so lovely in springtime In winter ain’t so grand. Snow, hurricanes and bugs I wouldn’t know how to behave Humidity, alligators, and floods Would put me in my grave. I’ll take my earthquakes and heat I’m a California girl The thought of ever leaving her Makes me want to hurl. I could never leave behind The sun, the surf, the breeze Sure, I could ditch the taxes And those who live for free. I love you California 80 years you’ve been my home I will never leave you For another state to roam When they put me under In the California ground My soul will be in heaven No more my poems will sound. Inside the pearly gates I’ll stand before the Savior He’ll check out all I’ve done Giving crowns for good behavior. It won’t be California But when it’s time to go I’ll say my goodbyes with Joy It’s the end of the Karen Show DVWG Poet Karen Robertson

In between my sunsets and sunrises I visit other lands Where life is always grand And love is never planned I dwell happy in those nether regions Where beauty is a prayer That ensnares the fain and fair And scares away the mares Thus I pursue the middles of the night And the dearth of piddles And live instead with riddles That diddle and twiddle It is my escape from rhymes and reasons In the seasons made prime By all thoughts inside my clime Suspicious of crime and grime I find peace inside my schemes Which nurture inside my dreams DVWG Poet Sam Nichols

Not atoll ! DVWG Poet Daniel Kuttner

The Buddha on the front porch is clean. Of late, I have been caught In the whirlwind of frenetic energy surrounding The start of a new school year, Hurriedly writing down the words That will later be offered to my students In hopes that they will realize how poetry is, As Frost said, "a momentary stay against confusion," A comfort in the midst of chaos, An opportunity for the mind to rest and reflect. With back-to-school activities following close On the heels of end-of-summer activities, I have deferred my usual maintenance routine. In those weeks of neglect, The Buddha has continued to sit patiently Collecting grass clippings, weed seeds, Cobwebs and cat hair, Growing a bit grimier each day But still greeting the mail carrier And Jehovah's Witnesses With his serene smile, hands Nestled together, right palm atop left. I broke the quiet Saturday morning air With the sound of power mower and edger, Then marched through quickly With the leaf blower, clearing the porch And swirling all the detritus away While the Buddha continued to sit, Unmoved by it all. Namaste. DVWG Poet S. Kay Murphy

“[God] has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 I went for a walk on this cool spring day, Stopping by our lizard my respects to pay As he warmed himself up on our house wall, Then lifted my eyes hearing heaven’s call, Was transported by the cloudy array Gracing the skies (a glorious display!) Then set off to get some sun and fresh air And was blessed by God’s beauty everywhere! The fragrance of roses greeted my nose And trees in full bloom were ready to pose For my camera, which I could not contain But kept pulling out some beauty to frame. Though most of my neighbors have manicured lawns, It’s not far to where untamed nature dawns. Along the backroad of our neighborhood Mustard plants reaching my eye-level stood, Cat tails were rampant in both green and tan And yellow flowered weeds everywhere ran. In springtime there’s beauty, even in weeds, Which, if I stop to look, my spirit feeds. They gave the roadsides a bright yellow glow Which caused me to pause and my pace to slow So I could examine individually Their beauty which God created for me. And my heart was struck by this truth sublime: God makes all things beautiful in His time! DVWG Guest Poet Alison Sanders

Come away with me, my love, To a place of quiet repose and peace, To a place where hearts beat as one, To a place where breaths are heard. Come away with me, my love, To a place where our minds speak the same, To a place where our fingers intertwine, To a place where sighs are heard. Come away with me, my love, To a place where we can lay our heads, To a place where our souls fly together, To a place where laughter is heard. Come away with me, my love. DVWG Poet Lynette Tucker

The turkey-buzzard sits low against the dead and rotting oak, waiting and watching, as dry grass shrivels in the heat. Summer fills the valley cutting like a sword. Water drips slowly, falling onto hollowed rock, providing small relief for birds as they gather to discuss the oppressive, searing heat. Clouds push and grow against the mountains, forcing distant thunder as the air becomes heavy. The Sun—white hot, passes slowly beyond the hills, dropping the valley into shadow, bringing rest but no relief. Days pass and all that remains is the heat. DVWG Poet Greg B. Porterfield

When it rained, I used to sit by the window and watch the cars pass by If I was lucky my cat, Striker, would come and sit on my lap I always cherished those moments as the world seemed to daunting then It seemed like I could jump over whatever hurdle was in my way I fully believe I never would have gotten where I am today without those quiet moments. And now I’m here in this moment, once again with you Though it's not raining, and your not on my lap Now, I don't sit by the window when it rains anymore. DVWG Poet Aedan Von Weckmann