Category Archives: Poetry

Sunday Stew: Does Heaven Have a Layaway Plan


by Latonya D

"Road to Heaven" courtesy of Polly Green
“Road to Heaven” courtesy of Polly Green

As days go by and I get older and older my soul still straddles the fence

So I often wonder will God still have my defense

As good as i think i am, there’s always a touch of bad that’s why i ponder if heaven has a layaway plan

Where, after so much good you automatically get into the pearly gates and talk to God about those thing you’ve done that you hate

So those who ponder about whether heaven  has a layaway plan, let me ease your mind

God designed us all to make a million mistakes , but he also gives some of us remorse to regret the things we’ve done that we hate

So when you walk up to the pearly gates of heaven and God allows you to cleanse your soul and  hands you the keys to his lakes and valley filled of gold and he says my child all has been forgiven your burdens are now mines to carry

Remember this, even if you have a touch of bad

God will always allow you to be on his layaway plan

Sunday Brew: Perspective

by Matt Aspin

“You Left Me Alone” by Rokkur Rokkur, Creative Commons

Forty plus years and I’ve rarely been wrong

Betting that you would pen a similar song

Left and Right all doing their thing

Certain that theirs is the right song to sing

Denying the fact we’re all scared by the same

Could just acknowledging our frailty make us a little more sane?

A thin sliver of life in a dark empty zone

It’s no wonder we’re crazy- We’re scared and alone


Sunday Stew: Opposites Attract

by Lee Baldinger

opposites attract

Men are hard, women are soft

And that’s not just in bed

Without women

Men become cold, brittle, cruel

Start lookin’ for another guy to duel

Hard needs soft

And soft don’t mean weak

In this dictionary

It’s just another word for unique

Roles can be reversed

But not our nature

Yin and yang

Tears and toys

Flowers and monster trucks

What’s going on?

There’s fifteen per cent more blood flow in a woman’s brain

Women’s brains have more gray matter

Where information processing is done

The male brain is white matter dominant

Meaning more physical action

The male brain possesses fewer neural pathways

To and from the brain’s emotion centers

In one year, a woman can give birth once

In one year, a man can produce enough sperm

To impregnate every single woman on earth

If we gave this science lesson as a test

Everyone would fail it

Even if it were an open book test

Everyone would fail it

Because men and women have different answers

Yin and yang

Tears and toys

Flowers and monster trucks

Is it any wonder the divorce rate is through the roof?

That in most relationships, someone becomes aloof?

But if we see each other as who we actually are

Maybe our behavior won’t seem so bizarre

And we can hit a higher percentage of our shots

Cause we ought to be together

We’ve got to be together

Hard needs soft

And soft don’t mean weak

In this dictionary

It’s just another word for unique

Sunday Stew: Undying Love

by Lola Peters

Tango of Love
Tango of Love by Emil Marian

We stand
separated by the shimmer of
yours the sweet, carefree smile
of contentment

Love, you say
is Action, not Feeling
Taking out the trash
changing the toilet roll
cleaning out the fridge
emptying the dishwater
Serving one another

I awake with tears on my cheeks
you have not forgotten me
Aware of the irony
in walking away again
from my own Shadow

Sunday Stew: The Raging Bull

by Drew Sutherland

Angry Bull
The Angry Bull by Mike De Goodaboom

What more do I have for you than this unworthy little thought in the wee small hours? I can’t hold you and hug away your pain, you’re too far away. I can’t run my fingers through your soft hair. Life forbids us even having the time to take solace in exchanging words on the telephone. But I will stare down the time and space, like a mighty bull. You will see me snort and toss my head, knowing my eye is on you and you alone. You will hear my hooves pounding futilely on the earth- my solitary dance of death, loneliness, and warning. And maybe, just maybe, while you sleep, you will feel my breath fall softly on the nape of your neck, my heart beating- strong and hard but NEVER rushed- through my chest and against your back, my whole self pressed against the thin, thin pane of glass that separates the miles. I may fog the glass, but I will never look away.

Sunday Stew: On Aging

Aging courtesy Robert Nelson
Aging courtesy Robert Nelson


by Lola Peters

All my grapes have turned to raisins
All my plums are shriveled prunes
A four-lane highway lines my forehead
Bumps and pocks turn me to ruins

It’s not death that I find daunting
Not the end that looms ahead
It’s this daily dehydration
Sagging face and arms I dread

They don’t tell you when you’re thirty
As heads turn when you arrive
It won’t matter when you’re sixty
Some things you just can’t revive

The beauty and the ugly girl
Will wake up to betrayal
The genius and the brainless twit
Will have their projects fail

So glad I didn’t hesitate
To do what gave me joy
But now comes the adjustment
Like that gorgeous gift from Troy

I’m not the grand dame some envision
I’m not the vixen I still see
One of these days I’ll figure out
Who I’m now going to be

But in the here and now time
I’ll do all that I can
To be the woman I enjoy
While I carve out a plan.

Not the end.

Sunday Stew: The Nap

by Drew Sutherland

I woke myself this morning, wound me good and tight,
I wound myself this morning lookin’ for a fight,
I had some things to clear up, some things I had to say,
I was going to stir the pot- make things right my way.

Slippers on, caffeine in hand, I went to the back door,
I do it every morning, to think of peace not war,
and as I opened up the door, saw the sparkling dew,
I felt your presence all around, and then I entered you.

I slept a half an hour and dreamt 100 years,
The changing of the seasons, happiness and tears.

And as I sat by naked trees, the early buds of Spring,
It hit me like a bolt of truth, “I do not know a thing.”
A wash of peace fell on me then unfurrowing my brow,
My plans, my wrath melted away, I remembered an old vow.

I’d spent a year in solace, meditation, and some grace
I spent that time in silence, thoughts slowing in their race.
I’d figured out that being wound was causing misery,
Enslaving all I thought I loved, I caged what should be free.

I slept a half an hour and dreamt 100 years,
The changing of the seasons, happiness and tears.

I went and taught a class at school, forgot about my fight,
I said, “Hello?”, “How are you?” and noticed the sunlight.
I trundled to my office and shed my teaching gear,
My tummy was on “Grumble” and a sandwich shop was near.

Friend in tow I ventured forth to forage for my food,
I needed me a gyro for I was “in the mood”.
As I ate I wondered at springtime on the fringe.
My little gyro sandwich felt like such a binge.

Then back to home at 5:00, my knitting in my lap,
My eyes were dry and my bed called for a little kitty nap.
Up narrow stairs to my large bed, cloaked in downy white,
Window open, snuggled up, a slice of daytime night.

I slept a half an hour and dreamt 100 years,
The changing of the seasons, happiness and tears.

In 30 minutes I had gone across a vast landscape,
Surveying all the beauty, confused by all the hate,
I woke from this extended trip sure I’d overslept,
A half an hour’s all that passed, my cheeks were damp- I’d wept.

Slippers on, caffeine in hand, I went to the back door,
This time it wasn’t morning, evening just off-shore,
And as I opened up the door, I thought of what was true,
Without my seated happiness, I can’t share me with you.



Sunday Stew: Pondering Sky

Skyby Matt Aspin

The sky
Don’t look like it should

At night the light blocks out the scenes of the fight
Between the dark and light
The wrong and the right
Steals away the wonder and the might

Replaced with safe and secure
Hypnotized sparkling nothing allure of the quick and easy obscure.

So empty
Void of the pure

We need a new goal
The soul

A wonder serene
A new scene with questions that mean
We can still wonder at the sky with a few more secrets to share
Unaware with no care of the here and the there
And the why and the where
And the why out there
And the why do we care?

To wonder
To dare
To question unknown
The point of it all
Still not clear
Back to ponder
All night at the sky with just enough light to wonder

And dream
And to write

Matt Aspin is an amiable gent who has made a second home out of South Seattle ale houses.