THE FLOWING RIVER (a poem) by Ralph Gonzales

THE FLOWING RIVER (a poem) by Ralph Gonzales


The flowing river of life meanders to the sea

        then evaporates,

        defying gravity….

Rising under the bright, golden benevolence of Sol,

     raining down power to this earthly creation…

     endless plying within the white/grey cloud ships

     that roam about endless skies.


The third dimension seems infinite,

                   but may be as large as a single rain drop


                   that falls from the Heavens to begin its earthly journey

                   treading the same path to join the sea of

                   endless souls.

Is it not time now for a commitment to end

         this needless destruction of sentient beings

         by those who try and bend Mother Nature into a

         misguided will….

Dripping with dominance and greed.

Is it not time to love and embrace our humanity

       and be humane to each other.

War, starvation, ignorance, destruction, hatred

       …a few of many words that need not exist.

If we do not try, the depravity of the Second World War

      will raise its ugly head and strike

      like a coiled viper.

We must create a world filled with goodness

     that needs only be but a choice….

     not doing.

How easy can it get.


You flip the coin…good or evil…

You take a stand.


Nirvana on earth can be a reality.

MY ANNE (a poem) by David C. Williams

MY ANNE (a poem) by David C. Williams


Earth slowly spins beneath a star-filled sky,

Yes, that we know, but only God knows why.

The sun comes up, the sun goes down.

A child is born - and someone passes on.



Time, neither seamless nor continuous,

Is quilted of odd bits and squares of

Fabric made from lives of friends and folk

We meet by chance along the way.

They soon become a part of us

Too precious ever to be lost

And yet they too must leave

Then we again shall find ourselves alone.


Life is a mystery to which there is no answer.

So rich, so full, and yet so final when soon gone.

I had a love, a love that came to me,

Like spring’s first dogwood blossom,

Scintillating, bright as forsythia,

Pristine as drifted snow, and

Warm as a fireside

In a cozy room.


Her life now gone,

Yet she will linger on, and on,

And on,

Within my heart

And those she left behind.

Our regulars are familiar with the work of David C. Williams. Mr. Williams, a retired engineer, lives in Ashland, Kentucky. He is a gifted artist, poet, novelist and storyteller. He recently celebrated his ninety-third birthday.
DO YOU BELIEVE–THIS POEM? (A Satire) by D. C. Williams

DO YOU BELIEVE–THIS POEM? (A Satire) by D. C. Williams


I had this dream one Sunday night.

That after a big Revival in our town,

All the preachers got together and decided

Heaven was just too good to wait.

There were twenty-eight of them altogether.

They convened on the Village Green,

Prayed, sang a few hymns,

Then all of them drank cold, purple Koolaid,

(For which no one had remembered

To bring the arsenic.)


Earlier they had tried to call Billy Graham

To come join them.

But he called back to say he couldn’t come.

(He was in Washington sitting with the President’s dog)


The Pope couldn’t come either,

Because some of the members of the choir had

Escorted him out to a lake and

Were expecting to see him walk on Water

Standing by a little campfire on the edge of the lake,

They were all singing,


“If you talk the talk, and walk the walk,

And can create Saints out of Mortal Men,

Then you can sink or you can swim.

But you’re gonna hafta try,

To come out dry.”

It was a somber tune

Loyal apostates were staring and gawking,

But no one appeared overly optimistic

The Pope himself, was standing naked on the bank,

Except for his Rosary.

He was assiduously kissing his ring,

(An act so comforting to many worshipers)

He was trying hard not to get wet, and praying

That HOLY LIGHTENING might strike the rest of them DEAD!


A humble tenor - an abused Altar Boy,

Approached him from the rear

With a pointed stick and poked him sharply

In his pale, pink derriere

Causing him to leap mightily for the nearest rock.

It was not a rock!

It was a large frog sitting on a water lily


Both sank like stones!

They pulled him out shivering and keening like a banshee

And told him they would give him two more tries,

Due to his false start.

He thanked them graciously

And implored them to get their unsanctified hands the hell off him

Since he was getting ready to ascend.

He ascended

Very high, - and got six feet further out than he did before.

But once more

He only splashed then sank like a rock.

They extended his Jesus-stick out


To pull him in, fearing he couldn’t swim.

Clawing himself out upon the muddy bank

He squishily rose to his knees.

He blessed them all profusely,

Then foregoing any further opportunity,

He opined that he’d just as soon

Revert to being a Cardinal, a Bishop or even a Priest.

Or maybe give up the ministry altogether.


Dreams like this will

Disturb your sleep

Especially if you are Catholic,

Or even Baptist.


D. C. Williams lives in Ashland, Kentucky. He is a poet, raconteur and the author of six books. His latest is "Two Old Men--And God." He recently celebrated his ninety-third birthday.
BEACH PICNIC by David C. Williams

BEACH PICNIC by David C. Williams

Relaxing on the Beach

Relaxing on the Beach

Bright sunlit laughter

Sprayed with salt and sand,

That marked the time this holiday began,

Now softens at the closing of the day

To murmur, echo, listen –

Then slowly fade away.

And twilight breathes a long and heavy sigh,

To sweep crane and egret from the sky.

And loft the solitary gull on silent wing

Into the darkening, ever narrowing ring

Of somber grays and blues

That higher through the waning yellow hues

Of twilight, so peacefully diffuse.


Soft breezes wake and wandering o’er the dunes

Enfold the notes of early evening tunes,

And waft them gently o’er the misty quay

To blend with solemn base notes

From the sea.

Far out in murky depths below,

Waves regiment their courage row on row,

Then glide in silent mass

Across the ocean floor,

And gaining strength

Charge headlong with a roar,

To die in frothing foam

Upon the barren, empty bulwark

Of the shore.

They vanquished, recoil

Leaving naked on the sand

Spirit creatures from the depths

Beyond the land

Who spring on pointed claw and bold

Perform their ballet pantomime

Upon the quaking gold.

Then dart with sprightly haste and disappear

Beneath the lacy folds

Of phosphorescent glow.


And suddenly - the moon

Hangs in the sky.

A brilliant - glaring - ancient,

Lidless eye,

To gaze upon the ceaseless convolutions

Of the sea,

And guild the sand

     With silvered strands

          of unrequited melancholy.

David C. Williams is a talented poet, gifted writer and raconteur. He has published five fiction and a non-fiction book. In addition, he has published several editorial pieces. David loves flying, built his own airplanes, and, in his nineties went up with a stunt flyer. He recently celebrated his ninety-third birthday.
EPITAPH by Dave Williams

EPITAPH by Dave Williams



I wrote these lines,

When I, like you,

Looked down upon a graven stone.

I thought some message to distill

From my life’s

Wondrous joys and tears,

That having passed this way

Through time and space

Might leave behind

A word, a thought,

A prayer, that would unite us

In a state of grace far distant

From my shallow resting place.

So here my body lies

Beneath the ancient earth,

While you, bemused, stand wond’ring

If ’tis all for naught.

We share a moment in this slip of time,

In hopes our spirits may commune

In wordless ambience transcending human thought,

And wending upward contemplate

The grandeur of that paradise long sought.

I bid you peace and homeward drift

On vast eternity’s now ebbing tide,

To patiently await that time

When you and I in peace abide.

When on that last tomorrow

You depart this earth,

Take time to leave behind a verse

As mine may be obscured

Beneath some tangled vine.

If you have learned what life is all about,

Compose a poem, not a curse

And bid the others bravely follow us.

A poet wrote we know not whence we came

Nor why, we know not where we go, nor when,

But you must sing with joy, life’s sacred hymn,

‘Til destiny shall sound your final requiem.