Poet's Platform Column | 11 Oct. 07 by Janet Nesler | The Scioto Voice | Wheelersburg, Ohio

Untitled There is a room at the top of the stairs That I haven’t been in for years. It is now under lock and key But the light stays on a constant plea. I remember how the morning sun would let itself in And below was a view of a beautiful garden A garden full of roses that once filled beautiful vases And brought smiles to lovers’ faces. I often walk up the stairs but I don’t often carry the key with me anymore But when I do, I tightly grip in my hand And wait until time has passed like the sand in the hourglass’s hand One day the door will be unlocked and never locked again And I will once again visit my beautiful garden I will keep the drapes open and let the sunlight in And stay until the moonlight sees the day end. Brent Anderson Carrollton, TX   Untitled The changing mists of life swirl like eddies all around me. The vortex that is Time puts me in new company. No one I once knew do I still know today, For they have gone, and I have gone another way.  Once friends, fast friends, bound together strong, Now I haven’t seen them in ever so long. I wonder sometimes if they would still recognize And remember, but probably not, I realize. Friends today, memories tomorrow. Once thought with love, now twist with sorrow. Gone on, moved away, continuing their life, Far apart from what used to be alive. I feel like the only constant thing of my world, But saying that, realize that my life, too, is swirled With the mists of time changing all around And realize my feet have long since left my ground. Only One is constant; One alone is true; One alone will never leave, never forsake you. One alone will always be, when the mists have burned away Only One will never go, and always here will stay. Kenton Sena Hebron, KY   OCTOBER If heaven were October then I would like to die and spend my days in autumn haze wandering through the sky.  Linda Swift Reeder Paducah, KY   Flight of the Falcon Derelict sky: a single bird flies. The winged-scavenger glides, encircles the center of my area. Nothing else exists, just this: deserted grayish-dimension nothing on the wires, nor ground no sound, just a bird . . . a man A mist falls on his outstretched wings on every feather spread on his mighty back and as the rain thickened, he repelled it shed it, like a broken-minded man sheds tears Motionless flight suddenly shifts The bird’s glassy, black vision channels down upon these emerald shimmers, and a vacuum culls his eye to mine, calls my substance to the sky His panorama becomes my own yet I still stand in this gray, cool drizzle to watch him fly away, alone, forgotten in search of the crystalline . . . azure . . . that left him behind James Eric Watkins Milton, KY