Karen Springer
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                     Afternoon off.

                     What shall she do?

                     Manufacture a memory

                     In Room 492.

                     A leisurely drive

                     For a secretive thrill

                     Call him on the house phone.

                     They know the drill.

                     Happy at home;

                     But a chance she must take

                     To know she's alive

                     By the magic they make.

                     An hour of passion

                     Then back she must head;

                     A little smile on her face,

                     Thoughts of him in her bed.


                   LEAP OF FAITH


                     I want to take

                     I have to take

                     I need to take

                     My leap of faith.

                     A daring chance

                     I’ll break my leg.

                     I can’t renege

                     I’m too astute

                     My brains will be

                     My parachute.

                     Karen R. Springer




                    MILD ADDICTION


                     He is not good for me

                     However, neither are french fries

                     But I still make that occasional visit to McDonalds

                     Because theirs tastes the very best.

                     Karen R. Springer


                    ON NOT LETTING GO

                     I walked in the woods.

                     There was no one but me

                     observing in awe the elegant fall

                     of a leaf from a tree:

                     How graceful she glides

                     enjoying her ride; giving in as a bride

                     to the lust of the gust of the breeze.

                     Floating here/Soaring there

                     embracing the air

                     in darting demise

                     from the blue of the skies

                     to the brown, brittle core

                     of the dark forest floor

                     to be with her sisters

                     Green Goddess no more.

                     This delicate drama

                     whirls fast in my mind,

                     poignantly sweet.

                     But I’m more like the pine needle

                     that clings through winter, through spring;

                     and will not be weaned.

                     Though the howl of the wind

                     Whips sharply my grief;

                     I’m no falling leaf,

                     just an old Evergreen.

                     Karen R. Springer


While examining a drawer
Of old souvenirs,
I came upon something
Especially dear;
A silver toned necklace
I clasped close to me
Bearing the numbers
Three- two-nine-five-

My father’s old dog tags,
What memories they hold
Of World War II and Korea
And all his brave stories
That never was told.
Of long, loving letters
So often he’d write;
Hitch hiking from bases
On trucks in the night
To see us on weekends
For just those few days
Then, with his tattered old suitcase,
He’d be on his way.

My god, he was handsome;
So funny and strong
So loving and noble
And my mother and I,
Well, we could do nothing wrong.
So, Daddy, your dog tags
Were kept all these years;
One more badge of your courage
Well washed with my tears.

  by Karen Springer