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

DADDY’S TAGS

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-

One-six-seven-three.

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