Belmont Village Quarterly Newsletter on Senior Living
Belmont Village Poets Laureate
National Poetry Month is held every April, when publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools, poets – and now Belmont Village communities – celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture.
We sent out a call to all Belmont Village communities asking for poetry submissions. Although
the selection was difficult, here is a sampling of the judges’ favorites.
 Untitled, by William A. Meis, Sr.
Poetry can claim so many ways of expression
Any word in the dictionary used in a poetic session
There is no dependence on a specific style
Not a need for an established profile.
Poets are then absolutely free
In making their presentation so be
My particular style in poetic defining
Has been delivering lines that are rhyming.
That, of course, is quite evident
By the way in which my wording is bent
Always hoping that upon inspection
I am headed in the right direction.
 Memories’ Windowpane, by Carl D. Zeigler
A rosy glow in the western sky,
The gentle breeze that makes the tree tops sigh,
Distant lowing of sheep is heard,
The muffled cheeping of a sleepy bird,
It’s twilight.
The slow blending of blue and gray
Comes the end of another day.
An insect chorus in its last fall song,
A hint that winter will soon be along,
It’s night time.
The warm soft glow of the old kerosene lamp,
A wood fire in the round oak stove to keep out the chill and the damp
The rhythmic squeak of the rocking chair
Some gray appearing in my parents’ hair.
A smile and “Shh!” the baby’s asleep in there
Places and things in my memory I see
All were once very dear to me.
A soft call, a distant shore,
Fond ones leave us and go on before.
Life is a constant change
Things are never quite the same
Until we pause, hear an old refrain
And look back through memories’ windowpane.
 Poem to my Lost Love, by Raymond O. Sommers
I met her in Alaska when teens were on a cruise,
And I knew at once that she was one I must never lose.
I courted her by mail and phone, for we lived states apart,
And three long years later, I finally won her heart.
She gave me three fine children and o’er fifty years of bliss,
Much more than mere fulfilling the promise of our first kiss.
Now God has called her home to Him and I sorely miss my love,
But the thought that still sustains me is that she waits for me above.
 Timberwolves Memory, by Bart Tasca
There once was a man named Terry
who build a unit that was scary
He said to our foes, run hard and run fast
if you stand there, it’s you that won’t last
We are the ones that are fighting this war
haven’t you heard our mighty men roar?
There were a lot of battles in World War Two
a lot of men died and survivors were few
The ones that were left in 1945
said “We are lucky to be alive”
When the war ended, they all came home
and found jobs as a bellboy or installing phones
Through the years they labored and toiled
winters they froze and summers they boiled
After they’re gone we can all reminisce
about all our fallen comrades that we miss
During the war we all believed in a cause
let’s bow our heads in prayer and then pause.
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