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Welcome to Garden 1207 in

Click the links below to read the winning poems for December, 2007.

Poetry Gardens of Fame Index

First Place
Second Place
Third Place


Kelly Athena Richards
Kelly Athena Richards is a writer, artist, photographer, and musician who has made her home in Arizona since 1986. She has overcome bouts with cancer and IBS. She holds Master's degrees in music and photography.

Her recent book of 171 poems and zingers, My Dancing Heart, is available at SARK says," I LOVE this book!"

Her inspiration line with a recorded bit of hope is available 24 hours a day at (480) 773-7000. Her free weekly e-newsletter is intended to spur the reader's own creativity.

Evening Therapy
by Kelly Athena Richards

We exchange sharp words
cactus thorns pricking each other as we often do
by jumping to conclusions
and not hearing each other through

You mumble you’re sorry
step out to the porch,
closing the screen door slowly

Outside you hear the crickets chirp in loud chorus,
smell the new-cut grass you mowed just before sunset,
and see the waxing moon now filled half-way with light

Your garden that is so familiar to you
is hidden like a stranger under the blanket of night
but your eyes adjust
and you see something
glowing white as a ghost
bright as sunlight
flashing in the corner of your eye
Tiny glowing spheres adorn the branches
Night has opened the jasmine blossoms

They seem to dance in their white petal skirts
I think they have come out to flirt
with their twin-shaped souls, the stars,
that gaze down on them from not too far

Their thick, sweet perfume fills the air
Your heart blossoms open as they cast their spell

You pick a few and bring them to my room
where I lay bathing
to clear my head
before I slip under the covers
and retreat to bed

You lay them in the water where they float like constellations
swirling in a liquid sky
They kiss my toes (like you do sometimes)
They squeeze between those scorched red angry thoughts
that count up rights and wrongs
and who’s ahead

They’ve no thorns like the rose, they’re simple and soft
They tease out my smile with their delicious scent
My tight places start to dissolve
In their presence I evolve to their innocent level

Your eyes catch mine
in a hopeful tentative gaze
I breathe you in and reach
for your sweet calloused hand,
touch the gold band I exchanged with you long ago,
turn it in place, prickly words erased from my mind

I don’t need to be right in every conversation
We’re not competitors but minglers of heart and soul

I squeeze your hand and feel the familiar curve of our love
encircling our hearts
drawing us back inside its safe edges

You hold out a big, soft towel
and wait for me
I step back into our sacred path
and leave the jasmine
floating in the bath

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Word's Weaver
by Oritsegbemi Jakpa

for John Ennis

Your words will outlast the forests,
succeeding generations yet to come,
will be read as long as words remain,
the tools of human communication.

You brew wisdom from umbilical chord
of tear-furrows, and root's familiar songs;
your truth, mirror to the light of the age,
gives what the mother gives the newborn.

You reel consciousness beyond secret moons,
knitting words and thoughts on stilts of light;
bars of space are dwarfed at your flight
reaching the abodes of dream's songs;

In the burnished spark of the hurricane,
raise soul-spewed-magma incarnates
from the desert and leaves of stone,
your verse, rival of glorious Milton,

--- storms beneath my bleeding skin
--- mammoth supernovas of exploding light
illuming the black night of the horizon
of my thought like bushfire in the harmattan.

My words, my own verse like ancient walls
crumble into mustard intervals of broken seeds.
Anoint me with the herb of such "Spiritus Mundi",
"oval encyclicals": anoint my hairs' root to my feet,

let me emerge like a corn after rain
from the rock bottom of undiscovered fields.

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I Remember Georgia
by Kate Weber

I remember Georgia
the happy chaos of a spring barbecue
spitting watermelon seeds in our church clothes
yes please, ma'am
I'd love some more peach pie

I remember Georgia
dropping our lines amongst the cat-tails
under the bright moon and cool autumn sky
hidden from Mama's watchful eye
stale cornbread as fish-food

I remember Georgia
long summer afternoons
helping Mama press her crisp crinolines
smelling the magnolia blossoms
on the heavy humid breeze

I remember Georgia
I remember
My soul never left

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