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Panda Poetry

Welcome graphic

to an online sample of an in-print, quarterly magazine.
 
  
 
 

Editor: Esmond Jones.
46, First Avenue, Clase, Swansea,
West Glam, SA6 7LL.  UK.
 
Tel: 01792 414837
 
 
 
Submissions: by e-mail or snailmail.
 
Subcriptions: 3.00 single copy 10.00 per annum.
Overseas: $5.00 and 15.00 respectvely.
 
 

Author: Cynthia Proctor
- Apoka, USA -

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Summer Morn
 
Longevity elbows
clear prospective
opportunities to study
and explore
all that has passed
blindly, before
a heart
full of love
gliding, as beauty
through a summer morn.
 
 
Crude
 
Black rivers
flow crooked
and stream
to pockets
covering the sun.
 
 
At 44
 
At 44 I crack the door
listening to what "elders" say
They raise their brows and analyse
my merry songs of play
Then, contemplate the mischief wrought
should I be allowed to stay.
 
(April 2002 issue)
 
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Author: Sylvia Spivey
- Georgia, USA -

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Love Floats on Wings
 
A full moon shines its softness
cuts the grey from end of day
brings to mind a time so fine
laughter echoes come to stay
 
the warm their palms at memories fire
then stroke your hair in easy waves
you gently reach to touch my face
gaze with longing at my empty place
 
my presence floats around you dear
wispy warmth which your heart feels
I'm like a flower just out of view, a
scent that waywood winds do seek
 
dear darling close your weary eyes
and rest in easy peaceful sleep
do not let your poor eyes weep
another tear of sorrow
 
I loved you then, Iove you now
I'll love you again tomorrow
 
(July 2002 issue)

Author: Diane Ashley
- Banning, CA, USA -

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Yawning Time
 
Between summer's last blast of heat
and autumn's first crunch of leaves
comes the yawning of summer.
 
It is like no other time
so unique is its voice.
Winds of all the earth
prepare for the chilling time.
They play back and forth
in their blowing.
As automatic as train tracks
switching back and forth.
 
Birds seen suddenly in a hurry
for a destination whispered.
With a knowing ear they listen
silence, yet it is there
a keening noise spoken within.
 
Our eyes see the opposite of this,
blind to the change which comes
like a thief. It seems summer
has just taken an immortality,
the form is of fool's gold.
 
Soon the sun will join with the wind,
pale and cool, with wind so lazy
it will blow straight through.
Humanity is lulled by it, its cadence,
are we yawning fools? Listen,
precious ephemeral moments
that say-now now now!
 
(January 2002 issue)

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