-- Quote of the Day --
"The applause dies. Awards tarnish.
Achievements are forgotten.
Accolades and certificates are buried
with their owners.
The people who make a difference
In your life are not the ones
With the most credentials,
The most money,
Or the most awards...
They are the ones who cared."
~Charles Schulz
-- Brummets in the Media -- 
July 22nd Interview with Leslie Kohler on the Diva's Tool Box Radio: Writers Inspiration - " a place where creative  people can gather and listen to writers of fiction on how, and where  they find their inspiration."  Today Leslie and I will be focusing the discussion on my poetry book: Towards Understanding and also on how writers can use blogs in their marketing plan. Please join us tomorrow morning at 11 AM - Pacific - or access the archived show at your convenience via: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/leslie-kohler 
-- Buy Poetry For    Your    Significant Other Month --
As promised, this   blog will be celebrating Buy Poetry For    Your Significant Other   Month  (July) by sharing poetry from published    writers. Submission    guidelines can be found on the July 3rd posting  on   this blog.    (scroll down to find previous posts). * We have 1 more guest poets lined  up before the end of July rolls around. Today we'll be featuring a poem written by Anca Vlasopolos:
Award-winning author Anca Vlasopolos 
*She didn't tell me which book this particular poem was excerpted from, however you can find out more about her work at: www.vlasopolos.com
Calls to Passage
* Authors Note: In American Midwestern suburbs, some people decorate their porches with cement geese that they costume according to holidays.
This evening, late September, light halves the visible.
The vault still rosy and blue and gray, though pierced
through by a quivering point of star, the sidewalk
so dark that streetlights wind leaves already act out
their shadow play.
And this small mass on lawn? A fallen migrant, a rodent
frozen at footsteps? or, sigh relief, just a crumpled
leaf. Of a sudden honks tumble from on high, honk
honk, as if breaking entrance to that other sky, of light,
of place where suns set so much later. The V passes in a blink,
itself only a denser gray of wavering air, vanishes long
before the shattering calls. In the silence of their wake do you not hear
first the rustle of the unsnapping, the shedding,
the letting go, then don't you see it, the stupid concrete
mold made to bear our caprices as uniforms--witch's hat,
Easter basket and flowery dress, et cetera--to fit our seasons?
Look, can you see in our obscure below,
how it stretches stone wings, unwinds long neck, from a puddle
of premature orange and black clothes,
takes off
 The vault still rosy and blue and gray, though pierced
through by a quivering point of star, the sidewalk
so dark that streetlights wind leaves already act out
their shadow play.
And this small mass on lawn? A fallen migrant, a rodent
frozen at footsteps? or, sigh relief, just a crumpled
leaf. Of a sudden honks tumble from on high, honk
honk, as if breaking entrance to that other sky, of light,
of place where suns set so much later. The V passes in a blink,
itself only a denser gray of wavering air, vanishes long
before the shattering calls. In the silence of their wake do you not hear
first the rustle of the unsnapping, the shedding,
the letting go, then don't you see it, the stupid concrete
mold made to bear our caprices as uniforms--witch's hat,
Easter basket and flowery dress, et cetera--to fit our seasons?
Look, can you see in our obscure below,
how it stretches stone wings, unwinds long neck, from a puddle
of premature orange and black clothes,
takes off
Find Dave and Lillian Brummet, excerpts from their books, information about their radio shows and free resources and more at: www.brummet.ca
* *   Support the Brummet's  work  by    telling  your friends, or  purchasing a  book - each book sold   raises    funds for  charity as  well! 
I love this poem! Even in this midsummer month when birds aren't even thinking of migrating, it's powerfully evocative.
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