Wouldn't it be nice to have a picture of the group. Let's pretend.

Ode to AD Poets
By John Herlihy

I stumbled upon an unlikely gang of adventurers in the poetic word,
Within the noble family of AuthorsDen who simply wish to be heard.
Day after day they prune, they pear, they cut, they curl, they tweek,
They lay themselves bare and in their quest to understand, they seek.

What about poor old Jerry who says he did things better left unnamed,
Things that have pursued him relentlessly thru life as shadows shamed.
He merely highlights the heart of the human condition within ourselves,
In doing so, he can now appear amid the stately ranks of poetic elves.

And then there is the oft-recurring image of our bird-like Jane,
Who tweets sweet nothings in the rushes beyond the windowpane.
Whether it is about lost souls, sweet revenge, happiness and despair,
The indubitable Jane emerges with morning light, our souls to repair.

Before running to your dictionaries to understand what I have said,
Forget not the cerebral Ronald who never leaves an answer unsaid.
Whether it be quirkiness of politics or theory of a non-existent God,
We can count on Ron to set the record straight and onward plod.

Life would not be the same should we overlook the elfin Michael,
Who plays around with words the way a blacksmith plays with metal.
Whether writing about dogs without tails or sharp stones in life’s shoe,
His echoes rhyme happily through the night until a new day doth brew.

And finally our two stately poets who rightly deserve well-earned fame,
They take up the two ends of the poetic spectrum, never to seem the same.
Grandfather Odin seems to sit in silence on the arm of a universal clock,
While the oriental verses of Alex shine their enigmatic, mystical shock.

Oh, yes, may no one accuse me of leaving behind the fretful John,
Who digs deep into the archives of humanity to understand the throng,
That lies within him of savage beasts, wild animals, and mystic beatitude.
He leaves no stone unturned in his quest to uncover the right attitude.

Let us leave them to their scribbling before midnight candles snuff;
They could write for all eternity and it would never be truly enough.
Jane at her window, Jerry by the bay, Ron in his chair, Michael in the fray;
They all boldly lay bare their emotions and hold absolutely nothing at bay.
John in the desert, Alex with his magic wand and Odin his pen that bleeds.
May they forever write truly, penning for others their magical poetic seeds.