Aloft in vast expanse of sky
He surveys his vast domain;
King of all the fowl that fly,
And dread of all small game.

The eagle eye, renowned for sight,
Cunning and finely honed,
Observes the land with acute delight
As he soars there all alone.

With feathers spread to catch the breeze,
His form aerodynamic,
Movement deft and to the point,
He knows no fear or panic.

Rapid dive as he targets in
On his choice of choicest meals;
His fierce intent to swoop and grab
The rabbit 'ere it squeals.

He draws his talons closer
And sets his wings aback;
Eyes intense with focus,
He makes a swift attack.

Hooked beak sharp, and most austere,
Showing he has fed,
His breast, the dinner napkin,
Exposing tell-tale red.

He's once more the floating raptor
Commanding all the sky
And I, enthralled observer,
Watch with greedy eye.

Joyce Guy


                   Many a forsaken old cottage
                    Sits off the beaten path,
                    Windows draped over with cobwebs
                    Broken panes lie on the grass.

                    The roof sports dried leaky shingles
                    The floor has spaces and snags,
                    A tattered forgotten old curtain
                    Hangs from a sash in rags.

                    The chimney is long free of embers,
                    No kettle sits on the hearth
                    The shack has long been empty
                    Left to the vermin and dearth.

                    The thing that caught my attention
                    Was memories made long ago
                    When a family inhabited the cabin
                    And maintained life's ebb and flow.

                    The stories abode in the air all around it,
                    Laughter, tears and smiles,
                    I could not grasp and distinguish
                    those of birth, death or flirtatious wiles.

                    But I stood caught up in the moment,
                    Alive with feelings and mood,
                    Almost able to hear them
                    As they floated and taunted en-brood.

                    My childhood entangled among them
                    Memories of my youth came to mind,
                    As I envisioned their lives and their struggles
                    As they pressed on, captured by time.

Joyce Guy



The rankest bull alive 
moils in the rider's chute; 
the best have unsuccessfully 
tried to conquor this brute. 

Restless rippling of muscles, 
as he rares and kicks, unsubdued, 
challenge the greatest of champions, 
in a manner both brazen and rude. 

The ghosts of his past performances 
follow the length of his trail, 
as he slams the fiercest of challengers 
in dust neath his heels and his tail. 

Due to the fire of his fury, 
and dispatch wherewith victims are flung, 
they call this poisonous monster, 
so unruly and empowered...The Tongue.

                                             Joyce Guy

Smoke Ring 

My chest is hurting, can't catch my breath
Doc says I am smoking myself to death.
Medicine is getting me through each day
But cancer is eating my life away.

My energy level is in deep decline,
Thoughts of death absorb my mind,
I think I'm much too young to die,
But days of ease have ceased coming by.

I've now cut back to a pack a day,
But something keeps taking my breath away.
Pain and depression hang around,
And will 'til they lay me in the ground.

My life is cut short with me to blame,
My life burned out by cigarette flame;
My lungs have suffered a terrible plight,
Help me, mister, you got a light?

Joyce Guy



Golden globes upon the ground
Among the verdant, nestled down;
Promising pies and pumpkin bread
Until the carver comes around.

Then transformed to smiling face,
Glow of candle marks its place;
Evoking tantalizing dread
Of ghoulish embrace.

Joyce Guy



With supple grace
it drapes and moves 
in shadowy silhouette,
stirred by unseen breezes
lovingly nudging its nape,
forming a gray vignette;

Mystery implied
by the veiled strands
 swaying there,
devouring  the breath of life
from the oaks
so aged and bare.

                                          Joyce Guy




Just Shooting The Bird

 I think it sort of funny,
but also very sad,
that it takes so very little
to get some folks really mad.

If they drive along beside you,
and you look them in the eye,
they take instant exception,
and ram their car in high.

We were sitting in a parking lot,
without a hint of care,
when the 'Pizza Delivery' man flew past,
middle finger in the air.

A couple's car had broken down
along the I 10 freeway,
A good Samaritan stopped
to help them on their way;

They killed the good Samaritan
and took his car away,
shook their middle finger at the law,
and went merrily about their day.

I find it so ironic
that the Phoenix is a bird,
and in the town of Phoenix
the bird is often the last word.

Rage is just a symptom
of something foul inside
when a person boils with anger
that they can no longer hide.

These angry folks should listen
while I give them all the scoop;
Behind every flippin' dirty bird
There stands a nasty pile of poop!

                                                    Joyce Guy



First gaze imprinting mother
on the pathways of the mind
from beneath long moist lashes,
the newborn Bovine kind.

Eyes huge with wonder
at new life just begun;
embraced by naught but mother
and her rough but loving tongue:

Encouraged to arise and nurse
the sweet warm milk of life,
and move to some protected place,
devoid of threat and strife.

Neck outstretched in effort
at supporting weight of head,
hind-end waving in the air,
Knees still bent upon the bed.

Behind still waving in the air,
Front end yet to rise,
Unsteady legs, futile attempts,
prompt mother's anxious cries.

At last she stands and staggers
A faulty step or two,
In response to mother's lowing,
an anxious sort of moo.

With determined wobbly movements
she sets out to explore
both front and back of mother,
seeking something more.

Slurping sound and frothy foam
Give proof she's had her way
Breakfast done she looks around
And staggers off to play.

                                                    Joyce Guy



 Tantalizing foam
Slipping seductively over the rim
And down the side;
With promise to sate desire,
Formerly unquenched,
By lust, greed or pride

Vision not quite clear,
Shuffling footsteps
Trip and slip and slide
Movements beyond control
Inebriated actions
Weaving side to side

Flash of unexpected light
Crash and shattered skull and bone
Blood seeping into the light
Accompanying cry of pain
Of wasting life,
Surrendered with a moan

Life slips into dusky shadows,
And on to darkness,
With helpless fragile moan;
Seduced by brew of alcohol,
And says goodbye
Leaving loved ones all alone.

                                                    Joyce Guy




(you'll not be able to fully appreciate this poem unless you are geriatric)

As the years pressed in upon me
And changed my life about
I've met the seasons gracefully
Of that I have no doubt.

I've caught the gentle husband
On whom my cap was set,
I've conquered many obstacles,
And challenges I have met.

My kids are grown into adults,
and all away from home.
I've seen so many places
That I once desired to roam.

Beloved pets have come and gone,
And filled a loving space,
I've long ago resigned
To my sagging, wrinkled face.

I move with slower gait,
No longer rush about
Love to stay at home more,
With much less in and out.

My goals have mostly all been met
With quite resolve and sap,
The most exciting thing now in my life
Is a long and restful nap.

                                                    Joyce Guy