It has been repeatedly suggested that inclusions be made
of what might be called less 'ambitious' verse.
With the second volume of POeTRY, therefore, a new section
is added which will publish shorter,
or otherwise less narrative verse.
Submissions are solicited.
Since the initial entries will be those of the editor,
whose genealogical roots are but a century
removed from Bavaria,
and whose name in German means 'bricklayer' or 'mason,'
and in the spirit of 'building' that this journal
has sought to propagate, the section will be entitled
'The Bavarian Mason.'

The Destiny of Man

by Ronald Gordon Ziegler c 1966, 1985, 1998

If it be the destiny of mortal man to leave footprints on the sands of time, then surely we should grieve to see the restless shiftiness of the yellow sand, and the ravages of wind and sea on the destiny of man.


by Ronald Gordon Ziegler c 1996

She came late one summer and we fed her crawly things which she waited for in ambush as they'd walk about and sing. She would hang there expectantly with her hands folded in prayer, thanking God for the feast she knew would soon be there. She'd wet her arms and wash her eyes, so she could the better see each movement that would pass her as she waited patiently. She waited with us through autumn as the leaves turned gold and red, and every time we'd look in at her, she would cock her alien head as if to say "May I help you? What is it you think you see? I am but a passenger on the train to eternity." One day when the leaves had gone and dropped to mother earth, and barren sticks were all was left of the green of springtime's birth, she made a pouch and fastened it securely that was filled with her legacy to tomorrow. And when it was lovingly sealed safe from winter's raging blast wrapped up warmly so to keep, she began to quiver on her legs and at last lay down to sleep. Now, I have seen tomorrow and I have seen yesterday, and I have seen November and I have seen May, and I know there is hereafter and that rebirth is assured, and that we are God's hand on earth in our works and in our words, and that we live on in what we create, for soon the Spring will return, and a thousand hands will fold to God of her work on her sojourn. Continue