Saturday, September 20, 2014

Haiku/Senryu--By Robert Epstein--United States

spilling into
Macy’s Men’s Dept.
3 robed monks

not only
3,000 miles between us
mom's dementia


on a park bench
a stranger shares
her love of God

among the treetops
the poem’s ending

Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku.  He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.

Color Me Autumn--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Color Me Autumn

floating, fallen
leaves in evening breeze;
children rolling, jumping, catching

Charlene McCutcheon is a 73 year old, wife, mother of seven, grandmother of thirty and great-grandmother of 14. She has just discovered her voice through poetry within the last few years. Her former ways of expression have been through the media of arts and crafts. Her desire to share herself with others for their benefit has been the motivating factor in all her endeavors. She loves life, work, play and most of all people.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne--England

What Would I be Without You?

By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne

What would I be without you?
You're my whole being and best friend,
there for me to turn to,
someone beside me to life's end!

I know, at times, I may not show how much
I value you and truly care,
And so I thought I'd write this piece to say
I'm glad that you are always there.

I found you many years ago.
Were you sent from heaven above?
But do you REALLY know...
...WHEN our friendship blossomed into love?

It's hard recalling life before we met;
We're almost family, I feel.
My world's a better place with you around -
So good to have a friend who's real.

You've become the family member I never had.
You cheer me up when I feel blue.
You make me happy when I feel sad.
Always there for me – I'm always here for you!

And if some day I find Aladdin's lamp,
I'll make a solemn wish, it's true,
That everyone in all the world is blessed
To have a loving friend like you!

Mother and Baby--By Sheri Stanley--United States

Mother and Baby

Borne as heart of a Rose
In mirrored reflection;
“Mother” too often spoken in prose
Diminishes the natural connection.

Great Spirit of all existence;
Provided warmth by the Sun.
So blessed is She - eternally
In every conception begun.

Divine miracle of light;
The infinite story is told.
Grand assimilation - unite;
Such a sight to behold!

Mother and baby in arms
Applauded and extolled
Single and sole as life can be
Granted briefly from Infinity….

Sheri is an artist, song writer and poet. She is also a graphic and digital book illustrator. A citizen of the United States she enjoys golf and music and quiet evenings at home with her much cherished family.  Her website is

A Simpler Place and Time--By John Polselli--United States

A Simpler Place and Time

Hold the moonbeams in your arms
and take them with you
Grab a cloud and pick a star from the sky
Cast them on the ocean
and make a road for two
leading to a new world
made for me and you

When the city gets too much for you to live
in neon lights during hectic nights
in crowded stores
I’ll take your hand and show you
a simpler place and time
where we can both be happy
and our love will shine

John Polselli’s poetry has been published in many literary journals and is the recipient of several Editor’s Choice Awards.  As a poet, John enjoys composing in all traditional forms including free verse as well as inventing his own.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

First Love--By Elaine George--Canada

First Love

Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made

Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago

I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears

We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play

We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand

Born in New Brunswick, Elain
e George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members.  Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people.  She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness.  Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.

The Wild Rose Of Love--By Marcus Omer--United States

The Wild Rose Of Love

Don’t crush the seed that grew the love,
nor trim the vine when small.
Don’t bruise the blossom when it’s young,
but let the petals fall.

The allure of this wildest rose,
the sweetness of the bud;
enchantment brought you ever near,
its thorns brought forth no blood.

The spirit of this innocence,
who can its secret know?
The essence seen of endless love,
if given chance to grow.

A wooden trellis will not hold,
the twining of this vine.
A human hand can n’er control,
nor shape its grand design.

But in the scheme of nature’s realm,
if given space to roam,
know you well it has reached its height
when songbirds build a home.

Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jacob Shaver and John Daleiden--United States

Synapses: A Triptych Renhai

By Jacob Shaver and John Daleiden 


an uplifted fist
poised to strike unblemished flesh—
a voice cries out    

sunlight after the monsoon       
at noon a sudden darkness —   

seeking refuge
in the house of corruption
secrets unleashed         


the glassblower’s breath
rounds a long-necked vase—
fragile wares for sale        

few rise with the sun           
silence before a bell toll—        

a hit in the ninth
of a no-hitter—
the eagle takes flight 


nothing that’s not there
and the nothing that is . . .
a fragrant breeze     

rainbow-light refraction
the abyss . . . larger     

electric moments
between Sistine fingertips—
a fault line trembles


Theme: Emergence

Kigo (Spring): “fragrant breeze” in The Haiku Handbook: How to Write, Share, and Teach Haiku. William J. Higgenson with Penny Harter.  New York: Kodansha International, 1985, p. 267.

Renhai, invented by Canadian Vaughn Seward, is a three verse, two person collaborative haiku poem. Unlike renku (constructed in a similar manner, however, not themed) renhai is a three verse themed poem with each of the verses  linking to each other on some  common theme. Verses one and three are three line haiku composed by one or the other collaborator. Both partners compose one line of the middle two line haiku verse. Both Renhai and Haiku are nature  image centered poems.

“Synapses” is a three verse haiku poem composed in the manner of an art work. A triptych from the Greek adjective τρίπτυχον ("three-fold"), is a work of art (usually a panel painting) that is divided into three sections.

John Daleiden:

Jacob Shaver:

The Prophet's Song--By James Fraser--Scotland

The Prophet's Song

In relation to deliberation on this poetry nation
A writer is he as clever as can be, lures you to he

With stories of writers he fashions with words
Encrypted solutions to be read to be heard

This newbie of writers who has arrived on our shores
Gathers driftwood for his writing hoard

In clever approach in his delightful encroach
He mixes in the mix, for its against him to poach

His verse is so free it gains respect of the wind
It resonates desires to be read and unwound

His name deciphered, the destroyer of poetry
This writer so cute, knows who he wants to be

This mask he has chosen is entirely his voice
To remove and become, is basically, simply his choice

James Andrew Fraser resides in Inverness, the Capital of the Highlands, Bonnie Scotland. He is married with four lovely children. Andrew, Steven, Rebekah and Liam. James has been writing poetry for about four years. He is a member of Poetry Soup where many poets have allowed his work to prosper, especially Carolyn Devonshire who has guided and inspired him.  His hobbies apart from poetry are music, art and football. You can read more of his poetry at his website 

A Dream--By Suzanne Delaney--United States

A Dream

Perhaps she dreams of love to come
A pose of beauty unsurpassed
Here in the shadows silent calm
White hands rest so gently clasped.

A pose of beauty unsurpassed
Her flowing hair conceals an envied sleep
White hands rest so gently clasped
Dreams confined are hers to keep

Her flowing hair conceals an envied sleep
Here in the shadows silent calm
Dreams confined are hers to keep
Perhaps she dreams of love to come

Suzanne Delaney is a retired Registered Nurse. A resident of Hawaii, USA she was born in Tasmania. She now has time to pursue her passion for writing poetry, creating collages and for traveling.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Looking at Fall--By Jean Calkins--United States

Looking at Fall

“Looks like fall, don’t it?” and the old eyes       scanned the sky...
Black billows of some snow clouds were       scudding quickly by
And silently on tapered wing a brown hawk       cut the air,
Gliding on the cold, brisk wind, freed from all       earthly care.
The old man’s eyes took in the muted colors       of the trees;
Stark against the sky they stood, now nearly       bare of leaves.
Frost had touched the flowers, and fields of       corn stood brown,
Though here and there a golden maple wore       a crimson crown.
“Yep, sure does,” I answered, but my mind       surged on ahead
To winter with its snow and cold which I so       deeply dread.
“Live for today,” then comes to mind, and       who said it was wise
And so I join the old man as his eyes still       sweep the skies.

Jean, at 80, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at

Seaside Serenity--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

Seaside Serenity

Simple treasures we have found
(seaweeds, fossils
seashells, crabs)
as we learned to look around

Walking holding hands
(He stopped
and wrote)
I love you in the sand

As the tides began to rise
(He laughed
I cried)
as the words disappeared before our eyes

But simple treasures we have found
(become fossilized
loving memories)
as we learn to look around

Anna-Marie Docherty lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK and is often inspired by nature and the world around her. Having been writing poetry now for 4 - 5 years, her works have developed in structure and form as well as using free verse in her writing as she walks this endless art form and creativity in her thirst to further learn. Letting the pen and the muse dictate topic and form both humour, religion, nature or the serious subject might be touched upon therefore keeping the writing fresh and easy to read by those who follow. Writing both as given name above and pen name anaisnais through the net, examples of poems can be found both in Snippets, an anthology of short verse by various international poets, compiled by Karen O'Leary and Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson; also Pink Panther magazine, an anthology written by several poets and artists on feminist issues in our environment and various poems on the internet for taster.

Monday, September 15, 2014

The Way It Is: Tanka Sequence--By John Daleiden--United States

The Way It Is: Tanka Sequence

you resist my touch,
reject me,
nevertheless—admit it
you are more than excited!

with joy I leap
out of the frying pan
into your life
consume me with raging flames
until our ashes are one

is it possible
tomorrow, our son will wed?
am I dreaming?
yesterday we discussed
if we should have children

emptiness reigns,
only my footsteps echo—
this mausoleum,
the niche where your ashes lie,
contains my empty urn

John Daleiden is retired from 43 years of teaching Language Arts in Iowa Public Schools. He now lives in Phoenix, Arizona. He currently serves on the Editorial Board and Submissions Manager of Four Chambers: The Heart of Literature in Phoenix, Arizona  ( From 2006-2012, he was an editor and webmaster of Sketchbook: A Journal for Eastern and Western Short Forms (

Poet of the Month--Charlene McCutcheon

Shaken to the Core

By Charlene McCutcheon

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings,
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me.
She turned her face toward me with a pained look that begged for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within, for this pitiful tangled haired waif.

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body.
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life.
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.

While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears,
still I desired to sympathize, whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK".
I lied, knowing it wouldn't; besides what could I do with so little to give?
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me.

From the editor--It is an honor to announce that Charlene McCutcheon is September’s Poet of the Month.  She is a talented writer that has been published in print and online.  Readers at Whispers relate to her heartfelt poetry.  Charlene is a light at our online journal, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate.  I recently received an email relating that the person was deeply moved by the thoughts Charlene shared about her poem.  This is a gift that makes a difference. It is a pleasure to present Charlene with this honor!

Thoughts on “Shaken to the Core”--Right from the onset, Charlene grabbed my attention with vivid imagery.  The scene is stark and very moving.  Who wouldn’t be shaken by seeing a child hugging a dead rat?  The greater question is would you walk away?  That thought is haunting, and I’m guessing one that most of us hope we wouldn’t have to face.  Charlene surprised me a bit in the fourth stanza, finding out that this was really a dream.  That the memory still shakes the narrator gives one hope for humanity.  Does this challenge you to make a difference in your own piece of the world?  I hope so.

Congratulations and thank you Charlene!  I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.


Karen O’Leary, Editor

Not at All---By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia

Not at All

No hustle
Neither bustle
Just muted rooms
Soundless walls whispering
Little innocence looms

Ndaba Sibanda is a Zimbabwean-born writer. His poems, essays and short stories have been published in Africa and the USA. Ndaba currently lives and teaches in Saudi Arabia. Of his career, he says, "writing is my life, and my second wife".

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Pit with a Bottom--Richard Sponaugle--United States

Pit with a Bottom

In halcyon days long past,
when starry eyes scanned the sky,
Dave looked down on ditch diggers.
Now, he thinks they’re seasoned pros--
shoveling dirt in rhythmic scoops,
while his life’s long lacked a flow.
Dave envies those who work
in dawn’s blossoming sunshine
or rain or even blinding snow,
because pitch black concrete walls
have closed in on him for decades.
Dave hates those who get paid
for creating grave like trenches,
while his heart and soul are bankrupt,
entombed in a self made grave.
But now, Dave has new idols,
and he’s determined to be
the best ditch digger ever.

Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia.  He received a BA from George Mason University.  A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues. 

Surprise! Surprise!--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

Surprise! Surprise!

His adoring wife told her hubby that she was with child.
He was so overjoyed he walked on air to put it mild!
He started making immediate plans for a handsome little boy,
That he could hunt and fish with and bring him untold joy.

A football, bat and baseball were on his shopping list;
A closet full of sports stuff, things he just could not resist.
He bought a box of cigars, the labels reading, “It’s a Boy!”
And painted the nursery a sickly blue, much to his wife's annoy.

They settled back to await the big event and he began to muse,
Upon the young lad's future and the career he might choose.
"Why, he'll be President of these United States I have no doubt,
Or perhaps a senator in Congress where he'll carry lots of clout."

"Maybe a four-star general in the Air Force wearing a suit of blue,
Or a famous research scientist finding a cure for the flu.
Hollywood, I'm sure, will call wanting to make him a star;
Perhaps a famous lawyer defending hapless souls before the bar."

Momma delivered a charming little bundle and what do you think?
She presented Papa with the cutest little girl all wrapped up in pink!
He tenderly cuddled and kissed her as he proudly proclaimed:
"President of these United States she'll be, the first to be so named!"

Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

How Sound is Silence?--By David J. Kelly--Ireland

How Sound is Silence?

If less is more and worlds abhor
a crushing, narcissistic bore,
perhaps I should relent from speech,
make all replies one gesture each,
keep dictionaries out of reach
and listen to more music.

But critics, though it sounds absurd,
would hang on each unspoken word -
my silent voice would be transferred
across the global ether.

Oh Heavens!
What a tangled mess!
I wish that more were really less.
Then I’d adopt loquaciousness
and suffer the dilution

David J. Kelly is an animal ecologist based in Dublin, Ireland. While his day job revolves around science writing, his light poetry and Japanese verse forms (haiku, tanka, haibun and haiga) have been published in a number of journals and anthologies. He aspires to publish a book of poetry one day, when he has enough suitable material. David is a member of The British Haiku Society and Haiku Ireland.

As the Heart of Spring--By ayaz daryl nielsen--United States

As the Heart of Spring

You spread the wings of Spring
You are the soft rain’s first blooms
And legends will be about you
Legends of enchanted beginnings

ayaz daryl nielsen is a husband, father, veteran, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs)/hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (25+ years/120+ issues), homes include Lilliput Review, Jellyfish Whispers, Shamrock, and! (translates as joie de vivre)

Friday, September 12, 2014

Reunited--By Jack Horne--England


Alone for over fifty years;
A widow to the end,
The war affected Granny’s life,
Her heart could never mend.

My granddad was recalled from leave,
As someone else was ill,
His ship was sunk and he was killed;
So much to live for still.

At eighty-eight, my granny died;
I smiled amid the tears -
And thought of Gran and Grandfather
United after years.

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.

Haiku--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

this morning
hummingbirds zigzag
through the bee balm

midday heat
honey bees bead
the birdbath’s rim

red bridge
a boy on his tummy
tickles a spotted koi

September light--
her spidery veins
celestial blue

shorter days
her daily path
shorter too

Elizabeth Howard lives in Crossville, Tennessee. She writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Poem, Still, Mobius, Now & Then, Slant, and other journals.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jane Richer and Pam Murray--Canada

The Richness of Our Friendship

By Jane Richer and Pam Murray

A friend is a person that cares even when you don't;
A like minded spirit who holds you when life won’t.
You can feel their love even though you are miles apart.
A true friend always has space in your heart.

When you feel you can't cope anymore,
You see the truth, just what good friends are for.
A soul sister or brother that knows you best.
A safe haven, where you can come to rest

Pity the ones that have not yet found that special friend!
It was a melding we knew would not end.
Thank God that He gave you this wondrous soul!
It anchors me when Life’s out of control.

No matter what may trip us up or come our way
The richness of our friendship always saves the day
So if you feel that the world is closing in,
No room for loss, our true friendship will win.

Love Waits--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

Love Waits

Visions of one is lost in the clouds
for the image is far beyond the sea
searches for love of you in the crowds
wonder who you are, I long to see

You came to my heart with much surprise
not expecting to hear your voice today
almost as if, you heard my saddened cries
but, you are a dream not coming my way

I talk to you many times in my sung song
wonder if you will catch my stumble and fall
will you come my way I’ve waited so long
take my hand will destiny hear my faint call

Across the sea, solitary and alone
buried in life with past hurt and pain
true love you have never really known
for it was captured in damp foggy rain -

your love waits across the sea

Rhoda Galgiani is a published Poet and Author of two books, Expressions from the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny - a Child’s Story listed at or Rhoda is a retired senior that delights in maintaining her own website entitled Expressions Poetry Journal which is dedicated to the world of poetry. Come visit her at -

Pacific Blue--By David Coon--United States

Pacific Blue

Alone with the colors of life
in her hands, she sits enthralled,
as nature paints an ever-changing picture before her.

As daystar descends towards water's gloom;
pastel skies darken to shades suppressed,
silhouetted pods of whale sound in dismay,
seabirds dip wings in evening flight,
wave's roar distanced as gravity pulls,
wind gusts peak then subside.

Dusk arrives; heralds the night.
In defiance, the heavens flame
then darken to pacific blue.

David (Dave) Coon has been sharing his poems on various social sites since 1997 and has always gone by the name of Nissmech. David originally wrote this poem in 2000. He thanks others for enjoying it!

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Sailing Once More--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom

Sailing Once More

Raise anchor set sail
And leave the shore
For the storm is over the dark clouds have dispersed
No more anxiety and no more hurt
Set course for new horizons and clear blue skies
I've so much living to do before I die
Now sailing on calm blue seas
Toward my dreams and destiny.

Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.

Game Night at the Church--By Cristine A. Gruber--United States

Game Night at the Church

She calls
to him as he
walks away, “Don’t forget
your balls...” Laughter ensues. Response:

Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver and a devout vegan. Her poetry reflects her view of the human condition in all its complexity and beauty. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal, Foliate Oak, Full of Crow, Leaves of Ink, The Old Red Kimono, The Penwood Review, Poetry Now, The Poet’s Haven, and The Tule Review. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, was released by Infinity Publishing and is available from

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Rose Of My Heart--By Michael Todd--United States

Rose Of My Heart
(Sonnet for Lainey)

Subjects of the heart of which we may write,
Seldom found more endearing, than the rose.
Try though we will to search, with all our might,
Heart's seed planted, inevitably grows.

Botanist labor, hastening season,
Spring finds them planting, one by one, in rows.
Usher along, according to reason.
Shielding sprouts, when damaging night wind blows.

Yields of Summer, display beauty, wonder.
Desired object tied in ribbon and bows.
As thorns bristle, petals fall asunder.
Attempt to delay late Fall's coming throes.

From the start, flower destined to depart.
Save one Winter rose, this Rose of my heart.

Michael Todd aka Myke Todd has been writing and posting stories and poetry on social networking sites since 2006. He can currently be found at his dedicated poetry site...

A Proustian Moment--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand

A Proustian Moment

The madeleine moment when I too ceased to be
Contingent and mortal : asleep with drudgery and ennui
Not forgetting fear, grief, anguish
Walking down the dull empty street
Blind to magnificence of pink flowering trees..

Then a gentle breeze wafted a distinct odour
of frying tomatoes
Of a sudden my heaviness gone, seeing with
perfect clarity myself as a child at the bay
Camping with my father man, laughing as he cooked
a pan of fresh, fleshy, bright red tomatoes
In butter over a beach fire : cups of billy tea
Slices of white bread and we ate :
These were perfect moments

Now I am awake
Astounded at the beauty all around me

Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia.  She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Sara Kendrick and John Loving III--United States

Life's Never Ending Changes

By Sara Kendrick and John Loving III

a weathervane still
points east 'pon gray ancient barn...
fall's air rust tractors

the vain weathervane speaks east
and rust grows though no one knows

rusty John Deere sits
outside engine deep in grass...
bucks face off for a fight

the leaves are falling
revealing the trees' fractures
fall's air thrust factors

crimson, gold, and red leaves fall
farm lake ~ mural of the scene

John Deere the artist
tractors in the grass like clouds
wearing the weather

Monday, September 8, 2014

Autumn Time--By Christine Tate--United States

Autumn Time

I love the change of seasons
as my anticipation grows,
from the awakening in springtime
to the first flakes of snow...
but it's magical for me
when autumn draws near
with its multi-colored show,
it's my favorite time of year!

The orange harvest moon
casts shadows down below,
I love pumpkin and apple picking,
swirling leaves, and scarecrows.
the aroma of pies baking,
the crunch of fallen leaves,
it's the season for hayrides
and the gathering of sheaves.

I savor every moment
while autumn time is here,
and give thanks to the Lord
for this vibrant time of year!

Christine Tate lives in New Jersey. She is the mother of three married sons and has eight grandchildren. She started writing inspirational poetry in 1994, and is blessed to encourage others and honor the Lord. She was widowed in 2007 and met her new husband Artie, a widower, in the nursing facility where their late mothers resided. They've been happily married for 2 1/2 years. Since neither of them ever expected to marry again, they consider it a "divine appt."