Sunday, November 29, 2015

Editor's Thoughts--Prayer for France and the World

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

It is with mixed emotion that I write this November editor’s column.  While I wish all of you a wonderful holiday season filled with joy, I know many of you are dealing with difficult challenges.  I hope you can find peace and some joy in the midst of your struggles.

I am sad to report that Erich Goller passed away on November 14.  We also said good-by to Beth Winchcombe earlier this month.  I hope to do a tribute to Erich, but am waiting for family consent.  I respect the need for people’s privacy especially in the time of deep loss.  Like Beth, Erich was a friend that I will miss.  Please keep both of these writers and their families in your prayers.

It’s hard sometimes to find “Peace on Earth and Good Will to Man” in the wake of violence like the France terrorist attacks, the beheadings and murders in the Mideast and elsewhere in the world, and the stunning wave of teen violence.  Yet there are births and other celebrations of life Pope Francis reminded us of in his visits to various countries.  His message of love was a vision of hope for the future. 

For those that have been rocked and devastated by violence--

Prayer for France and the World
I pray you know peace--
    to walk safe streets
    to make choices without fear
    to truly know freedom

I wish you the gift of hope--
    to share a child’s smile
    to reach beyond survival
    to dream new dreams

I hope you have faith--
    to seek understanding
    to share a new vision
    to know in God all is possible

Please join me in prayer and hope as we walk into the next year.  May our leaders find ways to settle their differences in peace instead of bloodshed.  May we extend our own hands to those around us instead of judging others with different ideas than our own.  May our words resound around the world as a Whispers’ community spreading light and hope.

Please add your own thoughts and prayers as my words are just a humble beginning.  Thank you to each and every one of you that make our online journal/poetry community possible.


Karen O’Leary

Homecoming--By Scott Thomas Outlar--United States


I close my eyes for the briefest moment
and catch a glimpse of a tiny black dot
in the back of my mind
hovering behind my eyes
that suddenly explodes in red ignition
like a fiery halo
burning over a vast horizon
singing to me sweetly
luring me in like a siren
with a gentle whisper
to return
to come home
to be as One
in absolution

Scott Thomas Outlar spends the hours flowing and fluxing with the ever changing currents of the Tao River. His next chapbook, Songs of a Dissident, will be released in early 2016 through Transcendent Zero Press. He enjoys connecting with readers and fellow writers at his daily blog

The Lovers of the Dark--By Aju Mukhopadhyay--India

The Lovers of the Dark

Darkness keeps them stark
Bright light kills
They live in the caves dark
The aboriginal heritage of the earth
Man has abandoned project mining
Left the rocky caves wishing
To protect the lovers of the dark
Near Ponnawonica in Australia,
One of the earthly sites.

Aju Mukhopadhyay, a bilingual award winning poet, author and critic, writes fictions and essays too. He has authored 32 books and received several poetry awards from India and USA besides other honours. Recently he has received Albert Camus Centenary Writing Award, 2013 from Canada / Cyprus. He is a regular contributor to various magazines and e-zines in India and abroad. He is in the editorial and advisory board of some important literary journals. His poems and short stories have been widely anthologised and translated.

Tanka--By Anne Curran--New Zealand

vintage cider,
preserves and jelly,
in nana's cellar...
if I could bottle
one ounce of her wisdom

her dripping raincoat
hanging from a hook
on the porch ...
early for my ageing friend
to retire from the garden

with a smile
he kicks a drop goal ...
how good it feels
to be in the right place
at the right time

Anne Curran is a Japanese verse forms poet from Hamilton, New Zealand.  Anne has been writing poetry for about ten years with the encouragement of friends and family. She draws inspiration from the world around her. She has been fortunate to enjoy the wisdom of some fine editors and fellow poets.

When Paradise Returns--By Suzanne Delaney--United States

When Paradise Returns

That first year we cursed the flood,
channeled from the border creek
and basin of lakes that added their support,
King tides gave flux to sheets
of water, rising silently after falling,
following the low-lying land
spilling once again between
the waiting paperbarks

Our cattle, cut off from us, stood
utterly dejected, on these new
islands that formed - birds came
with the sounds of paradise,
re-claiming their natural habitat

That next year we waited with
the paperbarks, watching for the birds
to fill the wetland
waiting for them to fill the silent
fields again, as if by magic,
no longer cursed

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.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Just Before The Dawn Broke Open--By James Diaz--United States

Just Before The Dawn Broke Open

Testing the pulse of this garden
Oh how long the night is
the weight of loss shifting
its rain inside the bone of wood
near the stove
I am weeping
tell me more
this is your story, not mine
I don't have the details
the right to intrude
when you go
fill me in
I was always just this hole beneath your feet
where the seed never took
and oh
oh how long this night has become.

James Diaz lives in upstate New York. His latest publications can be found in Chronogram, Commonline Journal, A Long Story Short and Unbroken Journal.

Shell of a Serpent--By Allison Grayhurst--Canada

Shell of a Serpent

These are great things,
what you take
with your mounting neglect.
They are things cast out
of the 'beautiful', that
dig into polar ice and
fossilize there; numb, cold,

And though you feel superior,
inhuman, hovering above
with a face carved
in one constant expression, you yourself
will not give light to the
lonely, will not illuminate
for the sake of another's need.

Your own pain, (cunning, hunting) is a
tentacle that quivers cold-blooded
for pity's gullible caress:

You distance your heart from the humble dancers.

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Twice nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 825 poems published in over 360 international journals. She has eleven published books of poetry, seven collections, eight chapbooks, and a chapbook pending publication. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay;

Haiku--By Kelley White--United States

February 9th—
abandoned bird nests
become snow globes

Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her most recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Haiku--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India

my thoughts …
a cockatoo’s call

one by one my steps following a dandelion seed

sailing with my paperboats a moonbow

with the first snow …
blood pressure levels

at every tinkle of a bell sprinkling the holy water

Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.

Night at the Duck Pond--By Tom Davis--United States

Night at the Duck Pond

Towering cypress
clothed in ragged gray-brown bark
and bearded with strands
of Spanish moss
ring the pond’s far end.
Cypress knees rise
from the water like stalagmites.
Giant cattails and platter-sized lily pads,
interlaced with long reed canarygrass,
host a choir of bullfrogs and katydids.
A small field road hugs its western side.
In the distance, a gator slaps its tail.
The dank smell of swamp, river, and
midnight dew churn in the air.
A whippoorwill cries its sad three-note song
as the moon shines a face of stunning gold.

In his younger years, Tom Davis served as a Special Force Combat Diver. It seems to him that he spent more time on, in, and under the water than as a landlubber. This and other adventures he has written about in his memoir, The Most Fun I Ever Had With My Clothes On: A March From Private to Colonel.

Monday, November 23, 2015

On Dit (It is said)--By Don Beukes--United Kingdom

On Dit (It is said)

It is said that God exists
some would argue something amiss
believers battle to understand faith
for some it might be too late
it is said time and again
how earthly life was back then
do we care or even wonder
how the past or present
drags us under?

It is said life is precious
like a drama in various sessions
culprits maim
destroy and plunder
the naïve just live on
amidst the tumultuous thunder
it is said man has a conscience
how easily we believe any nonsense
we cheat sin and judge
when all we need
is a divine plunge!

Don Beukes is a retired teacher of English who now devotes more time to share his words with our global village. Originally from Cape Town, South Africa, he grew up and was educated during the last two decades of Apartheid and want to share his literal mentality in order to enable others to adjust their moral compass in an ever-changing society. He also writes under the alias of SalamanDer.

At Winter’s First Snow--By Andrea Dietrich--United States

At Winter’s First Snow - Dodoitsu form

Soft pearls swirl in twilight's sky.
Lying down, we face heaven;
signaling our joy and thanks,
we make snow angels.

Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Withering Hope--By Vasanthi S. Pillai--India

Withering Hope

As the light
escapes the body
and the mind,
darkness seeps
through gently,
embracing all the
sorrow in this world
to see the heart ache.
Or is that called trauma?

Vasanthi is a dreamer who completely enjoys writing and reading poetry, and every piece of her work is the result of a conversation with her soul.

"Thanksgiving"--By David Fox--United States


People on Thanksgiving Day
Poor or wealthy
Should be happy
If they're healthy.
So while you're having
Your celebration
Remember the less fortunate
Across the nation
Who haven't as much
As you have got
Before you put that turkey
In that pot
When you make your
Thanksgiving "toast"
Remember it's love
That matters most.

David Fox’s writing has appeared in over 100 venues, including newsletters, blogs, print journals and websites. He has been published in the U.K., Canada, India, Finland and the U.A.E.  He edits a print journal, The Poet's Art, (see his ad in the Whispers Ad column).

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Living with the Black Dog--By April Mae M. Berza--Philippines

Living with the Black Dog

(For the Bukas Puso at Isip Family Support Group
of Philippine General Hospital)

The world is a witness how I tame the Black Dog,
how I befriend it at night when the stars connive
with the moon to devise a plot against me,
seeking revenge that insomnia accompanies me
as I become intoxicated with a passion
greater then Romeo and Juliet’s or Antony
and Cleopatra’s; I inhale sadness each morning
when the tug of war between reluctance
and my medicines, Valpros and Risperidone,
is the only setting in my mind, sometimes,
I forget to take a bath or brush my teeth for days
just as I forget telephone numbers or birthdays,
I juggle six jobs at a moment or do nothing at all,
staring at the ceiling with a constellation of dust
to taste the sourgraping from my parents.
The world is a witness how I slayed the Black Dog
in a battle for sanity, I killed it and survived the attack,
I no longer fear sinking, sinking in the sea of suffering,
I would always be sailing in a tempest-tossed ship,
but I know I will survive, I will survive.

April Mae M. Berza is the author of Confession ng isang Bob Ong Fan (Flipside, 2014.) Her poems and short stories appeared in numerous publications in the US, Canada, Romania, India, Japan, UK and the Philippines. Her poems are translated in Crimean Tatar and Filipino. Some of her poems are published in Liwayway, The Siren, Poetica, Calliope, Maganda, Metric Conversions, Ani, The Manila Times, Contemporary Verse 2, and elsewhere.. Her poem "E-Martial Law" was broadcast on IndoPacific Radio on KPFA 94.1FM/ She is a member of Poetic Genius Society. She lives in Taguig, Philippines.

Haiku--By Barbara Tate--United States

no wasted motion
the winter wind

two steps forward
one step back

heat lightning
motion made seconded
back to square one

moment of truth
recovering from winter
we hold hands

velvet curtain
shoving fog aside
the sea breeze

Thoughts from Barbara--Haiku, Senryu, & Haibun are such a pleasure to write. I'd like to thank Francine Banwarth (ed: Frogpond), Paul Miller (ed: Modern Haiku), Bob Lucky (ed: Contemporary  Haibun Online, an'ya, Sonam Chhoki and Marianna Monaco of Cattails, Fay Aoyagi of The Heron’s Nest, and Mike Rehling for all the help and 'mini lessons'. I also want to thank Ayaz Daryl Nielsen of Bear Creek Haiku, and a special thanks to Karen O'Leary for my Whispers’ family and writing some good strong Tan Renga with me. I am truly blessed.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jack Horne--England and Constance LaFrance--Canada

Christmas Memories

By Jack Horne and Constance LaFrance

We walked through Whitleigh, early one winter evening,
many moons ago, with the sounds of the Salvation Army Band:
a carol service near the shops and I asked if we could stop.
We joined the jolly carolers and sang Star of Wonder,
the lyrics on a large screen, for those who didn't know them.
A dreary December night, but I recall feeling wonderfully warm:
it seemed to start inside and spread, filling my heart with happiness,
as I held my parents' hands, we only sang that one song,
for we were going to gran's, but I still smile at my memories
of a child's first carol service .... and wonder who else remembers.

The snow is falling outside my window, pretty delicate snowflakes,
It is another Christmas Eve, and I want to decorate the tree,
I got the tattered box from the basement that holds the decorations.
Within are all the memories of Christmas pasts,
And in my mind, I can still see all the happiness of yesterdays;
I see my sweet mother cooking and fussing about the house,
And I am helping father with the Christmas tree,
And gran is supervising from her rocking chair.
I touch each old decoration like the finest of lace and weep,
Weep for the three angels ... that dwell above.

It Never Came--By David Williams--England

It Never Came

Your industrial face carries the pain of waiting;
but it never came.
Your flesh pitted with the scars of wanting;
but it never came.
Your heart heavy with the sorrow of trying;
but it never came.
Your voice faint with the force of praying;
but it never came.
Your eyes pale with the sea of tears;
but it never came.
Your hands drip sweat with the worry;
but it never came.
Your soul cries out from the frustration;
but it never came.
For you, it was never meant to be;
It never came!

David Williams was born in England and has resided there all of his life. He started writing poetry at the tender age of 14. He was encouraged to enter a local school poetry contest and went on to win it. In later life, he joined many local poetry groups and writers circles, eventually becoming chairman. He has had 9 poetry books published and is collating material for two more books which will hopefully be out later this year. He holds workshops to help and encourage writers to understand the many different forms of poetry. He has won many contests and is also a recognised poetry judge.

Scene from a Bolivian Restaurant--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

Scene from a Bolivian Restaurant

I drizzle neon green sauce
onto fat, starchy kernels

as late morning’s light slinks in
like an impossibly thin teenager

past the bar
lined with liquor no one drinks.

Families eat lunch,
not breakfast, not brunch.

Nursing my can of diet soda,
I wonder

how the hot sauce and corn would taste
at home with our smaller, sweeter kernels.

I forget

we are only two blocks from the mall,
one block from the bus back home.

Marianne Szlyk is the editor of The Song Is... Recently, she published her second chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, with Flutter Press. Her first, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press. Her poems have appeared in Long Exposure, Of/with, bird's thumb, Solar Nation, Quill and Parchment, Silver Birch Press' series, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocaine, Poppy Road Review, and other online and print venues including Kind of a Hurricane Press' anthologies.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

The night didn’t cascade--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan and U.A.E.

The night didn’t cascade

like a curtain of tresses on your face,
the window watched the moon pecking
at its humility, the air a whirl of aphrodisiac
penetrations, if only you’d remember my name
on your lips like a prayer, count me on beads
but of your skin that breaks under the light
left on so you can watch me break
in my eyes, we both know which is more
beautiful, more durable, of better arts
practised, you flinch at the sight of me –
my ghosts – the same alluring ink,
a different page, different moon
and breaking glass.

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and U.A.E. and often finds herself in a world of oscillation that most of the times motivates her writing too. She maintains a (or tries to) blog on

The Littlest Christmas Tree--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

The Littlest Christmas Tree

It stood alone Christmas Morn on the bleak and windswept mountainside!
Towering spruce that once surrounded it, graced many a cozy fireplace side.
Rejected again, the Littlest Christmas Tree was left so lonely and forlorn.
Dejected, it would spend Christmas with naught its branches to adorn.

Happy children had danced around taller and more majestic trees,
Shouting, "Daddy! Daddy! This is the one! Let's get it pretty please!"
Cheerful families gave it a passing glance as they sought the perfect tree.
The little tree with outstretched limbs cried, "Won't you please choose me?"

Mister Eagle soaring high above saw the little trees' hapless plight!
He mused, "This will not do!  I will get my friends to set things aright!"
He rallied all his forest and feathered friends to help decorate the tree!
From far and near they gathered on Christmas Morn in answer to his plea!

Crimson cardinals arrived to adorn each branch of the little spruce so blue!
Bluebirds by the gross settled upon its limbs adding to its colorful hue!
Topping the tree was the Symbol of Peace, a beautiful mourning dove!
Mister Eagle exclaimed, "Y'all done good!" as he eyed the scene from above!

Adding to its beauty were branches garlanded with newly-fallen snow!
All the forest creatures were gathered about the tree, their love to show!
'Twas reminiscent of animals gathered in The Manger so very long ago!
The Littlest Christmas Tree cried tears of joy for all who had made it glow!

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.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

A Song of Loneliness--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi

A Song of Loneliness

Who will sing me
a song of hope?
who will cite lines
of love to me?
who will utter
verses of mercy to me?

I have walked a long distance
of humps and bumps
and when I look back
I see only one pair of footsteps
all along my journey.

Is life an unmusical song
sung by a lonesome soul?
is life a sad tale
told by a lone idiot?

Ndongolera C. Mwangupili works as a Senior Inspector of Schools in Malawi. He has vast experience as a teacher of English and Bible Knowledge. Many of his short stories, poems and essays have been published in the Malawi News and Weekend Nation. His stories are anthologized in Modern Stories from Malawi and The Bachelor of Chikanda and Other Stories. His poem “The Genesis” was anthologized in The Time Traveller of Maravi: New Poetry from Malawi. His other poem “Letters to a Comrade” is published online in India on He believes that there is a thin line between fiction and reality. All that people write is a re-creation of what is already known to the writer and exists not only in the mind of the writer but also outside the writer, therefore, fiction is actually facts written as if they are not facts. He is married to Angella, and they have two daughters Mary Magdalena and Princess Cleopatra.

Just for Fun--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Just for Fun

Football pads and baseball bats,
Caps and muddy cleats,
Dirty dishes, dirty socks,
Dirty towels and sheets;

Backpacks here and blankets there.
Where’s my favorite shirt?
Got a game to get to and
No way…that’s not my dirt!

Oh how’s a girl to keep up;
What on earth am I to do?
Cuz all that’s just the husband…
When the kids arrive, I’m through!

Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

"Happy Birthday" to You! Have a Great Day!--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

"Happy Birthday" to You! Have a Great Day!

Happy Birthday Mother and brother Ken
Hope you're enjoying yourselves up in Heaven
Along with my Dad brothers Harry, Robert too
And all other loved ones up there with you
I've been thinking of you all day long
With a love that's still just as strong
As it was when you were here with me
Lovingly holding me gently
I love you, I love you, this I'm sure you know
Just thinking of you gives me a happy glow
I could shed tears at the loss of thee
But these I know you wouldn't want to see
So Mam and Ken I am smiling as I say
"Happy Birthday" to You! Have a Great Day!
And I know you'll be looking down tomorrow too
Sending brother Graham down here much love from You

Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads.
A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18.  Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters.  Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents.  After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently.  She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.

Wisconsin Autumn--By Robert A. Hall--United States

Wisconsin Autumn

When the moon is full of bluster
And the wind its bidding does,
Then the birling leaves will muster
For the dance that ever was.

Then you know the Iceman's coming
With a breath that chills the soul.
With the sun our faces shunning,
Bank your fires with spring the goal

Robert A. Hall, a Marine Vietnam Veteran, served 5 terms in the Massachusetts State Senate. He was an Association Executive from 1982 to 2013, retiring due to pulmonary fibrosis for a lung transplant 12/23/13. His 11 books, including two of poetry, Old Jarhead Poems and Share the Cup are here: Royalties go to charity. He does the Old Jarhead blog.

Monday, November 16, 2015

“Cutting Both Ways”--By Marcus Omer--United States

“Cutting Both Ways”

Cradled in his hand,
it was an instrument of precision,
turning small pieces of wood
into works of art.

Sitting in the shade,
the shavings falling gently at his feet,
piling up
like the days of his solitary life.

Cradles in his hand,
a knife,
the fond memory of a Father’s Day
when days were bright and life was sweet.

Cradled in his heart,
A son,
who gave him a gift,
before he went away….

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.

Wine Drops--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand

Wine Drops

I forget to remember
what it is I forget

Strange reality of today
walking the vineyards
then sipping pinot noir
that tastes nothing much
although the label
tells an elaborate story of
the crushed purple grapes

It is then I recall the rough
raw liquid poured into
carafes in Napoli
with dishes of pasta : we
sitting gloriously in shade
your eyes boring into mine.

Yes, I do remember what I forgot
It was the perfume of the wine
wafting its richness

Your eyes I cannot remember.

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.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Poet of the Month--Russell Sivey

Fields of Autumn

By Russell Sivey

Fields are full of orange and red today
and the trees are coming to follow suit
with the leaves all turning with perfect hue
the sun and the moon are in full pursuit.

The days are dimmer but filled with delight
the sky is turning grey and what a sight
but the color on the ground is what counts
the best leaves are glowing, makes it feel right.

This time of the year beauty inspires
breaking shine into pieces of daylight
shifting time to see this wondrous beauty
where flowers and trees show off in the light.

Autumn brings cooler air within these fields
the days are shorter with less light to see
letting the animals to roam around
going about the trees and tall grass, free.

There’s nothing greater than all its color
that this time of year brings to the forefront
the cool crisp autumn shows brilliant colors
glory to the Lord and His vast home-front!

From the editor--It is a pleasure to announce that Russell Sivey is November’s Poet of the Month!  He is a talented writer, accomplished in the use of rhyme and imagery. Readers at Whispers enjoy his poetry. He regularly shares thoughtful comments to encourage others at our online journal.  It is a joy to present Russell with this honor!

Thoughts on “Fields of Autumn”--Russell opens his poem with rich visual experience using multi-sense imagery.  The personification helps set the tone in his uplifting verse. The cadence and rhyme flow effortlessly to carry his timeless message.  This is a poem you will enjoy.

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


Karen O’Leary, Editor

The Snowman--By Ron Larson--United States

The Snowman

The parts of the snowman fell from the lined sky.
When the five kids assembled him, he became alive.
They made his cold heart feel really warm inside.
That the boys and girls were happy cannot be denied.

They gave him two small pieces of coal for eyes.
Then the snowman was able to see far and wide.
He considered his carrot nose a welcome surprise.
Why he had a comb for a mouth, you can surmise.

The temperature went up; he melted down out of sight.
But the fine memories he left behind feel so right.
Parts of him may return as dancing fireflies
Or as delightful rainbows uniting earth and sky.

Ron Larson is a retired community college professor (Ph.D.) and has had both fiction and non-fiction published in various journals over the years. He has been writing poetry for the last two years. His poems have been accepted by such diverse magazines as The American Dissident, Big Pulp, and WestWard Quarterly.

Cancer Concerns--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

Cancer Concerns

How to tell the other half
How to tell the kids
How to tell family, friends
This hell that I've been bid

How to say it's cancer
How to tell I'm scared
How to be there for them
I'm really not prepared

How to tell what they think
How to ask for their help too
How to know I have the strength
Enough to pull us through

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.