Monday, January 26, 2015

Values--By Lanette Kissel--United States


We can have the blessings of living
in a land of milk and honey,
that have nothing to do with
the accumulation of money.

There are values that cannot
be measured in a dollar amount.
Love of God and country, home and family,
are the values that count.

If we find that heavenly values
with our earthly ones collide…
Remember that what we really need
our Father in Heaven will provide.

Lanette Kissel lives in southern Indiana with her adopted Yorkie-Poo, Benjy. She enjoys writing Inspirational poetry, essays, articles, and some secular fiction. Her work has been published in small print publications and in online magazines. Some of her fiction has been published as e-books at Red Rose Publishing.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Africa--Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi


It is the blackmail of your beauty
And your arrow-like gaze as you stand
In the warmth of my arms
That vanquish my manliness.

Africa, my Africa, I sing
Of your indigenous ornateness,
The African symmetry of your figure
And the fragile tenderness
That enveloped you.

I do not need a banjo or a drum
To sing a song. You are my song:
Those shimmering eyes are a song,
Your breath is my music,
Your heartbeat is a drum
And your mouth is a horn of music.

You are a light
That stands out in light;
Music in every song;
And a moon in all seasons.

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 a daughter Mary Magdalena.

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell--By Kathryn McLoughlin Collins--United States

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell

The alarm's on the bed so I won't fall.
Really I'm able to get to the bathroom.
The Dr. told me it's okay.
Says the nurse "it's not in your chart."

I think: "God, please get me out of here", but if I get
up, the bells with sound and an RN herd
will race down the hall scolding me all the way
like I was a little girl.

Had their ways, I'd be straight-jacketed,
(safe from harm, other than psychological),
and the nurses could take off their clogs
and stay at their station and chat.

I think I'll wet the bed and buzz someone
Problem solved.

Born in 1945, Kathryn Collins is a native New Yorker now living in Connecticut whose works have been described as “a gentle sort of poetry” by the editor of her first book No Need for Breadcrumbs, published by BeWrite Books, 2004. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, she developed a great love of poetry at an early age and has been writing for 20 years.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Random Reminders--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Random Reminders

Live like there’ll be no tomorrow.
Pray like your prayer’s being heard. (it is!)
Sing like there’s no one around you.
Promise, then stand by your word.

Work like your master is watching. (God is!)
Play every once in a while.
Notice the people around you.
Trust with the faith of a child.

Hug with a reckless abandon.
Smile all the way to your eyes.
Love, even when you’re not loved in return.
Ask God, and He’ll make you wise.

Rest when your body is weary.
Be satisfied with enough.
Look at the stars in the clear winter sky,
While holding someone that you love.

And if you forget all the rest;
Remember, in God you are blessed!

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

Friday, January 23, 2015

devotion--By David J. Kelly--Ireland


Each Monday he climbs the same unforgiving hill,
parang* in hand. Each time it takes a little longer.

The tropical heat, the monsoon rain, the broken road,
stifle momentum, challenge resolve,
but his small steps do not falter.

He narrates his progress in an old language
the children do not understand;
they think him mad ... or senile.

Half a mile beyond the hill’s crest, still sweating, but
breathing more steadily, he pauses by a narrow path.

He lifts the parang and meticulously
clears a few new weeds from the verges.

Stooping in front of the home-made tomb
he whispers, “The way between us
is clear again.”

* A parang is a large knife, similar to a machete, traditionally used by farmers in Indonesia and Malaysia.

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.

Vagabond Clouds--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

Vagabond Clouds

Oh! Fleecy vagabond clouds scudding o'er this turbulent earth.
The things you must witness drifting about its expansive girth!
Arrayed in the heavens by that Benevolent One Immortal,
Such peace and beauty you bestow upon this restless mortal!

For the fleet moment you're in view, you capture my imagination,
As I marvel at the dynamics of your ever-changing formation!
I see majestic ships full o'sail racing before a mighty gale,
Never minding another cottony cloud depicting a languid whale!

Another cloud appears to be a baby angel playing with its toes.
There's a woolly one portraying some little lambs in repose.
Rising o'er the horizon is a cloud imitating a cat a-creeping,
Chasing another cloud on which an innocent mouse is sleeping!

You must dance with glee playing hide and seek 'mongst mountain tors,
And do you weep mournful tears passing o'er lands scarred by wars?
With the help of The Master Artist's brush when your day is done,
Such magnificent robes adorn you in the rays of the setting sun!

As I lie upon this grassy knoll watching you pass in review,
How I love to share my dreams and aspirations with you.
As about this troubled globe you make your eternal bourn,
May you be a calming symbol to a world so pillaged and torn.

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.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

i rise--By Sara R. Vogler--United States

i rise

i rise,
above the noise,
that surrounds the rooms of my mind.
i rise,
above the people,
who try to take down my good nature.
i rise,
and i must continue to forge forward.
like the notecards ready to be sent,
like the rain that hits roof on a cloudy night,
like the sun that makes me sweat.

i rise,
above everything.
i stand tall.

Sara R. Vogler is a published poet and writer, originally from Krakow, Poland. Currently living in Washington, DC, her work has ranged from poetry to critical essays. Recently, she has collaborated with her father on a three-piece book featuring work to honor their past. Vogler finds comfort in knowing that her words will someday make a lasting impression on someone's life.

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls

Leaves don't last long when they are golden, neither I say do we
But unlike leaves that change together, our time for change does vary you see.
We all know that we have a soul, that special self felt deep inside
That no matter how old we be still feels young and starry eyed

For like leaves born green we have to learn to grow and face a storm
So through life we must develop same with love till we transform
To have a soul gold with love, for when it's gold it's full of light
Light enough so that we rise to take up God's invite!

To join Him in His home above the one that we call Heaven
And though it may take some years, some can be ready by seven.
For unlike leaves our time's not set, some are gold at body life
Yet for most of us it takes time through lots of struggle and strife.

Our season for change varies in time, with some being gold when young
While for others it can take time with many a long year being sprung
Yes! For unlike leaves no-one knows just when our soul will be
Golden, light, full of love so that we rise to eternity!

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.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

A Student’s Lament--By Tom Davis--United States

A Student’s Lament

I’ve always liked Dickinson’s
“Success Is Counted Sweetest”
I’d think about those things
For which I’d the greatest need
And how marvelous it would be
If I could just succeed.

Then my English teacher assigned
This poem for us to read
Find the meter and alliteration,
Note the similes and personification,
Inversion to look for, assonance to find
Consonance, metaphors, and scheme of rhyme.
Tell the mood, explain the theme.
And then she asked, “What does this mean?”

We finally finished
And I no longer dared
To achieve success;
But what was worse,
I didn’t even care.

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.

Empty Nest--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

Empty Nest

A mind
Lonely -
Framed painted picture
Swirl of lost colors
Painted blends become single hue
Design captured from its own grey
Tears moist brush
Brings movement
One completes cycle empty nest
Searches for light on a new path
Visions peek through cracks of life
Maps a direction to take
Search is -

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 -

Tuesday, January 20, 2015


Brian Strand, an accomplished writer, generously offered to be the activity editor for another wonderful opportunity.  He invited writers to explore his PS (perfect six) form.  The criteria for the form follows--

The PS (perfect six) an Epigram form--a maxim, a pithy precept, pungent proverb or witty words in three lines, six syllables 1:2:3 (or 3:2:1)with an integral title. It can be on any theme.

I would like to thank Brian for selecting these poems for publication and all the contributors that participated in this activity.  It is a growing experience to try new things and a pleasure to see so many wonderful poems below.  I hope you enjoy them.

                                            --Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor

Voice of Freedom            Pencil Politics
By Mary Couch                By Ralph Stott

Pen's                               Now!
Power                             Sharpen
Defeats sword                 Your aim! Draw!
____________                  ____________

Coward Moon                 Old Wives Tale       
Anne Curran             By Barbara Tate

a                                     true
full moon                        or not
shines yellow                 I don’t ask
____________                  ____________

Indelible Love                Frost
By Ralph Stott                By Gert Knop

Penned                          a
For a                              red nose-
Road-side shrine.           no reindeer
____________                 ____________

Odorous                         Conversation
By Joan McNerney         By Shloka Shankar

she                                 the
sure knows                     lies i
her onions                      tell myself
____________                 ____________

Creative Community      Poetic License
By Karen O’Leary          By Joan McNerney

our                                 test
Whispers                        drive through
family                            outer space
____________                 ____________

Found                            True Love
By ayaz daryl neilsen    By Beth Winchcombe

tears                              Love--
and cheers                    placing
puppy’s home               others first
____________                 ____________

Modern Art                     A Bold Speaker
By Brian Strand             By Sara Kendrick

What                              The
YOU..will                        Linguist
make of it !                    Stuttered through
____________                 ____________

Battery-Driven?              The Commitment
By Jack Horne                By Peggy French

hen                                 Rain
mobile -                          or shine
coq au vin                      You and me
____________                 ____________

Trinity                            Blowing in the Wind
By Ralph Stott               By Elizabeth Howard

Seek                              Cock
And you                         on the
Will                 weathervane
____________                 ____________

Dressing Up                   Stay Optimistic
By Joan McNerney        By Beth Winchcombe

Girls                               Hope
wobbling                       plus faith
in high heels                 propels me
____________                 ____________

K-9 K-NICE                      Rainy Season
By James Ramusson      By Anne Curran

dogs                                rain
are the                            again-
nicest folks                      false summer
____________                  ____________

Monty’s Python               Mother’s Instinct
By Brian Strand              By
Anne Curran 

As                                   some
sick as                            mother
a parrot                          wipes her tear

Aduro--By Joe Maverick--England


Title less yet, the days to come; the times gone… Memories at best half-remembered
While amidst the fleeting is now! A time of lost opportunity, or the place of renewal..?
Ours to discover, ours to hold, not grasping of avarice led, self-serving design cold.
So as days quicken, as the hour flies, though mid-winter be here
And deep snow lies, can we kindle? Let us host here generosity bright.
From where land ends, to the highland fells sound the trumpet, ring the bells.
Though the darkness does match the lowering skies, let there be light.. 'light..'
Light that brightens mind and eyes, bring in to fire the Scots cone & fir
Let burn logs of apple, elm, maple; oak-burr, strike the bow to fiddle string
As shoes heels click, and echoes out ring, form the line, and dance the jig,
Baste the tatties and turn the pig, gather the family welcome to all, spread the feast
In house and hall, let sadness cease & may joy be strong to greet the New Year in
happy song.

Note--Aduro is a Latin word means alight or to set alight or kindle a fire.

Joe Maverick is a freelance author, from a widely educated background. He has been writing for 27 years. He is interested in feedback from the public; readers are the reason for his writing. Some of his poems are short and succinct, others tell a story. He would like to see the literary flame burn bright in any day and age, believing that it can feed the spirit and bring enlightenment.

Winter's View--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

Winter's View

More than not it’s often a frown
instead of a smile when my time comes.
I’m pure, sociable and oh so beautiful;
just as important to the Earth
as my other siblings. But, alas, not everyone
loves a crisp chill in the air, or the shiver
of a stiff Northern wind. When it comes
to the fresh blanket of snow that hugs
the ground and kisses the trees,
there is natural awe to behold. My season
is filled with many complaints and threats
to move in with my brother Summer; to a place
where he shines all year long. Nonetheless,
Mother Nature still calls upon me year after year,
in spite of who does not want me around,
and when it’s time for me to leave, she always
tells me, “Thank you for your season,”
to which I humbly reply, “My Pleasure.”

Maurice J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in various publications.  He is the owner of To God be the Glory! Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations.  More information can be found at:

Monday, January 19, 2015

The Haunting Sea--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia

The Haunting Sea

I love the allure of the ocean
It heals my mind heart and soul
Drowning my thoughts with it sound
Imposing a rhythm within

Feeling the breeze embrace my body
Whilst casting a spell sending shivers
Bringing back the spirit that knows ~
The love that evolves inside of me

Voices from the sea speak to my soul
Quieting my thoughts I hear angels sing
Uniting all spirits giving birth to wisdom
I hear cries from the ocean beneath.

Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.

Aging--By Elizabeth Kral--United States


golden hairs turn white
winter casts its dark net
winds mourn my defeat

a scarecrow wears my clothes
lovely pale-faced mannequin

dancing alone
in my best silk dress
decayed under suns

Elizabeth Kral is retired and resides with her husband in Surprise, Arizona. Local memberships include the Arizona West Valley Writers Workshop and the Arizona West Valley Writers Critique Group. Elizabeth and her husband enjoy spending summers in Colorado, and she is a member there of the Steamboat Springs Writer’s Workshop.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Where--By Tim Ryerson--United States


Lost out in space
Somewhere God has hurled
A less evil place
A far fairer world

Where one circumstance
I'm allowed to defy
Where I'm granted one chance
To just say goodbye

Where I rip through that wreck
To the seat where you bled
Where I cradle your neck
And hold up your head

Where I brush off the mud
And soothe your last fear
Where I clean off the blood
And wipe your last tear

Where I lay you to rest
And stroke shattered bones
Where you die on my chest
Instead of alone

* In memory of Daniel Lee Collins Ryerson, Tim’s son

Tim Ryerson is a published poet from Ponchatoula, Louisiana who retired from the printing business in 2011. He began writing in the 80’s but did not take it seriously until 2001 after the untimely death of his then 21 year old son. He does not have a ‘signature style’ but prefers writing different forms of poetry. Many of his poems use southern slang and Cajun dialect. He also enjoys writing humorous poems, especially limericks and senryu and was among the winners in the latest Humor Press writing contest with his entry “Emergency Rooms Just KILL me.”

The Dead Line--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

The Dead Line

The fallen angel's
made a career of evil
the father of sin
this black/red coated devil

He minds over death's valley
With his hot road to Hell
and with determined temptation
will lure you with his spell

He'll sit by your shoulder
and by ill thought word or deed
your conscience will torture
and your pained soul shall bleed

This masterful serpent
with fire of unknown origin
whose pit of raging flames
is the prize that you'll win

So beware of the tongue
and do what is right
stay away from the darkness
and look only to the light

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.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Impermanence--By Patricia Nolan--United States


they loved each other once
now he’s distant, controlling
what did she do wrong?

he takes her car keys,
her clothes, her phone, he yells
she’s a caged dog

no money, no job
no place to go – she’s a captive
he says she’s insane

violence escalates
stripped of her identity
she’s unraveling

battered woman
fingerprints on her neck
   her survival badge

his power destroyed
she lives softly in balance
and harmony and peace

Patricia Nolan is a member of Poetry West in Colorado Springs and the Haiku Society of America. She paints sumi-e (Japanese ink painting), also works in oil, pastel, and acrylic and writes poems in several Asian forms, as well as other poetry, essays, and outdoor articles. Western rivers, mountains, and trails provide most of her inspiration.

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!--By A. Michele Leslie--United States

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!

I thank you, God, for snow, covering the midwest ground like a racing white steed;
for evergreens, bending in the wind, like a band of green worshipers.
I thank you that winter gives way to a swaying Spring maiden
beneath the sun's all-cleansing rays; I thank you for
small children, darting across the fields, for the barking dog,
for the glittering plate I drop my offering in; for Sunday stories
told by holy priests, and children tugging at their mother's coat
to go and dine. I thank you for a heart that loves each season and
I thank you for candles seizing light and windows shining rain,
for smoke arising on an altar from incense to your name,
for song whose melody like dancing feet trots on to merry
climbing of a mountain in fresh air where monks abound
and for the yogi sitting at its foot, his head, a lotus-crown.
For these, for all, for more, my offering of thanks arises
before the gift that you have given:  my life
of small and quaint surprises!

A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Sauk Rapids, Minnesota with her husband, David, and two cats.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Haiku/Senryu--By Shloka Shankar--India

alphabet soup
I mentally run
spell check

the myths i believe in silver lining

laundry day...
the stains of memory
still intact

a little too warm
for winter

all the things
I'm supposed to forget

Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer residing in India. Her work appears in over two dozen international anthologies including publications by Paragram, Silver Birch Press, Minor Arcana Press, Harbinger Asylum, Kind of a Hurricane Press and Writing Knights Press among others. Her poems, erasures, haiku & tanka have appeared in numerous print and online journals. She is also the editor of the literary and arts journal, Sonic Boom.

The Sea--By John Polselli--United States

The Sea

The sea
vast as a mother’s love
The sea
stern as an iron glove
Each wave
that is met with sand
reaching out to man

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, January 15, 2015

Poet of the Month--Michael Todd

Round and Round 

By Michael Todd

Round and round and round it goes.
See the motion of the falling snow.
Floats in the sphere, no place to go,
How fascinating, this snow globe.

A picture in her mind appears,
A postcard from her dad, from the lines.
Some days blurry, some days clear,
A memory frozen somewhere in her mind.

Her life in this retirement home,
She spends her time in wait.
Even in a crowd, she's alone,
Not aware of either's fate.

It was the war to end all wars.
Omaha Beach, where he arrived,
Campaign in Europe for his tour.
He never left that beach alive.

His effects sent home to the states,
He stayed behind, was buried there.
Early on, strange twist of fate;
He found that postcard lying near.

From the body of an enemy, slain,
He picked it up, this souvenir,
Bartholdi's legacy, intact, plain.
"If I make it out, I'll take the tour."

A snow globe has a porcelain base.
Filled with water, structure inside,
Turn and shake, snow flakes chase.
Left still, this image will subside.

In a chair, her final sleep, sound;
Behind a glass of water, filled to brim,
The postcard was her final vision,
Save for the one she had of him.

From the editor--It is an honor to announce that Michael Todd is January’s Poet of the Month.  A talented writer, Michael’s poems are enjoyed by Whispers’ readers.  He is an uplifting voice in our poetry community, leaving thoughtful comments that contributors appreciate.  He has actively promoted our online journal leading to the publication of new writers at Whispers. He has also collaborated with another writer for a wonderful poem that was featured at our online journal. It is a pleasure to present him with this award.

Thoughts on “Round and Round ”--From the initial stanza on, Michael builds us picture of loss, loneliness, and survival.  This powerful poem takes the reader on a journey, one that allows the reader to travel along.  The sadness of the last stage of life left me wishing someone was around to love her.  This is an impressive piece, one that shows the level of Michael’s talent.

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


Karen O’Leary, Editor

Arm's Length--By Lois Greene Stone--United States

Arm's Length

Singing, whisper quiet,
I serenaded passing
street lights. Our
auto's gentle rocking was
an accompanist.
Though my tune continued
when you suddenly swerved,
your arm automatically
reached out to
protect me.

Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & soft cover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.

A poem but Ill-fated-By Pijush Kanti Deb--India

A poem but Ill-fated

A poem,
maybe, a careful embellishment
with the illumination
of the luminous hearts,
an immortal image
drawn with the ink of nectar
borrowed from the Heaven,
painted with more than seven colors
collected from
both the rain-bow and the dream-bow
an offering from the devotees
to the earthly Gods
live and die
only in the literary world
yet, the poem is always ill-fated
to be loved and praised
only by a few
differently made hearts and tongues.

Pijush Kanti Deb is a new Indian poet with more than 210 published or accepted poems in national and international magazines and journals like Down in the dirt, Tajmahal Review, Pennine Ink, Hollow Publishing, CreativicaMagazine, Muse India, Teeth Dream Magazine, Hermes Poetry Journal, Madusa’s Kitchen and Grey Borders. At present, he is working as an Associate Professor in Economics.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Waiting for Snow--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

Waiting for Snow

Birdsong etches the thin air above spiky trees.
Rusty ivy armors the tree trunks.

Vines bind the branches,
but brown oak leaves droop like flags in defeat.

The tallest tree stands stark against a metallic blue sky.
Small clouds rise like sandbags against the cold.

As the wind rushes down the street like a siren,
the lone walker shivers. Her dog wears two sweaters.

Troops of birds swoop from tree to tree to tree,
fighting for the fries that teenagers drop.

She promises to scatter seeds and breadcrumbs
once snow calms this winter scene.

Marianne Szlyk recently published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, at Kind of a Hurricane Press: Her poem "Walking Past Mt. Calvary Cemetery in Winter" has been nominated for the 2014 Best of the Net. Individual poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, bird's thumb, Whispers, The Flutter Journal, Of/with, Walking is Still Honest, and Literature Today as well as Kind of a Hurricane's anthologies, most recently Switch (the Difference). In addition, her collaboration with Joan McNerney was published in Whispers. She also edits a poetry blog-zine at

Sing a Song of Prayer--By David Fox--United States

Sing a Song of Prayer

Sing a song of prayer
In your life, when there's strife
God provides love and care

Sing a song of praise
To our Lord, who provides the sword
So we can live many happy days

Sing a song of love
He watches over us, without any fuss
From His castle in Heaven above

David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet, Aphelion, Poet’s Expresso and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry.  Contact him at for more information.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Ndaba Acrostic--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia

The Ndaba Acrostic

News in English, nice sounds in your language!
Dancing with words on a dizzy floor of literature,
Adding an arty dimension to the voice of reason,
Brought to the floor to breathe life into words,
Anxious and addicted to how words really dance

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".

Baby and Great Granny--By Christine Tate--United States

Baby and Great Granny

When baby and great granny's eyes met
there was an instant connection,
a heartwarming display
of love and affection.

Great granny held baby tight
and she began to grin,
Oh to see her lovely smile
where a frown had been!

Baby kept staring at her
and she returned the stare...
their eyes said it all,
what a moment to share!

Tho baby and great granny
are many years apart,
there aren't any gaps in
the matters of the heart.

God sent down from heaven
a precious gift that day
between baby and great granny
in His own special way!

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."

Monday, January 12, 2015

Haiku--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

first freeze
a frayed spider's orb
dangles from a post

Do Not Disturb . . .
he covers his head
with his bear blanket

fresh linen--
that boy
and his muddy feet!

pale dawn
just as the twins fall asleep
the alarm rings

the morning train
chugging up the mountain
toward the day moon

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.

Happiness--By Peter Duggan--Australia


When sunrise comes, it makes me smile
A mystic silence greets me when
The birds they sing in grandest style
I am the happiest of men
When I do spot a fairy wren

When morning comes, it gives me joy
As darkness fades, and sun shines bright
This feeling, nothing could destroy
The dawn, it gives me such delight
As magpies sing in pure delight

I love to walk down to the lake
To watch the ducks swim lazily
Sometimes a mist is in the air
As sun shines through so hazily
As parrots scream from yonder tree

Some folk might say that I’m insane
Because I’m filled with happiness
From smiling, me I can’t refrain
I love to feel life’s sweet caress
The God of love, my soul does bless

Peter Duggan was born in Peckham, London, in 1943. He lived there until the age of sixty seven, when he met his Australian wife and immigrated to Western Australia. He has three children and seven grandchildren.  Peter describes himself as very happy