Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Memorial Day Rain--By Cynthia Smothers Carter--United States

Memorial Day Rain

But I have come to the conclusion that
it has always rained on Memorial day
and I have figured out why.

The rain is the tears of all our fallen
Soldiers past, present and future.
Thank You for Your service and the
ultimate sacrifice You have made for
our freedom!
Let it pour today!

Cynthia Smothers Carter live in Texas. She is a Certified Nursing Assistant. This poem is her first effort.  Her Aunt Shirley Smothers is very proud of her.

Memories of the Sea--By Andrea Dietrich--United States

Memories of the Sea

Memories of the sea wash over me
on days when clouds are drifting cottony
above my head through placid azure sky.
Such images flit like a butterfly
across my mind; I seize them gratefully!

They bring with them sweet thoughts of family
and times of which I now can testify
flowed out like tides to leave me by and by. . .
                                                 memories of the sea.

How young we were in days so summery!
Through waves we leapt, expending energy.
Sated, we lay sunning on the beach to dry,
till sunlight - like our youth - sank down to die.
But I will keep for an eternity
                                                memories of the sea.

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.

Spring’s Soft Kiss--By Pam Murray--Canada

Spring’s Soft Kiss

The early Spring is singing songs
As sunlight dances in the heights
And I am drawn towards the path
To share the joy of golden lights.

The air is fresh from last night’s rain
And life awakens everywhere.
My spirit laughs out loud and I
Am grateful for this world I share.

The Winter’s cold has drifted off
And gentle breezes take its place.
I feel my worries slip away
With Spring’s soft kiss upon my face.

Born in Calgary, Alberta, Pam Murray has been writing poetry since the mid-1960’s.  She was married for over 41 years and has two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandson.  Pam has been published in a variety of venues.  Her proudest writing accomplishment was a poem she wrote for a United Way fundraiser, which was later framed with a French translation and hung on the wall of the legislature in Ottawa, Canada.  To her, poetry is a transposition of a vision she sees in her mind.  Writing and crocheting are her passions.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

The Early Bird--By Stacy Savage--United States

The Early Bird

When Mr. Robin
Sings off key
With his song
So merrily,
Before the sun
Peeks in the sky
And sparrows rest
In trees nearby,
My sleep is paused
Because of him,
But that’s okay,
I find a grin,
For his ramblings
Bring me cheer,
When he reveals
That spring is here!

Stacy Savage has published six books. Her recent anthology, Naturally Yours: Poems and Short Stories about Indiana State Parks and Reservoirs, benefits Indiana Natural Resources Foundation's "Discovering the Outdoors Fund.” Stacy believes in mixing poetry and good causes together. Visit her Facebook page to keep up-to-date on her poetry contests:

Haiku--By Maureen Sudlow--New Zealand

nikau fans
cooling the face
of the breeze

warm wind
dozens of white butterflies
sun dancing

autumn garden
dried leaves rustling
into heaps

a small dog
sniffing down the breeze

Maureen and her husband Rod live in Dargaville in the Kaipara (New Zealand). Maureen has had poetry published both on-line and in magazines such as A Fine Line, and has recently published her first poetry collection Antipodes. She has a Diploma in Creative Writing from Whitireia, and was short-listed for the 2012 Joy Cowley Award for her children’s picture book Fearless Fred and the Dragon.

Monday, May 25, 2015

A Secret Game--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

A Secret Game

I had been hungry all these years
for dreams to come my way,
to fill the empty hollow hole
that pains the words I say.

I look at the windows of my dreams
that could not be gently opened,
‘Twas within the reach of fingertips
I hear words my lips softly spoken.

Nature and I often share a vision
or two during a daydream full of gleam,
wish for moments of splendor to appear,
visions reflected on a babbling stream.

Hurting wasn’t new for the quest has
been buried deep within thy frame,
the heart searches the hungry dreams
seeking to win this secret game.

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 -

The Cat Limerick--By Shirley Smothers--United States

The Cat Limerick

The cat stood before the pearly gate
Saint Peter said, "Hurry don't be late."
Angry began to shout
"Either come in our stay out!"
This is why nine lives is a cat's fate

Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Ode to My Friends--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom

Ode to My Friends

To all my beloved friends
All over the world
And vast oceans
Your friendship and kindness shown me
Fills me with such joy and emotion
And a golden glow of eternal thanks
And utmost devotion
As I keep you all in my loving heart
And carry you around where ever I go
For you are my world
My family
The only one I know.

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.

Let the Dreamers Who Sleep Beware--By Joe Flach--United States

Let the Dreamers Who Sleep Beware

Lost in thoughts about what might have been
As the opportunity of today passes by
Regret from inactions is a mortal sin
Paralysis from fear prevents giving it a try

Security from harm keeps bad things away
While also keeping experiences from getting inside
Sometimes you should charge into the foray
While the mundane run off to hide

Scars may be your only reward
Tears, like a river, may flow
But to keep your journey moving forward
You cannot be afraid to go

Dreams are just realities yet to come true
Achieved only by those who dare
Take my hand; I’ll go there with you
And let the dreamers who sleep beware

Joe Flach is an amateur poet living in Gig Harbor, WA. Joe has been writing poetry, short stories and song lyrics his entire life but has only recently found the courage to share some of his work with others through internet websites and his own Poetry Facebook Page – “Poems, Lyrics and Stuff by an Average Joe”. As a professional consultant working in the fields of crisis management and disaster recovery, Joe uses has writing as a form of stress release and an opportunity to expand his horizons. Joe is a father of four children who he often relies on as a source for inspiration.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Giving From The Heart--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Giving From The Heart

If I can be of help to anyone as I journey along my way,
that is what I desire the most and for which I daily pray.
I am wanted, needed, special, talented and important.
Help comes with this kind of honesty and self-judgment.

Give and it shall be given is perfect advice from above.
I'll give out of a pure heart; motives must be out of love,
With no thought of reward, only Gods' glory as my prize.
Yet, many precious moments with Him description defies.

Rising to heights that are new, feeling approval of heaven,
Guiding me to lovingly serve; bringing to me good fortune.
What I focus on comes back twice fold. It's the going rate.
Giving from my heart, brings back more than I anticipate.

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.

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan/United Arab Emirates and Suvojit Banerjee--India

In Kafka Dreams

By Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

The keys have been tapping on their own;
my pen moves to its metronomic ticking
the way Marquez poured under the rain
in his head; the silence lengthy, the story
trapped in air; Kafka’s ‘giant insect’

metamorphosed; black like the unknown
Morse codes travelling from Austrian graves
where Kafka sleeps in his box of magic

when my Marquez self looks for relationship
with life – from his ghost the way to move
away from intellectuality – towards Aracataca,
and heat, dusty swirling banana leaves

in anticipation for the greatest singular line
that can capture fish falling from the sky –
the man that disappears isn’t really a man
but a brave leaper ready to strike a deal –
a dead space in between – a proliferation

of poetry seeking mind’s warmth and insanity.
Kafka, the provocateur/Marquez, the lover; dying
railroads to nowhere, the sounds of inconsequential
things. Faceless people haunt me to create Odysseys
from where I disappeared into the fog to come back
unscathed in body and tattered in soul, waiting
for the taps of keys to turn into whispers, the sea
to divide the Noah’s Ark. Miracles seldom happen.

Kafka’s insect hangs in my dream by a thread;
and all I see is a house, like a spectre with eyes
glowing green.

Authors' note : Inspired from an interview of Marquez in the Paris Review. Link:

Up In the Sky--By Russell Sivey--United States

Up In the Sky

I look up
The sky is filled with twinkling little specks of filtered light
Bright at one point
But still illuminated with small amount of twilight
Nothing states their presence
As much as their omnipresent grandeur of pleasant beams
That only shine
Within their own presence, never glaring beyond the sky’s edge
I smile with their beauty
Of their grandiose presence that I so long to hold forever
Within my very hands
But cannot do so as the stars act in their own accordance
Of their own special flare
Which I delight in pathos of divine entities, prodding the times relevance
To my ego, lost in space
Only to find peace with its hovering splendor, bright and grand they bloom
With simplicity
Never honored more than what’s seen this very night, this ever flowing
Classical ponderance of a moment
In grace and peaking display of highlights, mainstream deliverance tonight!

Russell Sivey lives in the United States and has been writing poetry for 26 years (after his major car accident that left his arm paralyzed). He has been improving year after year. Russell enjoys reading poetry as well as writing it He finds himself listening to almost any type of music. Russell has been with Poetry Soup for almost 3 years and enjoys the poetry that he reads there from his friends. He is currently attending school for a Creative Writing degree with a specialization in Poetry. Yes, that means he will have a poetry degree. He looks forward to reading everyone's poems here on this site. His muse is the moon.

Friday, May 22, 2015

Peacekeeper's Tears Still Darkle--By Elly Wouterse--Netherlands

Peacekeeper's Tears Still Darkle

fathers or mothers, sisters or brothers
uncles or aunts , sons or daughters
when in uniform
on behalf of their leaders and relying on their mates
afar from their home and loved ones

peacekeeper's lamed druthers
decreed military yachters
with a tent as a dorm
stationed at designated states
on guard for safer places under burning suns

a reality that, at times, thoroughly bothers
tucked tears forming invisible waters
every sound, flood or storm
might cause intense and painful dates
continued in countless affiliated reruns

each panicking moment hopefully smothers
with the help of human or canine spotters
such a lifesaving warm swarm
of invaluable fates
muting bit by bit the perpetual thud of guns

Dutch poetess Elly Wouterse is oftentimes focused observing the world surrounding her. While watching, noticing, listening, thinking, dreaming and - or fantasizing she often finds the inspiration resulting in Poetical Visuals published on her own website - and in her first publication, Between Moonset and Sunrise.

The Rose of Horners Lane--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

The Rose of Horners Lane

Here, in Rockville, I am a springtime flower,
leaning over the chain link fence.

I spring up
red yellow orange white
sometimes even pale lilac
almost blue or gray.

I join the cherry blossoms
the dogwood
and the lilac--
if she can make it.

My humans cherish me,
bringing my blooms in
to color the cool, dark rooms.

The last rose of summer comes early here.
I bide my time until fall.

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" was nominated for the 2014 Best of the Net. Her poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, bird's thumb, Black Poppy Review, Of/with, Walking is Still Honest, and Literature Today as well as Kind of a Hurricane's anthologies. She edits a poetry blog-zine at and hopes that you will consider submitting a poem there or voting in one of its contests.

as the earth turns...--By Carolyn Noah Graetz--United States

as the earth turns
light and darkness

     on edge
blue heron
waits to eat

funeral process outside
       dying to get

       sheltered under
  my flooded furniture
“The Mighty Acts of God”

camera bug
memory simulators

Carolyn Noah Graetz was born in a small country community of Carroll County, Mississippi. She graduated from the Vaiden High School in that county in 1956. In the fall of that year she entered the Touro Infirmary School of Nursing in New Orleans. A few years later she attended and graduated from the school of nurse anesthesia at the Charity Hospital in New Orleans. She has been married for 50 years to Dr. Roger Graetz, and they have two children and four grandchildren who were born on three different continents.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

The Seasons of You--By David Williams--England

The Seasons of You

I saw it the first time we met
Your face like a spring day; youthful, fresh,
A blossoming smile like new leaves unfurling
Tasting the spring air for the first time.
Your eyes as clear as two new born stars
Radiating into my head like fork lightening
I knew then that I would spend my life with you.

Your personality emanating like summer
It was like laying down in a field of poppies
Under a lazuli sky; carefree
Breathing new life into me.

Then as your illness got worse; it was like autumn
Slowly watching your leaves fall one by one
But even at your worst I have never heard you complain
So thankfully you have no winter
I remember carrying you up the stairs for the first time,
You were in great pain,
As I looked into your eyes, it was spring all over again!

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.

The rain comes in--By Richard Carl Subber--United States

The rain comes in

The rain comes in, spattering, thin,
            staining high sand, sparing the lee.
Seabirds aloft, lifting, drifting,
            unhurried, as they scan the sea.
The rain comes in,
            then fades, silence,
                     my delight is quiet in me.

Richard Carl Subber (Rick) is a freelance editor, a writing coach and an amateur  historian. He’s a former newspaper reporter/editor who transferred his love of language to more satisfying expressions. Rick is a proud grandpa who is patiently teaching his granddaughter how to write, in case there is poetry in her future. His blogs are: and

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Ode To The Dung Beetle--By Marcus Omer--

Ode To The Dung Beetle

Oh noble beetle you never paid toll
for strange little balls you're compelled to roll.
From pastures green the treasures you find,
to others seem bizarre, but you don't mind.

You select a dish, it must be precise,
ingredients fresh, yet ones you can slice.
The cow-patties cut and divided with care,
you begin your journey with a certain flair.

While others may cringe, you manners condemn,
still proudly you march with that smelly gem.
With winter coming on you know there's need,
you've a mate to support and mouths to feed.

Now you may ask, pondering God's green earth,
what in the world is a tumblebug worth?
But as walks we take over meadows clean
and see him working, must never be mean.

For you see, my friend, if it wasn't for he
just in how much danger we might be.
So give a salute to this trustworthy trooper,
for in him we have nature's own pooper-scooper.

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.

Haiku--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India

full moon sunset -
silhouette of the bare tree

emptiness -
once again peacock
awaits the rain

circle of light …
through the forest canopy
this summer sky

dusk settles…
from my room window
a shooting star

purple sunset -
rush of sea foam
over my feet

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.


Dear Friends,

It is a pleasure to share with you the 9-1-1 poems selected by our talented Joan McNerney, Activity Editor for May. Evie Ivy developed this wonderful form which was fun to work with.

9-1-1 Form Criteria

It is basically a poetic sentence with a bit of urgency to it. It can be titled or untitled. It can be lyrical, funny or both.

First line is 9 syllables (this is not so strict, can be 8 or 10)
Next line is 1
And last line is 1.

Thank you to all the contributors and especially, Joan, for sharing these enjoyable poems for us to read.  Please take time to comment and thank Joan for her hard work on this.  If you missed the deadline, feel free to share 9-1-1 poems in the comments section.

Happy writing!

Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor

How do you keep from reaching for what’s

By Evie Ivy

Interfaith Council

A priest, a rabbi, and an imam

By Robert P. Hansen

The fragrance of a new-born poem…

By Ralph Stott

True love: riding each threatening wave

By Paul Callus

Queuing round the block for a concert

By Jack Horne

Writing a note with disappearing ink

By Barbara Tate

I feel the warmth of her outstretched arms

By Anne Curran

We’ve found the owls’ nest—mother owl asks:

By Kelley J. White

All the greens of spring are opening

By Joan McNerney

And so you said you “loved me” . . . and so
said . . .

By Evie Ivy

Tragedy, floods and earthquakes!

By Beth Winchcombe

Stories surround us, daily begging

By Charlene McCutcheon


She weaves spider-web plots--shimmery

By Elizabeth Howard

Weather prediction tornado watch

By Sara Kendrick

His mate checked twice before yelling out,

By Karen O’Leary

Hooting at midnight, shadow silent

By Kelley J. White

Spring brings lots of flowers, blossoms and

By David Fox

It was finally  music  that  set

By Evie Ivy

A playful autumn breeze lifts girls' skirts

By Anne Curran

Distressed, yet visibly popular

By Paul Callus


politicians will make promises

By Robert P. Hansen

When I am worried and all alone

By Charlene McCutcheon

Fairies, floating, towards earth

By Beth Winchcombe

Like clothing that has been washed—you hang

By Evie Ivy

High winds, giant rain drops and hail fall

By Sara Kendrick

Rustling of leaves tell the story

By Barbara Tate

Pigeons take flight up on the rooftops

By Ralph Stott

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Poems--By Kelley White--United States

sun coming out
crow calls into
the light

how many years since
I’ve heard the whippoorwill?

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.

Moonglow--By Joann Grisetti--United States


I kneel on the waxed white oak boards
and lean, elbows rest on the narrow sill,
cheek against the frigid glass
breath expands crystals of rime in circles.

I stare at the moon, bright enough
to blot all but the highest stars,
when full, it stabs my pale irises
with silver shafts, and draws in shades of grey;

fractals from trees, tessellations where houses stand
in rows along unseen streets frozen under snow –
fallen and melted and refrozen –
this diurnal pattern repeats through winter.

I feel a creeping cooling from extremities inward,
a shivering procedure unable to break the shackles
of moonglow.

I ride a roan Arabian mare
over the mid-night silver sands
we race the flat desert into dawn
as hot as the other was cold but still enflames the same

Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.

Lady--Jack Horne--England


Your nearness makes my heartbeat race,
I smile and look into your face.
Surrounded, kisses cannot be,
Although your eyes are all I see:
Your thoughts revealed by loving looks.
We must return to reading books!

I wish we were alone to talk,
And maybe take a little walk,
Your hand in mine, I’d know such bliss,
With no one there to thwart a kiss.

We’d travel time and space today,
And dance around the Milky Way,
The planets spinning like my mind.
My thoughts untamed but warm and kind.
Such magic at my fingertips.
My hungry kisses on your lips,
A floral crown upon your hair,
I’d demonstrate how much I care.

As secret passion floods my head,
I write a poem for you instead…

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.

Monday, May 18, 2015

Just Passing Through--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Just Passing Through

I am content with what I have,
But not enough to stay.
My heart still longs for something else -
It’s somewhere, far away.
So, while on earth, I’ll not complain,
‘Cause I’ll be looking toward
A home, a crown, an angel choir -
In Heaven, with my Lord

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

Haiku--By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan--India

a million stars
switch on

swinging in the rain
myriad droplets
spray from my hair

summer hols
-- the jamun tree
ripe with boys

yellow leaves
grandma sweeps up

headless statue –
long before me
and long after

Raamesh Gowri Raghavan moonlights as an award-winning copywriter by day and daylights as an award-wanting poet by night. He thinks he is funny, but his friends vehemently disagree.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Nalini Priyadarshni--India and D. Russel Michener--United States

Just Before Dawn: A Sedoka

By and Nalini Priyadarshni and D. Russel Micnhimer

Aspen glow reflects
Your warmth upon my face, add
Streak of love to my dusk

Your beams reach me far
away though I maybe, your
rich warmth always near

Distance just measures
How far and swift love travels
I exhale breaths you inspire

Inhaling your joy
Awakens my sleeping bliss
Each dawn a new dream shines bright

You fondly burnish
Pieces of my existence
Nurture me to flowering

Polishing edges
Buffing your glistening joy
To shimmering reflections

Light of our loving
Unlock enchanting visions
Sweet symphony to twain souls

Focus of living
Shining key to ecstasy
Opens all chests of treasures

Mother Remembered--By Jean Calkins--United States

Mother Remembered

White carnations on the altar;
Young head bowed in silent prayer.
Second Sunday of the May-month,
Longing brings a deep despair.

Vivid recall of a casket.
Tender was her face in sleep.
How he misses you, lost mother;
Blonde head bowed as blue eyes weep.

Jean, at 82, 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

Welcome Home--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

Welcome Home

the door open
pinto beans simmering
in the kettle,
thin white curtains
beckoning welcome,
he takes off his beret
and enters, knowing
his ma and pa will
fluff up the featherbed
kill the fattest fryer

he sits down
in his plush chair
vacant the long months
he’s been overseas--
when they come in
he’ll lay down the crutches
that brought him home,
rise up and walk

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.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

A Lonesome Song--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi

A Lonesome Song

I am a lonely frog's egg,
Missing parental care and love,
Surrounded by hungry fishes,
Carried away by angry waters
To a non-existent place.

I am a lonely butterfly in whirlwind,
Whirling, swirling
To a bizarre hearth.

I am a lonely soloist
Without a mirthful audience,
Singing cumbersome lamentations
Memorized by migrating birds
Flying away from this wild world

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.

The Least of These--By Lanette Kissel--United States

The Least of These

Can we manage to feel concern and compassion
for those we meet on any given day,
those who are trying to roll with life’s punches,
the forgotten lambs who have wandered astray?

Some people practice wearing a brave fa├žade
while on the inside they are falling apart.
Can we show concern for what happens to them?
Can we offer them a piece of our heart?

Our Jesus consorted with the diseased and destitute,
the ones society was afraid to touch,
the overlooked, the ostracized, the outcasts,
the ones who needed His kindness so much.

We can attempt to make a difference.
If it’s our Lord we are hoping to please,
we can search out the hurting and lonely.
We can do it for the least of these.

(Previously published in The Pink Chameleon Issue 13, July 2012)

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.