Friday, November 28, 2014

Sign of the Cross Over the Chest--By Jacob Shaver--United States

Sign of the Cross Over the Chest

the body on the tip of his tongue
white staleness passes to the gut,
turning from having fasted all morn
to start anew, his hunger suppressed
he resolves to do better—
sign of the cross over the chest

a delicate sip from the golden chalice,
red blood flows thick,
intoxicates corporal extremities
the host now in the guest
she will sin no more—
sign of the cross over the chest

parishioners take of this plain supper
then pass through the cathedral pews
like blood flowing in their bodies
they commune together but leave alone
to do good in the world—
sign of the cross over the chest

Jacob Shaver, a Denver native and Phoenix resident, in addition to writing poetry, essays, and screenplays, is an independent editor, and a lead moderator for the Central Phoenix Writing Workshop. His collaborative participation in the art of crafting Renhai as well as his solo efforts are enlightening and fulfilling. He likens writing Renhai to playing Sudoku with words, and gives thanks to John Daleiden for introducing him to this art form.

Christmas Magic (for Trudy)--By Michael Todd--United States

Christmas Magic (for Trudy)

A box of heirlooms we look over, in a closet in the hallway,
A shelf of tapes and records, wait patiently for their time to play.

Their time has come once more to assume their annual relevance.
As each finds the light, and sheds light on memories, past tense.

Procuring special, significant Christmas tree ornaments annually.
Had we only known, we were gazing at crystal balls... facsimile.

Christmas cards, as by-products, accompanied gifts of major stature.
Wishes, signatures, serve to remind of loved ones' sentiments, pure.

Some trinkets evoke bygone memories, others provoke, reminisce, query.
Time and space are granted these, having earned their place, varied.

With most, I know the drill, follow order, little left to surprise.
Never quite prepared for the end result, as anew, I gaze into your eyes.

Though we have reached a place in time, and our space, foundation sound.
Still see the future in our union, having built what is us, on solid ground.

The same stockings hang on this staircase, dwellings change, not the home.
Same hands hold each other, unique to us, work steadfast toward our gloam.

I loved you then. I love you now. All that is about you is all I'll ever be.
I say it now, as I said it then. Merry Christmas to us, to you and to me.

Shackles and encumbrance of obligation, whether great or small, realized,
Transcended. Supernatural agent... Christmas Magic, evidenced in your eyes.

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

Fished Up--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

Fished Up

Woke Up
Got Up
Run Up
Set Up
Cast Up
Hooked Up
Caught Up
Fished Up
Packed Up
Cleaned Up
Cooked Up
Ate Up
Days Up!

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.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

A Lazy Winter’s Day--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

A Lazy Winter’s Day

A frosted window
touched just right
with a hint of chill
that the winter season
provides. All the land
properly dressed
with a blanket of snow,
looking so pretty
in the stillness of cold
on a lazy winter’s day.

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:

Atmosphere of Heaven--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Atmosphere of Heaven

On the morning of a clear spring day, I eagerly awaited
the appointed time I would again enter His Holy House.
Arriving early by design, I walked the sacred grounds.
Red and yellow tulips plus pink begonias, interspersed
with bouquets of blue lobelia and little purple pansies,
lined the walk-ways invitingly to the wide Temple doors.
Mesmerized by the loveliness of such intricate beauty,
I closed my eyes and inhaled the heavenly fragrance;
musing, if Heaven has a scent, it has got to be the same.
A sweet sense of peace permeated the air and I felt
surrounded by love as I entered into the joy of my Lord.

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.

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Dad’s Hands--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States

Dad’s Hands

In the cafe booth his son asks,
Dad, what do you see
when you look at your hands?

Palms up, palms down, open, closed,
bent, scraped, swollen and raw. Dad
answers, These hands are not mine.

He looks across the table
at this young man’s hands,
smooth, strong, flexible, straight.

You have my hands, Son.
These hands that I have on
once belonged to my father.

Someday, way too soon, you’ll see
that your son will have your hands,
and you, Son, will have mine.

Carl "Papa" Palmer, retired Army, retired FAA, now just plain retired, lives in University Place, Washington. He has seven chapbooks and a contest winning poem riding buses somewhere in Seattle. Carl has been nominated for the Micro Award and Pushcart Prize.

MOTTO: Long Weekends Forever

I Thank You, Lord--By Helen Dowd--Canada

I Thank You, Lord

I thank You, Lord, for common things--fresh air, and waters clean;
For butterflies and flowers bright; for trees and grass so green,
For all the birds and bees and bugs; for worms and wiggly things;
And even for the spider, Lord. What a splendid web she strings!
I thank You for the special things—far more than I could wish—
My husband, friends, a cozy house; my dogs, my cats, my fish.
I’m glad for this great country where I’m free to worship You,
Where everyone is welcome to express his point of view.

I thank You, God for precious things--like happiness and love;
For sending down Your only Son to earth from heaven above.
Christ cancelled out my debt of sin; He settled up the score.
I thank You, Lord, for all these things, and many, many more.

Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

I Link Therefore I Am--By Richard Sponaugle--United States

I Link Therefore I Am

I’m a loner,
and a drifter.
Mankind’s morals
disgust me more
each day and night.
But when I feed
birds in the park,
and read of a man
who kills boys,
I know I’m linked
to all mankind
by time and space;
but bound most
by the fact that all
God’s children sin.
The best of us
sin less and beg
for mercy more.

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

One’s View Point--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

One’s View Point

Thoughts come to one's mind
bringing clarity to the subject at hand
Wipe away the webs and let His light in
a brightness you will forever see -
As you, continue your stride in faith...

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 -

Monday, November 24, 2014

What Shall We Do... --By Jan Henson--Turkey

What Shall We Do...

‘What shall we do today?’
My inner voice said
‘Let’s go kick Autumn leaves
Golden and vivid red’

Through barren trees we trod
Crunching sounds underfoot
Of those leaves of old
By winds gently put

‘What shall we do right now?’
My inner voice said
‘Let’s go home for some tea
And butter with bread’

Sitting by the fireside
Warming our numb toes
Munching with such delight
Wrapped in cosy throws

‘What shall we do later?’
My inner voice said
‘Give thanks to Ma Nature
As we fall into bed’

Jan Henson has written poetry for a few years. She finds it an enjoyable experience.  When she attended school in England (in the ‘50’s) poetry seemed such a dry medium and she wasn’t all that impressed.  After school, she became a hairdresser and continued the profession after her marriage and birth of her four children.  When her youngest was three, she started working nights at a nursing home.  She realized her passion for the profession and became a nurse.  She worked in the healthcare industry for 20 years.  After her children were grown, she retired to Turkey where she currently lives.

The Sunset--By Anne R. C. Neale--United States

The Sunset

As the sun slowly sinks below the horizon,
And darkness slowly sends dark shadows on the ground.
You can sit and become mesmerized with its beauty,
As the sun slowly disappears without a sound.

The beauty and the solitude that you can find,
Is wonderful as you watch the day light end,
Taking time out of your busy day, to see it,
Is a tranquility you can find in life, Amen.

There's so much beauty if only we would take time to look
And see the Glorious scenes that God creates,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
But sunsets and sunrises are all really great.

Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old.  She taught outdoor education for 20 years.  Anne still works at school as crossing guard.   She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums.  She resides in New Jersey .

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Yesterday’s Joys--By Andrea Dietrich--United States

Yesterday’s Joys

Yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
In my mind they reside endlessly
like bright recollections rosy in hue
or the notes of a sweet melody.

Sorrow and pain won’t burden me, for
yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
Rich in blessings, I’ll never be poor.
Happy memories carry me through.

The “good old days” end; along comes the new,
and so much of it also is sweet!
Yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
With the new ones, my soul is replete!

Sweet recollections never will cease,
for no matter what strife may ensue,
I know in the end, I will find peace.
Yesterday’s joys are more than a few!

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.

He Knows--By Lanette Kissel--United States

He Knows

He is aware of the tiniest sparrow,
knows when it falls from the sky.
He knows the situations which sadden me,
that which can make me cry.
Knows there are times my faith falters,
times when I have to question why.

He knows each and every single strand
of hair upon my head.
He knows the troubles and worries that plague me,
and the words that have gone unsaid.
Knows the situations which frighten me,
that which fills my heart with dread.

He knows the day, the hour, the minute
when I am destined to leave this place,
to enter into my heavenly home
where I will finally see His face.
And I know the blessings of knowing Him,
that He fills my life with His grace.

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.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Lest We Forget--The Poppy--By Jane Richer--Canada

Lest We Forget--The Poppy

In Flander's field where courageous soldiers lie below
there I am planted besides the crosses row by row.
To forever be a reminder of the brave ones that died,
my face is sad; the darkest black as you look inside.

I wear a red velvet gown; to remind you of the blood that was shed,
I hear every cry and feel the tears that are dropped upon my head.
I am there as a reminder; to those families of brave ones gone,
that their sacrifice; led to freedom and a brand new dawn!

Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.

Passage from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me--By Nila J. Webster--United States

Passage from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me

Thank you for life
And death
And life again

For the seed of hope
Born of each sad end

November is my beloved mother's birth month, and I know she always held close the sacred gift of hope, no matter what.

Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at

Friday, November 21, 2014

"Stepping Stones"--By Colan Hiatt--United States

"Stepping Stones"

Sometimes our plotted course in life
Is altered by a sudden turn
The days routine, must then give way
A new approach, we have to learn

It's never pleasant at the time
We could permit despair to reign
But a greater burden then we'd know
Just added stress, and increased pain

A better way it seems to me
Just use the fragments that abide
To buoy us to a higher plane
The issue then, is thrust aside

Life doesn't always give it's best
Even though so hard we try
A learning process can be found
Amid a task that would defy

So take courage when turmoil prevails
Remember that you're not alone
When mountains loom across our way
just let them be a "Stepping Stone"

Colan Hiatt resides in Mt. Airy, NC. with his wife. A retired electronic technician, he has been writing for several years. Most all the poetry, is derived from observing "down-to-earth" events that occur around us. A personal "mini-story" is often associated with the majority of compositions. Usually a metaphor is found with spiritual implications that portray God as the ultimate solution to life's problems. To direct the reader to this "Source", is the desired goal.

A Fruitful Life--By Barbara Siekierski--United States

A Fruitful Life

I am with you…

Planted firmly
on the ground,
you will take root
and produce many
good things.
You will sprout
and receive my light.
You will withstand
every tribulation.

My love will
carry you…

Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Tanka--By Shloka Shankar--India

a blue sky
bursts into silence...
these aches
feel so familiar now
as I let them go

paint summer hues...
the labyrinthine
wanderings of my heart
in this wilderness

an empty nest
dangles from the branch...
still hoping
to revive what we had
so many moons ago

Shloka Shankar resides in India, and works as a freelance writer. A contributing poet in over half a dozen anthologies such as The Dance of the Peacock, Traversal of Lines, Family Matters, Emanations IV, and Rainbow Hues, among others, Shloka has also seen her poems published in journals like Ekphrasis, Writers Asylum, The Literary Yard, Urban Confustions, Wordweavers, Verse Wrights, Miracle-ezine, and Cafe Dissensus.

Sister--By David Fox--United States


There's a special bond between us
It's something no one else can take
For whomever gets between us
This bond shall never break.
It's like we've signed a contract,
In which the terms are "For Life":
To be there for your sibling
In good times and in strife.
Whatever shall become of us,
Whether it be famine, fortune, fame,
You'll always be my sister
And I'll love you just the same.

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.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Whispers Within--By Rick Parise--United States

Whispers Within

I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from  the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again

I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty

of love, hope and faith
I have come to tell

Rick Parise, known as “A Pondering Poet”, is from the beautiful land of Salem, Oregon.  The main focus of his poetry is to take the reader to a meaningful, personal time in their lives, to a place where spirit's are touched and memories unwind. He hopes you enjoy his work. To Contact Rick please email him at

Marley's Breakfast--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

Marley's Breakfast

Marley awakens while it's still dark,
her tummy grumbling with hunger.
Her mother who works the night shift
at the diner will not be home until
after Marley and Billy have gone
to school. She finds a little cornmeal
in the bin, mixes it with water, cooks it,
and gives it to Billy who gobbles it up.
She licks the spoon and puts it in the sink.
They do not need to dress. They are
wearing the only clothes they have.
Marley takes Billy's hand, and they walk
to school. Her first class is English,
but she does not hear the teacher.
She only hears the grumbling in her tummy

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.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

New Delhi Railroad Station--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand

New Delhi Railroad Station

Hot, tired, dusty, out of sync
to the station staggering luggage
Swarms of beings standing, bending, lying
Dark beautiful faces with eyes that bind
Making you think of God
And his strange creation.
Breathing, sheer force of life, exhaling
Stinking smells, flower perfume mingling
Drifting, mouths gabbling unknown languages
Floating the air, shouts, whispers
Stares, trains in, trains out
Monks shaven heads, tranquil looks
Turbans, beards abound
Babies who choke you with emotion
Their innocence lit so bright

My head hurts, my throat hurts
I want to see it as a movie
Lights, camera, action
But the Director makes no cuts
I am a bit player.

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.

Vestige--By Cristine A. Gruber--United States


He didn’t have much
in the way of mementos,
a bible that belonged
to his mama, a tobacco tin
that his daddy had used.

There were a few gifts
from his girls over the years,
and more recently, keepsakes
from the grandchildren too.
He kept these things,

but rarely looked at them.
But once each autumn,
when the earth gleamed golden
for a time, just before turning
barren for yet another winter,

he would retrieve the small box
from the back of his closet, sit
for a spell, and re-read each card,
one by one, voicing each word,
reliving every moment.

Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver as well as a widely-published poet. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, California Quarterly, The Homestead Review, Iodine Poetry Journal, The Penwood Review, The Poet’s Haven, Red River Review, The Tule Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, and The Write Place at the Write Time. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, is available from More of Cristine's work can be found at

Monday, November 17, 2014

The Great Depression--By Elizabeth Kral--United States

The Great Depression
(In memory of my mother, born 1919)

The Great Depression
made quite an impression
on Mom and her foods of choice.

Chicken was prized,
beans despised,
and she loved all cakes and pies.

We took her out.
A special treat,
dinner at a restaurant down the street.

But the Great Depression
made such an impression,       
she would not order a platter.

She opted instead
for the basket of bread,
with a bowl of bean and ham chowder.

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.

Autumn--By Sandra Stefanowich--Canada


listening as Autumn's voice takes hold
aimlessly roaming among the red, green and gold

as daylight slowly falls from the sky
I'm content to watch the pastel clouds pass me by

holding the remnants of yesterday in my hand
I let them go and wonder where they might land

a bonfire smolders, lingering in the air as memories burn
where this soul longs to be and one day return

flames break through the landscape setting it afire
to not see this vision end is my deep desire

my eyes far away in a silent moment of thought
in awe of the beauty of this world I'm caught

in the twilight of fall the love of a season again found
captivated by its presence and to it forever bound

Born in Toronto, Ontario, Sandra is a self taught writer. She has been writing off and on since an early age. Most of her writing revolves around what she sees in everyday life, nature and her concerns about mankind. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, animals and photography.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Tanka--By ayaz daryl nielsen--United States

autumn’s rose petals
gently falling
may my years pass
with such poise
and such grace

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

Yesterday’s Echo--By Janet Vick--United States

Yesterday’s Echo

The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight.
Regrets were catalogued, redeemed as lost
and dreams contained within self-floating spheres
because reality was smeared in fears
as time evaporated all it cost.

The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight
but tiny kisses from the memories
brought hope tomorrow’s walk would echo free.
Regrets were catalogued, redeemed as lost
as time evaporated all it cost.
The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight.

Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Memories of Summer Rambles--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

Memories of Summer Rambles

A girl of the last century
along the bike path,
past the goldenrod
the spiky chicory,
and Queen Anne’s lace.

With a brick red anthology in her book bag,
she wishes she lived among the Romantics
walking twenty miles or more
through the car-free countryside.

Waiting for a walk light
in August’s brittle brilliance,
she remembers a minor poem
that her grandmother still recites from memory,
having learned it
by a river
brick-red with dye
at the beginning of the last century.

Every so often Marianne Szlyk thinks about taking a walking tour in England, but for now she is happy to explore the Washington, DC area. She recently published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, at Kind of a Hurricane Press: Individual poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, Flutter Poetry Journal, The Greensilk Journal, bird's thumb, The Blue Hour Literary Anthology Volume 3, and Literature Today. She also edits The Song Is..., a journal of poetry inspired by music.

Poet of the Month--Sara Kendrick


By Sara Kendrick

The trip to church on Sunday wasn't long
Down dry dusty country roads closer roamed
Hearts did rejoice when singing love's sweet song
Precious memories now deeply intoned

A home filled to the brim with kith and kin
No evidence of the grief she suffered
When in her youth tales of such loss did spin
By age of twenty-five her life crumbled

Joys of a young bride with husband beside
Darling daughters three in tow~gone~from life
Oh, life’s issues such hard brazen blows inside
No longer was she a mother and wife

Her faith in a loving God never failed
She had strength of character which prevailed 

I have been doing some research about my biological family
I found that my father's mother was married in her youth
and had three daughters which all died as did her husband..
She married my grandfather and then had four sons which
all lived. She never gave up her faith through it all. What strength.


From the editor--It is a privilege to announce that Sara Kendrick is November’s Poet of the Month.  She is a talented writer that has been published in a variety of venues.  Readers at Whispers relate to her heartfelt poetry.  Sara regularly leaves thoughtful comments which others appreciate.  She has collaborated with other writers on poems that have been featured at Whispers and has brought new writers to our online journal.  It is a pleasure to present Sara with this honor!

Thoughts on “Strength”--Sara sets the tone of the poem in the first two lines which are rich in imagery.  Based on a true story, this poem has a powerful impact.  We all have losses and challenges.  It’s what we do with them that counts in life.  Sara portrays a woman of amazing courage--“No evidence of the grief she suffered.”  This poem conveys a real hero, one that was a light despite all she suffered.  This is a wonderful piece with a timeless message.

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


Karen O’Leary, Editor

Blinded by the Speed of Life--By Joe Flach--United States

Blinded by the Speed of Life

I never took the time to speak my love
I never told him what I was thinking of
I never thanked him for all he had done
I never said I was proud to be his son

I always waited for the perfect time
I always kept those thoughts inside my mind
I always choked on the words when in his sight
I always said I would, in bed at night

But, I was blinded by the speed of life
Now, on angel’s wings he’s taken flight
To have shared his world, I feel delight
I was blinded by the speed of life

And, now it’s too late, I missed my chance
I wasn’t there for his final dance
He never heard me say what I had to say
Now, I miss my father, every day

I was blinded by the speed of life
Now, on angel’s wings he’s taken flight
To have shared his world, I feel delight
I was blinded by the speed of life

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.