Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Submission Guidelines

Thank you for considering Whispers for a place to share your writing.  The guidelines follow:

1.  Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable.  Please do not send quotes from others unless they are in the context of the piece submitted and that the original author is given credit.  It is up to the author to obtain permission if needed for reprints.  By submitting to Whispers, the writer is assuring that the work is his or her own.  Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from another writer without credit or authorization.

2.  Send one of the three following:

    ---1 poem 20 lines or less

    ---up to 5 haiku/senryu (please make sure to clearly identify that separate poems are being submitted)

    ---up to 3 tanka (see above)

    ---for people that are not poets, 1 short paragraph of encouragement will be considered

Writers are eligible for publication every other month.

3.  You may include a bio of 4-5 lines written in third person style.  See “Living Wings” published January 15, 2013 for an example.  A bio is not necessary for publication.

4.  No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.

5.  Whispers reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.

6.  Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers.  Humor is appreciated.

7.  Children’s poetry is appreciated.  Parent permission is required.  Please email before sending.

8.  Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency.  Please keep that in mind when submitting.

9.  Preferred method of submission is to send poetry as a works document or in the body of an email with your name and country.  Please email your submission to Karen O’Leary at  If you would rather submit by snail mail, please email Karen for her address.  You may email her with any questions you may have.

10.  I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing. 

In this challenging time for many, it is the hope that Whispers will connect people in a way that is supportive, encouraging and inspiring to others.  Thank you for considering being a part of this community.

Editor's Thoughts/Carry On--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Friends,

I appreciate all the contributors and readers that are making our online journal a poetry community.  Through our comments we give gifts of encouragement and insight.  Several of our contributors are dealing with health issues and other challenges and are unable to participate as much as they would like.  I ask for your understanding and your prayers.

One only has to turn on the news for a short time to learn about the growing violence in the world.  Though we can’t change everything, we can make a difference.  You certainly have brought joy to my life and others.

I posted the following poem in January of 2013.  It seemed fitting to share it with you now, too.  Keep on writing!  Best wishes to all of you.


Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor


Carry On

Some days are long;
the road gets tough.
We give it our all
and that is enough.

Friends share our toils
and carry us through.
We learn about love
and generosity too.

We sing of the gift
of a warm embrace.
It lifts our burden
from a weary place.

We learn to look
for others in need.
With grateful hearts,
we spread love’s seed.

Some days are long;
the road is tough.
We give our best
and that is enough.

In Moon’s Darkness--By Janet Vick--United States

In Moon’s Darkness

The night was black, no moon in sight.
It matched the couple’s stirring fight
of pitted trust. The final end
for those who loved but could not blend.

And darkest part of trust not had,
memories of growing sad
from bud of hope, they pressed for when
a future blessed their path back then.

But shadow’s paw dug in the path
made from ditches to feed the wrath.
A chasm grew, no bridge to cross
and darkness came to rule as boss.

Two separate lives hesitate
while waiting in unhealthy state
with darkness mirrored in their eyes...
They parted ways escaping ties.

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.

Autumn at Hand--By David Austin--United States

Autumn at Hand

Once again the dog days
Days and nights
With autumn close at hand

Only now do I think of summer
Recounting lost times
Those spells of full awakening
When rush of bloom was faith’s restoration

Only now does that complete blessing thrill
    awareness once again
And I offer belated thanks
Thanks before the first chill wind reminds

Life is fleeting
Life is precious

Go then these last so few days and enjoy
Head held high for count of those many many
    summers past
In faith that all renews and renews
That this ample sunny sunny state will come
    again and again

David Austin is professional violinist and teacher, who communicates through poetry. He has played with the Cincinnati Symphony, taught at Colorado College and various public schools. He is a published author, who has been writing poetry and novels for over 40 years. His pride and joy is a shelter in which he feeds and cares for animals.  David is a member of Poetry Soup.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Fallen Peach--By Dan Tharp--United States

Fallen Peach

One ripe peach, fallen from the tree
begs attention...
were I to be swayed
from moments of neglect
requires pondering the peril of gravity
just long enough to put down the book
of poetry which has captivated me
in some form or fashion,
as one intent on "counting sparrows",

perhaps more content
with counting crows.

(Oddly enough, I understand her words.)

Inclined toward the journey,
in the moment of departure,
I make my way to the fallen fruit.

In the lingering that followed,
(sweet, succulent, palatable)

the peach and I become one.

Dan Tharp is the author of four books of poetry, 3 of which are in chapbook form... Side by Side, Yielding Desire to Fate, A Season Made for Wondering and A Rose in the Briar Patch. Dan resides in Southern California.

A Salty Lament--By David Williams--England

A Salty Lament

Lead me to the water, to face the watery graves
See boats moored in the harbour and hear the crashing waves
I’ve sailed along the Ocean’s, and rode the Seven Sea’s
Hoisted up the main brace, and going where I please

Lead me to the water to see the setting of the sun
My life spread out before me I see what I’ve become
A lonely salty sea-dog who is living in the past
Telling tales of giant fish past midnight they would last

Lead me to the water make my memories come alive
Of days on Golden ponds to swim in and to dive
To far off distant lands and sandy tropical isles
Bonding with each other while sailing nautical miles

Lead me to the water let me lay among the ghosts
Of friends who slid before me to the sea bed as their host
Their souls all swim together, each they cannot save
The sailor’s cries are drifting in a watery grave.

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 Last Day of Summer--By Shirley Smothers--United States

The Last Day of Summer

You left us on the
last day of Summer.
Today is the
first day of fall,
My tears are
falling for you.
Good bye my baby,

Lucky: August 8, 1998
September, 22 2015

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

Monday, September 28, 2015

Fall Tradition--By Russell Sivey--United States

Fall Tradition

The fall of the year approaches
with a joy that compares to none
and the children all jump in the puddles
with smiles on their faces to boot.

The temperature is quite perfect
that the sun shines on lovely days
enlightens each students eyes to dollars
awaiting the day after school.

The greatest time of the year comes
with the cool weather and the breeze
Halloween shines and brings happiness too
fun sure reigns this time of the year.

Time to be your favorite ghost,
a time to become that hero
that you’ve been looking to be for awhile
and save the day from all the gloom.

You get to receive your candy
that you have waited all year for
go with your friends to some of your neighbors
and enjoy this fall tradition!

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.

Subtlety--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States


Exhausted, I slumped through the kitchen door
laying bags of groceries on the table and floor.
"I'll put them away later, just gotta sit for a while."
Then I noticed something that brought me a smile.

I called out to my family and asked, "WHO did it"?
The children came, worried I was throwing a fit.
"Guess it was a little fairy who did all those dishes,
or maybe a 'good do bee' fulfilled all my wishes."

Puzzlement was in their words and expressions.
Finding out who did it, I had made my next mission.
Entering the living room, there sat sweetie reading
the evening paper, by the lamp his face beaming.

He asked, "What my sweetness, for you can I do?"
Right then it was revealed to my heart and I knew.
Love can express itself in so many different ways.
His subtle messages, I like most on difficult days.

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.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Special Feature--Stacy Savage's Contest Winner--Kay Cheshire

Whispers’ contributor, Stacy Savage, offers many opportunities for writers to share their poetry for various causes.  Her latest, Short Verse Poetry Contest, was a fundraiser for As Wings of Eagles, Inc. to help pay for a larger enclosure for the organization’s resident eagle, Belle. Kay Cheshire’s beautiful poem, “Contentment” was chosen as the winner.  Congratulations Kay!  This is Kay’s first publication at Whispers.  I welcome her to our online journal and hope you will too.


Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor



By Kay Cheshire

Like newfound money, I want to save
days that are quiet, where only birdsong fills
the air and faint breezes brush my hair like
a lover.

Days filled with abundance, where worry
is only a word, and pains are washed clean
by waterfalls.

I want to feel sun rays on freckled skin,
keep the moonlight shinning, rest in
an oak’s shadow while butterflies
carry away the hurt.

Those are the days I want to
reach inside my pockets
and feel them full.

The Potter--By Helen Dowd--Canada

The Potter

Do you ever stop to question the real reason you’re on earth?
Do you wonder why it is that you were born?
Do you feel you’ve been a failure, and your life has little worth?
Do you view yourself with ridicule and scorn?

Do you look around at others, wishing you could be like them,
When you see the mark in life they seem to make?
Then you gaze into the mirror, and that fellow you condemn;
And you say, “Oh God, You’ve made a grave mistake.”

But remember, God’s the Potter. You are just a lump of clay.
You must never question what He has in mind.
He has formed the earth, the heavens, and the night, as well as day.
He’s created living things of every kind.

Whether you be dull or brilliant--a workman, king, or maid--
Whether you be plain or handsome, short of tall,
It is still the Potter’s doing: He has formed you without aid.
It is God who holds the pattern for us all.

He has made you for a purpose, and He’s called you by your name.
He has formed you by the will of His own hand.
So just look up to your Maker as His greatness you proclaim:

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.

A Poem to My Descendants--By Stacy Savage--United States

A Poem to My Descendants

Someday I shall perish
When my ticker stops with time,
And I hope I am remembered
By my words of rhyme.

Generations will follow
When my dust is on the earth.
I hope that they get
What a poem is worth.

Will they understand
That a poem is art--
A story that's woven
From a poet's heart?

Will they honor my past
And read my words?
Will I be a poet forgotten
With a voice unheard?

In a hundred years,
When I'm a snapshot in time,
I hope I am remembered
By my words of rhyme.

Previously published in the March/April 2015 issue of Creative Inspirations

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:

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Full of Colour--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

Full of Colour

Life’s kaleidoscope is full of colour
With it wrapped in time it couldn’t be fuller
Be it bright or dull it is up to you to see
And choose the way you want it to be

So always keep some light in your life
Light built from love to help conquer strife
Let visions of tomorrow drive you on
So you leave something good when you’re gone

Create good memories for loved ones to keep
As they recall the colour in life you did reap
Be like the sun that shines down from above
Encompassing all, do the same with love

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.

Lake of Tears--By Richard Sponaugle--United States

Lake of Tears

The chocolate night slowly melts,
til the warm sunrise is felt.
My face reflects off the lake.
I see my bloodshot eyes ache.
Tears long to flow like fountains,
but they’d flood distant mountains.
My body’s silent and still,
like the lake’s surrounding hill.
Yet my heart’s a raging tide,
cause your reflection has died.
My reflection fades away,
cause a mirage never stays.
I sweat in this desert Hell,
far away since our farewell.
When a soldier senses death,
visions of love give him breath.

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. 

Friday, September 25, 2015

'This hubub, this razzmatazz'--By Sunil Uniyal--India

'This hubub, this razzmatazz' (A Ghazal) ~

This hubub, this razzmatazz, this worldly chime,
Is nothing but a ripple in the sea of Time.

We have no inkling of what lies ahead,
We are deep in the Present with mud and slime.

Your audience was denied, Your door was shut,
Was my late-coming to You a sin or crime?

He who has become a slave to own desires,
Why won't he sell his soul for a dime?

You say that Uni's ghazal is going musical,
Do you know of his struggle to make it rhyme?

Sunil Uniyal ( born 1953-) is a poet and translator based in New Delhi, India. He has been writing haiku and poems for over thirty years and many of these have appeared in e-journals like Muse India, Kritya, AHA Poetry, Poetica Magazine, Sketch Book, Notes From the Gean, A Hundred Gourds and Haiku Dreaming Australia. His work in translation includes, The Target is Behind the Sky -Fifty Poems of Kabir, brought out by the Low Price Publications, Delhi in February 2012.

The Birdbath--By Suzanne Delaney--United States

The Birdbath

The first is like an imaginary vision
a tiny apparition, in three quick flashes,
landing, one sip, then disappearing,
sweet fairy wren.

Then, there is the brazen, full, plop
of the Currawong
raucous, self- proclaiming
with flapping ablutions.

And on exit, stealing one
of the floating silk lilies.

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.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Empty People--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili-- Malawi

The Empty People

We are the empty people
we are the void people
eating our own
stuff and nonsense.
our void cries reach
deaf ears of laughing hyenas.
but a hyena is a hyena.
even if it came down from the mountains
to dwell in the reeds along the lake,
it remains a hyena.

Solutions without love,
thanksgiving without gratitude;
but smiles of aversion.
and hatred forming a shapeless
hollow in us - may be – like the water
of nothingness… And we remain
the empty people,
the void people.

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.

Haiku--By Carolyn Noah Graetz--United States

my husband
a mouse trap

   his sheep
hear his voice
   yet to follow

   over night flight
         to Rio
my English dissolved

my church leans
   to the left
I open my door

Carolyn Noah Graetz was born in a small country community of Blackmonton in 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.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By ayaz daryl nielsen and Peggy Dugan French--United States

our houses are full
grand stories scurrying about
us, accidental acolytes of
the unfolding chapters to follow
foreshadows of an ageless embrace

By ayaz daryl nielsen and Peggy Dugan French

The Breath Of Winter--By Pam Murray--Canada

The Breath Of Winter

The silence of the morning
As the dawn first sheds its light
Holds a gentle kiss of dew.
I watch the geese take flight

And catch the breath of winter
Still distant in the air.
The final days of summer
Are still flowing everywhere.

Yet trees are slowly turning
And a cooler wind prevails.
The clouds are slowly building
Like a clipper with its sails.

My heartbeats echo rhythms
Of approaching winter rains
That soon will share their music
In those haunting winter strains.

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.

Russet--By Kelley White--United States


Potatoes with dirt
in a once-red string
bag. My finger
nails blackened
as I rinse them with
a brush. Your palms
lined with that same
same color, palms
pink against
your true black

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, September 22, 2015

When We Were Royals--By Andrea Dietrich--United States

When We Were Royals

Leaning against the warmth of old oak, I recall your sun burnt skin that summer.
As I let my fingers linger on the side of the bench where you used to sit,
a memory - like noon day’s sun light, seeps into my senses.
A light wind ruffles my hair at the nape of my neck, that same spot you liked to kiss.
You said we were royals as we scattered bread crumbs for our loyal subjects.
Those pigeons! Where have they gone? Now I toss to the ground dry worthless crumbs.
Closing my eyes, I lift my face to sky for sun’s caress. Something tickles my cheek!
Opening my eyes, I see a Monarch butterfly, its tint is that of your sun burnt skin.

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.

This Is Not To Suffer--By Allison Grayhurst--Canada

This Is Not To Suffer

the thinning years of a lifespan
roped by bitter nightfall

the volt of mourning that
mourns the range of ambition to success

the blind rodent that frees
itself of self-preservation

the hard days of unknowing that
last beyond the taking of bread

and the meadow that aches of
aloneness, aches to drive a soul inward.

This is not to suffer,

the long giving of love
that receives none in return.

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. She has over 675 poems published in journals. She has eleven published books of poetry, seven collections, seven chapbooks;

Monday, September 21, 2015

I Need an Idea--By Lanette Kissel--United States

I Need an Idea                           

I need an idea.
Can you suggest a source,
So that I can plot
this next poem’s course?

I need an idea
so that I can begin…
There’s a new poetry contest
I’d so love to win.

I need inspiration
so that I can start
to write the words
that will come from my heart.

Now, it’s not so depressing
as it may seem.
I have my idea.
I found it in a dream.

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.

Voice--By April Mae M. Berza--Philippines


Verses of paeans twined around my neck
as the arrow of Eros knocked
profound emotions, passion out of the depths,
beyond bounds of men.

Of all the most bewitching chants and spells,
her song is an ethereal flame,
more than the sweetest lays of Philomel
wonderful to behold!

Essence of new being in siren’s song
as the azure cloth of the skies
unveils the rich tapestries of time
the grandeur of heart.

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 The Siren, Poetica, Metric Conversions, Ani, The Manila Times and Contemporary Verse 2, to name a few. 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.

Sunday, September 20, 2015


Jack Horne, this month’s activity editor, challenged writers to share a single rhyming couplet.  What a wonderful response!  Jack asked me to thank everyone that contributed to this creative endeavor.

I would like to thank Jack for selecting these poems and for this artistic presentation for publication. Thank you to all the contributors that participated.  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

My Favourite Food

Wrapped in newspaper, fish and chips...
...makes me drool and lick my lips

By Beth Winchcombe

Wishful Thinking

Oh for a day without pain...
...for a day of sunshine, no rain

By Beth Winchcombe


A football match, no one scored.
I'm going home - I'm bored

By Beth Winchcombe

Flying Scotsman

Thro' thund'rin cloud an' silent glen
This noisy train wi' lonely men

By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan

The Return of the Native

Fading memories and unwashed hills of clothes
Back from vacation to the job that one loaths

By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan


A limitless foray across the cyberspace:
what a bright and bad discovery made by human race.

By Ndaba Sibanda

Mom`s Advice To A Gregarious Son

Her mom told him: if you`re going to entertain
all your countless friends, happiness you won`t sustain.

By Ndaba Sibanda

Choir Practice

Together voices sing in joyous praise,
While angels harmonize and spirits raise.

By Charlene McCutcheon

The Wish

To sleep and have a pleasant dream
And not to waken with a scream

By Shirley Smothers

Learning to Love

in the dark valley of loneliness…
she discovers hope in forgiveness

By Karen O'Leary

Cable Car

Folk queue up to pay their fare
Then fly up into thin air

By Annie Jenkin

Restless Nights

You utter mumbles have the fidgets
Turn pillows and crumple bed sheets

By Annie Jenkin


Holding hands, we drift to dreams and easy sleep,
our touching is a grace of love, this long embrace is ours to keep.

By Richard Carl Subber

First Words

He’s in full voice, it fills the ear,
the sounds of love are what we hear.

By Richard Carl Subber


Like shooting stars they pierce the dark,
as oohs and aahs applaud each spark.

By Emile Pinet

Monarch Butterfly

Golden rays gilding velvet wings,
reveal beauty reserved for kings.

By Emile Pinet

In Memory of Gayle

My dear friend Gayle, how she'll be missed.
By divine light she has been kissed

By Connie Marcum Wong

Working Woman

I wake and watch the news at 4,
at 5 I watch it one time more

By Barbara Tate


He asked the blonde for just one dance
and gave her one more third last chance.

By Barbara Tate

A Rhyming Couplet

What can be said of these two lines?
They're short and sweet and sort of rhyme.

By Robert P. Hansen

Fourth and Goal

A graceful leap and pirouette
and #1 will be upset....

By Robert P. Hansen

Reaching Out

From the grave she reaches out
Touches my heart, emotions shout

By Sara Kendrick


Six days she lingered in agony's strong grip
Was she able to repent and leave on the gospel ship?

By Sara Kendrick

Jesus Is

Jesus is teacher, a leader, a friend.
He has freely given us, love without end.

By Joyce Johnson

Life Everlasting

Call Jesus' name and give up your sin,
Everlasting life in Heaven to win.

By Joyce Johnson


Ah, to relax by a roaring fire,
Dreaming of things to which I aspire!

By Robert L. Hinshaw


Trees that provided welcome shade on summer days,
Are now clad in brilliant robes that just amaze!

By Robert L. Hinshaw


When friends don't give you due respect
Call them up and charge it collect!

By David Fox


The frigid bus on an icy street
full of frozen people I'll never meet.

By Joan McNerney


Winter tends to gives me the blues.
Then I must wear cleats on my shoes.

By Joan McNerney

Humbling Moment

My hair, I do fear,
is too sparse to shear !

By Robert A. Dufresne

Saliva Salvo

A spittoon is a receptacle of a sort,
for people who employ that spitting sport.

By Robert A. Dufresne

Closing Up Camp

Rosy gold smiles across the water at daybreak.
We begin our final morning at the lake.

By Kelley White

Heat Wave

September day, humid, ninety degrees--
At last a gentle breeze breathes through the trees.

By Kelley White

Sky Loves the Earth

Sky’s love for the earth in crimson glow
After a light shower blooms in rainbow.

By Aju Mukhopadhyay

Rude Hunter Shy Victim

Cat’s plan to ambush a bird, violent and rude,
Does not suit the song-bird’s joyous mood.

By Aju Mukhopadhyay


Joy is said to be absence of sorrow
Like a blue moon that might come tomorrow.

By Paul Callus

Wildlife Safari

We drove about in a wagon,
Trying to find a green dragon.

By Elizabeth Howard

Marching Down Elm Street

In the parade, a weeping clown
and a dazzling queen called Mab Brown.

By Elizabeth Howard


I sip my cup of tea
As I look out upon the sea.

By Phyllis Babcock

Fall leaves gather on the ground
Falling gently without a sound.

By Phyllis Babcock


Combines in the wheat field
Bins hold a bountiful yield.

By Phyllis Babcock

Leaves of Fall

The leaves of Autumn catch my eye,
a fluttering rainbow in the sky.

By Mary A. Couch

Fairy Ring

Within the glen a mushroom ring,
here fairies frolic, dance and sing.
By Mary A. Couch


how far I love to run
when out in the evening sun!

By Ralph Stott


When all is said and done
the drummer beats the drum!

By Ralph Stott

Loch Ness

I think I'd have a mighty shock
if Nessie jet-skied on the loch.

By Jack Horne

Juncture--By Richard Carl Subber--United States


Mingled mist, mind.

Loosed vision, an impulse of the eye
    strains to see the lifting dawn,
        the shimmering dance of sunrise.

Surrounding sound peals the senses,
I whirl and stretch to stroke the horizon,
the great broad sky beyond my reach,
I dip one toe and the ocean swallows me entire.

Undeniable, ineffable world outside my world.

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

Poetry in My Life--By David Fox--United States

Poetry in My Life

Poetry to me is like an obsession
I write almost every day
There's nothing like a writing session
An upbeat verse to brighten someone's day
I plan to write 'til I can't any more
Until I am out of poems or my wrist gets too sore
I hope this doesn't happen while I'm still living
For when I'm alive I'd like to be giving
Joy and happiness through my poetry
It's the one thing that keeps me free.

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, September 19, 2015

Oh Ma!--By David J. Kelly--Ireland

Oh Ma!

“Oh ma-ah!”,
the little boy cried,
as tears rolled down
on either side.

“Oh ma-ooh!”,
he called again,
perhaps enduring
mortal pain.

“Oh ma-ay”,
he changed his tone,
but the battle was
already won.

The words dried up,
the sobs held sway;
it’s hard, as a child,
not to get your way.

This poem attempts to recreate the pleading cries made by an Indonesian child (a 4-year old boy) to their mother. I only heard the exchange, but there was such heartbreak in the child’s voice I was moved to reproduce the sounds with as much phonetic accuracy as I could. I never found out why the child was so upset.

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.

A Blessing--By Barbara Siekierski--United States

A Blessing

What beauty surrounds us
as I look out my window.
I marvel at the hand of the Master,
the landscape of trees and flowers.
Mountains stand before me,
reaching up to the heavens.
The wind whispers in my ear,
beckoning me to follow.
The ocean waves lap the sand.
The sunset blazes in red and orange.
It is a promise from God--
He will always be with us.

Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.

Friday, September 18, 2015

A Blessed Autumn Morn--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

A Blessed Autumn Morn

The day is dawning clear and cool, this autumn morn.
The sun bursts o’er the mountains likes it’s been reborn.
And dew drops sparkle brilliantly on crimson leaves,
As all creation yawns beneath Your canopy.

A blessed autumn morn unfurls before my eyes,
As winter birds are drifting through the azure skies.
The squirrels are busy gathering their winter feasts;
As all creation wakens ‘neath Your canopy.

And I would join them all in lifting hands to You,
In praise of all You are, and everything You do;
For You have clothed this world with Your own majesty.
Yes, I am blessed to live beneath Your canopy.

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

River--By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan--India


foggy morning
the river flows from nothing
to nothing

first sun
the ashen-faced river
suddenly gleams

Rorschach blots
what the ripples reveal
and conceal

fighting the currents
to stay in the same place
river fish

silver half-circles
the sea on the night
of the full moon

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.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Andrea Dietrich and Connie Marcum Wong--United States

Blarney Castle

By Andrea Dietrich and Connie Marcum Wong

I walk the path amid the trees
where footsteps of the past have tread,
where ancient stones of Blarney please,
where lips upon the stone are wed.

My roots run deep with Irish blood
and County Cork's where my folk hail.
There Blarney meets where tourists flood
to kiss the stone below the rail.

Enchanting are the turrets here
bedecked in autumn's vines of red,
the little stream that wanders near,
and steps to where I'm being led.

The Blarney stone at last I see,
so bending backwards now to kiss
the stone, my friend is holding me.
That’s not a mark I want to miss!

I have a thought; I now can say
my mouth has touched where many more
have touched upon this stone of gray.
How many thousands came before?

These ancient walls in ruin stand
With greater hist'ry than most know,
Yet still throngs yield to their command
In visitors that come and go.

Inside the marrow of my bones,
I feel a thrill . Will eloquence
Be mine from having kissed this stone?
I feel the chill of reverence!

Fall in the Smokies--By Tom Davis--United States

Fall in the Smokies

Red, yellow, brown, and orange
tumble down the Smokies
and cloak them
in a carnival of colors

Hickory smoke
curls from a rock chimney
like a lazy snake

The crisp October air
burns my nose
waters my eyes

A Marshmallow skewered
on a coat hanger
roasts over an open fire
Its burnt sweet taste
teases my tongue

too soon
all will turn
a majestic white

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.

The Paper Boat--By Aju Mukhopadhyay--India

The Paper Boat

The paper boat
I set adrift
In my childhood
On the flooded road
Of a metropolis
Has just arrived
This rainy evening
At my doorstep
Under full sail
Inviting me
To set out on it
For a nouvelle

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.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Haiku--By Barbara Tate--United States

assisted living
my husband helps
with the dishes

Previously published at Cattails, 2014

cotton candy
taste of a rainbow
on my tongue

Previously published at Frogpond, 2014

inside the shadow
a meadowlark sings
one part harmony

Previously published at Modern Haiku 2014

crop circles
last nights wind
left a message

Previously published at Cattails, 2014

deer crossing
six points on my license

Previously published at Modern Haiku, 2015

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.

A Wish--By Virginia Johe--(In Memory 1911-2011)--United States

It is privilege to share poetry from talented writers that are no longer with us.  It is a reminder that our words live beyond a lifetime.  Virginia Johe is the mother of jani johe webster and the grandmother of Nila Webster, who penned her bio below.  It is Whispers’  first three generation family of writers. What a joy to publish their words!
                                         Sincerely--Karen O’Leary--Editor

A Wish

Though we may be miles apart
you are always here
I see you in the Morning Sun
in the rise and fall of the Ocean Tide
and I'm never alone
Even if the air may hold a chill
and the wind may blow and sigh
a music echoes from when we danced
as I wish for the Touch of Your Hand

Virginia Johe (1911 - 2011) began to write poetry after she lost her beloved husband of over fifty years. She did this with the encouragement of her daughter, Rochester poet jani johe webster. jani, who is my mother, and who taught me the magic of creative writing, saw this great grief consuming her mother's life, and bought my grandmother Virginia an electric typewriter. Virginia set up a work area and began to type out her grief in the form of poetry. With jani's help, she submitted poetry to print journals for many years. This poem was written shortly after her husband's death, in 1980.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Poet of the Month--Beth Winchcombe

Aromatic Autumn

By Beth Winchcombe

Autumn, the season of vibrancy!
Hue's of burnished red and gold!
Bonfires smoking lazily within
the atmosphere -
wafting inside nostrils!

Finally, summer days of warmth -
flow towards autumn -
which in turn -
wind down towards -
dark winter days!

Winter gloom -
befits the room -
short daylight hours -
gardens bereft of many flowers...
...mist rises through distant hills!

SAD Syndrome envelops -
no chance of escape -
until hope springs forth -
for all its worth -
we look forward to SPRING!

the awakening of life!
Snowdrops rise their heads of purity,
...burst forth from stillness of winter,
followed closely,
crocus's, tete-e-tete daffodils...
...wafted by scent of hyacinths.

From the editor--It is a pleasure to announce that Beth Winchcombe is September’s Poet of the Month.  She is a talented, published writer and an encouraging voice at Whispers, regularly sending thoughtful comments which others appreciate.  Beth has collaborated on a number of poems that have been featured at our online journal.  She regularly participates in our community activities. It is a joy to honor Beth this month!

Thoughts on “Aromatic Autumn”--Beth starts her poem with an energy that drew me in right away.  The phrases, instead of full sentences, keep the pace going with a cadence that works well.  The consonants and alliteration help drive the beat.  Her artistic use of imagery and personification give the reader a rich experience.  It is a gift to share Beth’s words with you!

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


Karen O’Leary, Editor

Walking on Jullundur Streets, Northern India--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand

Walking on Jullundur Streets, Northern India

World so strange it's almost unthinkable
I think as I watch the crippled man clothed
in shabby raiment posting a letter
moving his stiff awkward arms joined
to a bent body : twisted bony legs
I muse about his kingdom
the largeness of his radius
necessity to place paper in post-box
I wonder his pondering

Then I perceive the slightest movement
of his eyes that relax somehow if eyes can do that
and yes eyes can do that.
His toothless mouth moves to a smile
lips stretching
as he turns away
he doesn't see my frown

I stroll to the market to buy silver
aware again of life's lottery.

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.

sun...--By Joann Grisetti--United States

stirs the breezes
of sparrows nesting
nearby the house,
crickets chirp,

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.

Monday, September 14, 2015

World in the Hands--By d. n. simmers--Canada

World in the Hands
After Afaa Michael Weaver

Painted glass like a
maimed whale
charting the world
with his sea lifting tail.
Melted souls
that sweat in trickles
of bees and demons
that cruise in dimming light.
The dead leaves are like
young children returning books
to the final depository.
If leaders are paper baby cups
can they be molded?
Or is it not grief that is
writing today.
Just a question.

d. n. simmers is an on line editor with Fine Lines. He is in will be in Poetry Salzburg Review, the Storyteller, Iconoclast, Plainsongs, California Quarterly, Poets Touchstone, Bluestem, and  Nomad's Choir. He is on line in, red river review, new american digital, storyacious, and word press. He is in an newly launched anthology Royal City Poets ( 4) and was in Van Gogh's Ear, Paris France.

Left Wondering--By Scott Thomas Outlar--United States

Left Wondering

There are certain moments in one’s life
that are so good,
so filled with pure happiness,
so entwined in bliss,
so lined up with synchronicity,
so honest,
so true,
so right,
that when they go wrong
every moment after
for the rest of that life
one is left wondering why;
and so, to fill the void,
one spends the next several years
writing poetry…alone…
always wondering…why?

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

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Falling--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan and U.A.E.


These nights quiver
under soundlessness,
hear into its stoniness,
deconstructed whispers
foraging for words that be
torrid; wafting into channels
of unhearing, unsleeping ears,
coming as wispy, white lines
in the sleep of my blank mind,
in a night of frozen starlight
forming rivulets that shape
into a you. I obliterate
wide awake; the spaces
melt into the routine of night -
faltering memories’ embrace.

Previously published in The Word Couch, Issue 2

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

Fuchsia--By Marianne Szlyk--United States


Beneath the monkey puzzle
at the Irish arboretum,
flowers blazed like tiny lights
throughout the forest
and along the path.
Even in the chilly July morning,
under gray skies,
as puffy as a comforter,
these flowers flamed.

This month Marianne Szlyk's second chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, will appear at Flutter Press (print). Her poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Flutter Poetry Journal, Syzygy Poetry Journal, Snapping Twig, Yellow Chair Review, and Long Exposure as well as in the anthologies Our Day of Passing and Raising Lilly Ledbetter. She edits a poetry blog-zine at and hopes that you will consider submitting a poem there.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Packages Yet to be Unpacked--By Vasanthi S. Pillai--India

Packages Yet to be Unpacked

Very often, I look at my face, and smile.
Sometimes for a minute, sometimes for a little longer.
It might be just as soon as I wake up,
it might be after a long tiring day,
sometimes it’s all shabby and low,
sometimes it’s all cheerful and gay,
but every time,
there’s one thing that I notice ,
that I’d have never noticed before.
Because just when I think that I know myself inside out
there is something new, something fresh
a crazy streak of light dangling,
from a source that I never bother to find out.
Because, I am intrigued,
by every package that is yet to be unpacked
or sometimes I wonder, whether it’s my eyes,
that captures the different poses of the same mystery,
because, everything is so new and yet so old
because, I’ve always felt that an alien of my present,
must have been an old friend of my past.

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.

Tanka--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

morning sun
burning away the fog--
in slow motion
the barn's cupola and ridge . . .
at last the horses

autumn breeze
red and yellow leaves
twirling and swirling . . .
a disheveled sparrow’s
hard landing on the porch

relentless heat--
red dust shimmers
over the cracked earth,
a hollow clap of thunder
in the far distance

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.

Friday, September 11, 2015

Misty Moorland--By Jack Horne--England

Misty Moorland

I crossed the moor one murky morning.
It looked like a partially painted page:
grey-white with just a little green grass at the base,
but instead of gradually filling with colour it grew greyer...greyer,
and I was soon wandering in a blank canvas world.

The fog smelt foul like burnt suede in a boiled-dry pan
and sounds of ponies, cattle and sheep were muffled, muted.

As I slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees
it seemed I stood in a circle:
a ring of grass in the greyness was all I could see.
Myths came to mind and I imagined a fairy ring.

Fantasy turned to fear when I realised I was lost...

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.

before jet planes--By Lois Greene Stone--United States

before jet planes

Tomatoes grew upwards
against the backyard’s
brick; my Victory Garden
plants were all under the
soil. Mom watered them.
She taught girlhood fingers
sewing, knitting, embroidery.
Duets were played on the
Baby Grand piano. She
taught me to cook, iron.
We danced in the living
room after dinner. Art
and writing were part
of me; she encouraged
both. Tulips grew
when ration books
became history. I
flourished... because
of my mom’s

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.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Cliff-Fall--By Maureen Sudlow--New Zealand


so much depends

the tenacious roots
gripping red earth

where the land drops
to the sea

so much depending
on so little

holding it all

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.

Autumn Stroll--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

Autumn Stroll

A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet!
My soul is gratified as I meander midst its colorful riot!
Another glorious autumn has burst forth in all its splendor!
The Creator displays a vista no mere artist would dare render!

Gentle zephyrs stir eddies of colorful leaves along the way.
A myriad of wild flowers greet me with their brilliant display.
Trees that a short while ago offered welcome summer shade,
Now lift barren arms as if in prayer sans their leaves of jade.

Not a cloud mars the pristine blue of the Colorado sky.
A skein of geese wing southward sounding their plaintive cry.
Stately Colorado spruce 'neath which deer now gambol and browse,
Will soon have garlands of snow adorning their spreading boughs.

The shrill blare of an elk startles me from my reverie,
As he calls for a mate with his ever sovereign plea.
I pause on a nearby knoll to view yon shimmering lake,
Teeming with graceful ducks, guarded by a magnificent drake!

Foolish poets and artists have strived to portray each season.
They have tried and failed because of a very real reason.
Only He Who is the Master Artist and ruler over all,
Will ordain the beauty of the seasons, especially the exquisite fall!

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, September 9, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Marianne Szlyk--United States and Angelee Deodhar--India

Haibun : Mugunghwa

Haibun text by Marianne Szlyk
Haiku by Angelee Deodhar

One summer, just after she took out the lilac bushes to appease my aunt, my grandmother planted a Rose of Sharon, Hibiscus Syriacus  tree in the front yard. My brother and I called it the Stick of Sharon because it was just a stick—no leaves, no branches, no flowers. The Nashua River flowing through downtown was more colorful, turning red, yellow, or green, depending on the dyes used at the mill that day.

The next summer Gram sold the house and moved out to the country with us.

Every so often I Google her old address. Only two houses remain on Avon Place, a dead-end street less than a mile from downtown and the once-colorful river that will someday be clean enough to swim in. My grandmother’s house is green now—and the Rose of Sharon, almost the size of the other trees, flourishes. And the lilac bushes have grown back. 

patch of sun
a chameleon rises through
autumn leaves

Notes--Hibiscus syriacus the national flower of South Korea is named mugunghwa in Korean. The flower's symbolic significance stems from the Korean word mugung, which means "eternity" or "inexhaustible abundance".

"Rose of Sharon" originally appeared as a prose poem in the anthology Tic-Toc by Kind of a Hurricane Press and in my chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven.

Tumble, Twirl, with the Tidal Swirl--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

Tumble, Twirl, with the Tidal Swirl

Come dance in the waters
that summer has warmed
amidst the froth of the seas
Hear the sighs that echo from tides
as the crescents ripple in breeze

Join the surfers
as they ride in on the waves
balancing bravely so tall
watch as their confidence grows so high
until showing off some fall

It’s one enormous bath
with the plug left in
where people swim around in the quay
and in that huge sink, the ships sail in
with the goods coming home from away

See how the bathers go in for a dip
desperate to cool down in the sun
and children play sports
on the beach with their new friends
running around with such fun

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.

Forgetting You--By Gerald McBreen--United States

Forgetting You

Darling forgetting you is
not something I can do
To love forever
is the vow we made

Sealed in my heart is
a love that never fades
Don’t know why you strayed
Why you went away

Sweetheart I love you
with a passion that burns
Forgetting you is
not something I can do

Turn back the hands on the clock
Reverse the sun dial’s swing
Please baby please
Let’s fall in love all over again

Gerald McBreen is the Coordinator for the Striped Water Poets of Auburn, WA. They host an "open mic" every first Monday of the month. He is Poet Laureate of Pacific, WA. (2009-2015) His most recent award - winning the online Cover Letter Contest for July, 2014 - River Styx. He loves to see members of the Striped Water Poets advance and get published.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Tennis Star On The Horizon--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia

Tennis Star On The Horizon

I think she is set to break records.
Her heart has been broken several
times by the cynical and silly decrees
and labels and ideas of relatives who
confine her world to her disability.

She has shot out of their little box of
confinement and got some tongues
wagging. How could she ever dream
of playing tennis with such weak arms?
How could she dream big, wax great?

She has refused to wallow in self-pity.
Playing tennis and netball -she has
endeared herself to her teachers
and her classmates. A class monitor,
she commands respect on the court.

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".

“His World”--By Marcus Omer--United States

“His World”

With the sound of her voice
his dim blue eyes sparkle,
although the image of her
is only in his mind.

The hour spent with her
is the completeness of his life,
like a small ray of light
on the gray walls he cannot see.

Then she goes back to her world,
and he counts the days
by the number of food trays
that are laid across his chest.

Yet he sees so clearly the young child
holding his hand,
fearful of the spiders and bees
that invade her playhouse.

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.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jan Allison and Darren Watson--United Kingdom

Together Again

By Jan Allison and Darren Watson

Always held onto that dream
And now it has come true
I am back in your life
Our love has pulled us through

We want the world to know
We’re together again
Times have been tough
But we are best friends

I’ve missed your smile
I’ve missed your face
But no one will ever
Take your place

You’re now a part of me
Two hearts became one
Friends forever we'll be
We have so much yet to be done.

We write of a never ending love story
A fantasy life we both live
A celebration of love's glory
Two lovers giving all they can give,

You inspire me to continue
Each day my heart you touch
Once more because of you
Life means oh so much.

Haiku--By Ralph Stott--England

ripe vine
a gecko tastes
the air

from the brewery
the dishevelled rose

Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters.  He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called The Sounding.

The Golden Door--By Caryl Calsyn--United States

The Golden Door

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to be free, the retched refuse of your
teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-
tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
(as it appears on the Statue of Liberty, by Emma Lazarus)

I am an immigrant. You are an immigrant.
Whether coming to America in recent times
or many generations before, we all came from
other lands. Only a few are Native Americans.

There is an indignant underground and above
ground cry that we should allow no more
immigrants to touch this country’s shores.

Advocates propose that man's humanity to man end.

The tired, the poor, and tempest-tossed, if these
advocates have their way, would find the lamp
extinguished and a closed and locked Golden Door.

Caryl Calsyn is a retired Interior Designer with involvements in many areas including history, writing and singing groups. She has had a total of 86 poems published by nine different publications.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Haiku--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India

first light …
wrapped in the sunbeams
the butterfly’s wings

old memories …
over the bare trees
the daylight moon

after the quarrel …
between the thunderclaps
our silence

farewell …
under the frozen lake
tree’s leaves

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.

Starting Over--By Jean Calkins--United States

Starting Over

I used to wake up every morn,
greeting the new day,
thinking all things possible —
begin without delay.
But years have added barriers;
the fire is nearly ash.
My body won't cooperate;
my mind has turned to trash.
Each day we all begin anew
to do the best we can,
but I'm no longer at the front —
I'm now an "also-ran."
I know I am beyond my prime;
excess has turned to lack.
I may be over this life's hill —
but I'll be coming back!
Then I will set priorities
in quite a different way,
my mind exposed to wonder
not cramped by disarray.

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

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Last Lingering Light--By Emile Pinet--Canada

Last Lingering Light

A red sunset bleeds onto a blue sky,
behind branches of a majestic oak.
And shadows ink green leaves in silhouette,
as lonely crickets chirp and bullfrogs croak.

I can hear the crops rippling in the breeze,
and a brook babbling with a southern drawl.
Yet they’re lost in the quiet of night,
as time slows to a perceptible crawl.

As adventurous moths take to the air,
acrobatic bats blindly hunt in flight.
And darkness descends like a velvet curtain,
as day acquiesces to might of night.

A quicksilver moon pools amidst the clouds,
dripping drops of sunlight onto the lake.
And all of heaven begins to glitter,
as billions of sleeping stars now awake.

And dusk snuffs out the last lingering light,
as nature silently whispers, Goodnight.

Emile Pinet was born in a small city, (Bathurst) New Brunswick, Canada, the third eldest of thirteen children, ten girls and three boys. He is the product of a semi-dysfunctional family, brought up by a physically abusive and controlling father, versus a loving, nurturing mother. Many of his poems reflect the uniqueness of nature, which he loves, and his poetic observations of life in general. Emile is 66 years old and has been writing poems since he was about 35.   The ideas started to come to him rapidly one day at work-- he decided to write them down and express himself through his poetry.

The Wind--By John Polselli--United States

The Wind

What moves within the unseen wind, whose form
Is given birth inside the labyrinths
Of  leaves, whose shaking shadows in the storm
An eclipse cast upon the hyacinths
And trembling marigolds against the swarm
Of bellows loosed by tempests on the plinths
Or pedestals of thundersqualls that break
The lightning open, and the sun forsake?

The wind that rolls the moon across the night,
And fans the embers of the silent stars,
Entwines before my sedentary sight,
Then strums the leaves, like strings upon guitars;
Propels the clouds--leviathans of white--
Which gather and consume the flames of Mars,
And tethers all the world to hallowed breath,
Retreating, then advancing toward the arms of death.

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.

Friday, September 4, 2015

Tanka--By Anne Curran--New Zealand

I pick a price tag
from her over-sized sunnies
at a café table ...
what does she see
through the Gucci lens ?

softly I read
tanka from a journal
to my ill mother ...
sunlight sprinkled
across our page

waiting to hear
from the hospital
a third time ...
wondering when
the rain clouds will break

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.

An Ode To Minor Things--By James Diaz--United States

An Ode To Minor Things

How in my city, there are no gifts to bring
no attachments to be lost,
only this: what you have on your person
is what was rescued from the fire
from the off key and eternal song
your name now needs in every induced emergency,
to have or not at all.

James Diaz lives in Upstate New York. His poems and stories can be found in Collective Exile, Pismire, Ditch and Cheap Pop Lit.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Graceful Elegance--By Christine Tate--United States

Graceful Elegance

God brushed her soft petals
with the stroke of His hand...
her delicate features are
the fairest in the land.

Some are deep scarlet,
others purest white...
whatever shade you prefer
she is a sheer delight!

Her graceful elegance
evokes dreams of romance...
you cannot pass her by
without a second glance.

God's flowers are breathtaking,
as lovely as can be,
but the most beautiful of all
is still a ROSE to me!

Christine Tate has been writing since 1994. She's the mother of  3 sons and has 8 grandchildren. She was widowed in 2007 and met her husband Artie, a widower with 6 children & 12 grandchildren, in a nursing facility where their mothers resided. They've been happily married 4 1/2 years. They describe their meeting as "God's divine appt." because of their faith, and the fact that they swore they'd never marry again.

Return of Lost Time--By Gert W. Knop--Germany

Rückkehr der verlorenen Zeit--German

Rückkehr der verlorenen Zeit,
in dieser Nebelnacht
wie Blitze,
verstreute Lichter.
alter Träume,
Gedanken im Abseits,
Irrlichter im Wechsel.
Wie trockenes Wiesengras,
diese Stille

Return of Lost Time--English

Return of lost time,
in this foggy night
like lightning,
scattered lights.
of old dreams,
thoughts offside
ghost lights alternate.
Like dry meadow grass,
this silence

Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Our oak gone on--By ayaz daryl nielsen--United States

Our oak gone on

Around it we sing a huge song
for a loved one now gone on
Sunlight sifts through leafless
branches to the healthy sapling
‘tween aster and gnarled roots,
this covenant of reverence
awaiting our great grand-kin.

ayaz daryl nielsen, who has been a hospice nurse and roughneck (as on oil rigs), lives in Longmont, Colorado. He is editor of bear creek haiku (26+ years/127+ issues) and an award-winning poet with hundreds of poems published worldwide. His poetry collection haiku tumbleweeds still tumbling is at, and! he is online - bear creek haiku poetry, poems and information.

The Second Innings--By Pijush Kanti Deb--India

The Second Innings

Before it’s too late
and the Sun sets in the lap
of a never ending barren night
a line of control is ought to be drawn
around the dogmatic sons and daughters
and their tearful parents
and used as a brake in their blind race
trampling the hopeful hearts of their parents
and a reverberating summon is ought to be shouted
for bringing them back
to listen to the prohibitory warnings
of the talking birds and clouds
with whom they fly their mad kites
and of the whispering moon and the stars
beneath whom they knit their selfish dreams
and thus they are to be compelled
to feel their parents in them
playing the second innings
to make their previous losses and deficiencies up
and lives satisfied with flying colors.

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.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

As Midnight Moon Shines Upon Her Eyes--By Robert Lindley--United States

As Midnight Moon Shines Upon Her Eyes

In a dream world where fantasies abound
shall be where my princess is found.
Wrapped in her vision an angelic choir
cherubs singing her heart's desire.

Her voice soothes every hearing soul
spreading happiness her daily goal
As midnight moon shines upon her eyes
a thought comes to me so very wise.

Surely she could come to me down here
easing my hurt, wash away my fear.
A soft gentle touch to my spirit renew
help me find a love any man is due.

In a dream world such fantasies exist
your heart's desire, anything on your list.

Robert Lindley is poet from the Southern USA. He has been writing poetry since 1969. Robert writes with the intent to offer others words to enjoy and with high hopes he may inspire and brighten lives in some way.

Beacon of Light--By Don Beukes--United Kingdom

Beacon of Light

As shadows dance in the night,
I pray for a light to shine bright,
Words to guide and protect me,
You have a gift can’t you see?
Whispers cut in the dark,
Doubts creep in to cut and tear,
Words will guide and protect me,
You have a gift won’t you see?
Misguided intentions
become inventions
of the mind, heart and soul,
Must believe words can guide
and protect me,
You are the gift,
wish all would see,
Beacon of light,
shining bright…

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.



        Ajise Vincent--Nigeria
        Edilson Afonso Ferreira--Brazil 
        Subilaga Emmie Mulaga Jana--Malawi
        Taiwo Adetimole--Nigeria
        Sanju Clement--India
Please welcome them to our community.  We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Brazil, Canada, Canary Islands, Costa Rica, England, France, Germany, India, Ireland, Israel, Malawi, Malta, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Portugal, Romania, Saudi Arabia, Scotland, Singapore, Tunisia, Turkey, U.A.E., United Kingdom, United States and Wales.  I look forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way.                                                                                 -Sincerely,  Karen

We have a world wide audience. If you are currently reading Whispers, please consider submitting a poem for consideration. You may contact Karen at for guidelines. Thank you.

Note--Ads due for October column by September 25


Beth Winchcombe announces her novel, For LOVE of Maria: A compelling love story. This is currently available in paperback on, also priced at £7-99p. Kindle version to download for just £2-00p. Published by Diadem Books, Author name Beth Richards.

Ron Larson released a book of poetry called Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales Outlined in Rhyme. More information regarding the book is available from or

Russell Sivey has published a poetry book called Halloween Horrors II. This book can be purchased at, search Halloween Horrors II. Please be sure you select the Halloween Horrors II as that one is the correct book.

Robert P. Hansen's forthcoming novel Angst (Book 4 of the Angus the Mage fantasy series) will become available in June or early July. In anticipation of this event, he has made the first book of the series free as an eBook through several retailers. For more on this and his other books, visit his blog at:

Jack Horne announces the release of his second novel, Cyber Vamps: a paranormal-fantasy romance. This book is currently available from, price $3.99

John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill.  To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to  The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.

Paul Callus published his first ebook of poetry called Meander in December 2014. It is a collection of 86 poems and songs which should appeal to those who read poetry for pleasure and relaxation. It is available at Amazon.

Pijush Kanti Deb released a poetry collection, Beneath the Shadow of a White Pigeon,
published by The Hollow Publishing. More information about the book is available at,

Marianne Szlyk has released a new chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia Looking Up at Trees at Heaven, through Kind of a Hurricane Press' Barometric Pressures Authors Series. You may download the chapbook for free at this site: Thank you.

Celine Rose Mariotti has a new mystery/detective book called Minister’s Shoes in which Rev. Castle helps Sada Sampson find her husband and he also proves that Trevor is innocent of killing Cartwright. The story involves casino deals, infidelity, gambling and some big town gossips who are knee deep in the casino deals.  Price of book is: $11.00. If you live in CT, sales tax is 6.35 so price would be $11.70.  Postage is $2.70.  You can order from Amazon or you can order from me:

Maureen Sudlow has a poetry book, Antipodes, was released in early December. More information available on her website

Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at

Karen O’Leary released Whispers, her first book of poetry in 2011, published by APF Publisher. It has been getting good reviews and is available at online at (Search Whispers under Karen O'Leary) or contact Karen at


Please consider supporting The Jokester and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage.  Thank you for considering this.                                    


Maurice J. Reynolds would like to announce that To God be the Glory! Publications and Creative Inspirations are undergoing some new and exciting changes. At this time, Creative Inspirations is accepting poetry submissions. For more information and guidelines, go to:, or write to: To God be the Glory Publications, Attn: Creative Inspirations Guidelines, P.O. Box 19051, Kalamazoo, MI 49019.

ayaz daryl nielsen's print publication bear creek haiku is always open for postal submissions, mail poetry to bear creek haiku, PO Box 596, Longmont, CO 80502, USA, 11 lines and less, include SASE. Can be contacted at, blog site is

Tom Davis, publisher of Old Mountain Press, invites all to review his eBook site (Kindle and NOOK) where numerous Old Mountain Press Anthologies of poetry and prose are listed see: Self-publish an electronic book e-book with Old Mountain Press. Visit Old Mountain Press' eBook site at

Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762.

David Fox is seeking family-friendly poems for his magazine, The Poet's Art. Rates for the publication are $7 an issue or $25 for a 4 issue subscription. Checks should be made to cash.  Foreign contributors should pay $10 an issue or $35 for a subscription by international money order or American cash only.  Send submissions and  money for subscriptions to David Fox,171 Silverleaf Lane, Islandia, NY 11749 USA.

Whispers is always looking for new writers to join our community.  Please send family friendly poems 20 lines or less to  Complete guidelines posted at the end of each month.  Thank you to everyone who has already contributed to the site.

Ads are placed by the underlined names.  Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.