Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Editor's Thoughts--With Words...--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

As we close another month, I am overwhelmed by the support and encouragement of each and every one of you.  We have stretched across borders with contributors from Albania, Australia, Botswana, Brazil, Canada, Canary Islands, Costa Rica, England, France, Germany, Ghana, India, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Malawi, Malta, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Portugal, Romania, Saudi Arabia, Scotland, Singapore, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Sweden, Tunisia, Turkey, Ukraine, U.A.E., United Kingdom, United States, Wales and Zimbabwe.

It is the gift of words that inspires others, lifts people up at a difficult time and fosters a greater awareness of the challenges that may seem insurmountable. The easy and often pat answer is “I can’t change that.”  Not many of us have a world stage but we can touch lives and MAKE A DIFFERENCE!! 

With Words…

pour from our hearts,
shaping our lives' essence…
a journey together in faith
and hope

I’m so proud of you.  Thank you for being the rainbows in today.

Many blessings,

Karen O’Leary
Whsipers’ Editor

Alice--By Laurie Nguyen (Robin Goodfellow)--United States


Lovely whispers embrace soft
rays of sunlight. Quiet, playful
cries come through the sounds
as lullabies sooth children's
fragile fingers. Gripping stems and
leaves, they flew by, strands of
honeydew glistening upon the
afternoon light, paper airplanes
bashfully lingering near. Scents
of glue and cookies sweep
through the air, kissing lightly 
the sweet scent of sugar and tea 
and anything else that would 
have adults



Laurie Nguyen (Robin Goodfellow) is a student at the University of North Texas. She first became interested in writing when she was three, scribbling all over her parents' walls and imagining herself in old fairytales while walking in her father's garden. Since then, she has published poems in the online magazine, Nature Writing, as well as the Haiku Journal and the Healing Poetry

Island Adventure--By Alice Couch--United States

Island Adventure

Mom took mercy on us
on our island adventure.
We had a basket of food,
and language had no censure.

Brother and I tramped through woods,
and discovered an orphaned cat.
Mom said, “No,”
and that was that.

Dad said, “It was just as well,
and we should stop our crying.”
The vet took it to the zoo.
It was a mountain lion.

Alice Couch is a retired nurse’s aide who spends her days playing with her dogs, Nibby and Squeakie, while writing poetry for her three children, four grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, and four great great-grandchildren.  One of her stories published in Living with Children. She studied yoga and Buddhism and has a gift for blending the rational approach of the Western mind with the deep spiritual wisdom of the east in her poetry. She was named Noblesville’s Senior Poet Laureate in 2012.

one candle...By Mary A. Couch--United States

one candle is lit
new dawn's flame ignites others
transition begins

Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.

Monday, January 30, 2017

What I Know Now--By Gary Glauber--United States

What I Know Now

Respect to the first grade boys
who I led inauspiciously
with proud false knowledge
to an unknown upstairs lavatory.
The pink walls seemed a trap
which corroded my confidence;
the missing urinals heightened
the intensity of the moment.
It took every ounce I could muster
to hurry us along, sweating
the milliseconds of our visit,
hoping I’d never be found out.

Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist.  His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) is available through Amazon, as is a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press). His next collection, Worth the Candle, is forthcoming from Five Oaks Press.

Haiku--By Martha Magenta--England

waxing gibbous
the rhythm of the baby's

spring breeze
a maple stretches
to catch a kite

empty beer cans
the conversation that seemed
so important

we save and shelter 
fallen apples

river by night
bathing in the moon
a silver bass

Martha Magenta lives in England, UK. Her poetry has appeared in The Reverie Journal, Whispers and Beaux Cooper; her haiku and senryu have been published in online journals, including Modern Haiku, Haiku Presence, and Chrysanthemum. She is owner of POETS poetry community on G+.  https://marthamagenta.wordpress.com/      

The Fog--By Joyce I. Johnson--United States

The Fog

The fog has diminished the daybreak.
I'm enveloped in curtains of gray.
The sunshine trying to,
Has not broken through
The drab dreariness of the day.

Some of my days have had sorrow
When all sunshine's taken away.
I know dark despair,
Yet the sun is still there,
To turn January to May.

Sorrow or fog all around us,
Can, but it needn't stay.
If we let the light in,
The sunshine can win
And brighten the gloomiest day.

Joyce I. Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 98th birthday in July of 2016.

His Life--By Yancy Lee Dalton--United States

His Life

Uncle Melvin & I, cattle roundup nights
Checkers on squares of black & whites
Enjoyed challenge of wit against rules
Competition of friendly duels

Learning from each other’s skills & moves
Conversations on subjects we'd choose
Uncle Melvin treated everyone very Kind
Boosting confidence, know how & mind

Understanding Melvin Helped me see
In checker board of life, he moved free 
As health problems soiled his life style
Even pain, couldn't take his smile

He battled for life with courage so great
Kindness to all, he would not forsake
I share this that we might grow
No matter, life phase, we Know 

We will win, even if we lose life, in toil
Lifting others up, in kindness recoil
Pondering ourselves without regret
The Checker board of life mind set

Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.

Friday, January 27, 2017

Daughter Moving--By Peggy Dugan French--United States

Daughter Moving

The days when we would happily bounce around town together are long gone.  Now we get brief snippets of time we gobble up like hungry beasts.  Then we return to the rhythm of long-distance phone calls and occasional four-day visits in whatever town you call home.  We manage to keep our bond tight knowing we are both where we need to be, doing what we need to be doing.  But today, packing up the car once again, I find myself aching for some of those carefree moments of youth we once shared. I would love to hear the clip-clop of plastic heels on the kitchen floor just one more time and catch a glimpse of days long past when we strode side by side effortlessly, smiles broad and free.

last dish in the cupboard
dreaded farewell upon us
smell of fresh paint in every corner

Peggy Dugan French is a California girl with Minnesota roots. She has enjoyed being the editor of Shemom since 1997. She has worn many hats over the years, but being a Mom has been one of her greatest adventures; she’s had the pleasure of sharing that journey with her best friend.

Isolde - Your Gifts to Me--By Terry O’Leary--France

Isolde - Your Gifts to Me

You give to me that streak of dawn which shies away the shrouds,
A flight upon a feather's back beneath the breath of clouds,
An image of an elfin boy found prancing through the crowds

You lead me by the hand through nights into the waking days,
Through swinging gates in mirrored walls and through the midnight haze,
Through castles built in sandbox realms in children’s yesterdays

You give to me a silver flute, a whistle on a chain,
A drummer boy with dancing feet, a sugar candy cane,
A window flushed of foolish tears with pitter-patter rain

You whisk me from a valley deep wherein a black wind blows,
And tracks upon the empty sands are hidden by the snows,
And share with me your secret thoughts and steal away my woes

You give to me a penny plain to cast upon a dream,
A falling star upon the sky, a bridge across a stream,
A teddy bear with tattered ears and berries dipped in cream
You give to me in winter’s chill your ragged scarf of thread,
A blazing ball of candle wax, a fire dripping red
Embracing me (your rhyming clown with yearning arms outspread)
In flames of love forevermore with nothing left unsaid

Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity..." 

Terese *--By Molly Moore--United States

Terese *

Traversing the streets with carts piled high
  in the neighborhoods of Puget Sound
Evading the notice of passersby
  with possessions stacked all around
Reason might say she's a hopeless case,
  homeless and out of her mind
Except for those whose luck it has been
  to discover this jewel of a find.
Serenely content in her wandering life,
  sharply contrasting the madness of today
Evincing the answer to who's more sane,
  Terese or society, will be hard to say.

* Terese (pronounced Ta REZ) is a quiet, dignified, wandering homeless lady. My neighbor and I have grown quite fond of her sweet, peaceful manner, reporting "Terese sightings" to each other so we can converse with her and offer her a hot drink or food.

Claiming Hawaii as her true home, Molly Moore is currently residing in Seattle, Washington, pursuing her nursing. Perhaps her previous career as an international flight attendant is what launched Molly’s "flights of fancy" into poetry. A love of rhythm and rhyme sparks her creative side, especially while outdoors in nature.

Ringing Phone--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal

Ringing Phone

It is a perfectly quiet winter day I listen to distant noise
a dog barks -can`t avoid that in Algarve- smoke from chimneys
goes straight up before disbursing and disappearing.
A few clouds drifts about like wedding dresses of the unmarried
the sun is a golden coin captain Hook would kill for.
I smell grilled sardines, the opening and closing of doors and
a cat sits on a wall watching me.

I sternly tell myself to go for a walk before it gets afternoon and
cold again, but I blithely ignore the voice. I feel so wonderfully
lazy. I drift on a cloud of slothful bliss then the phone rings when
I answer a voice tells me it was a wrong number.

Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

From Our Activity Editor--Michael Escoubas

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

When Karen invited me to come on board as Whispers’ Activity Editor, last August, I was excited to become more deeply involved with this excellent on-line journal. The more I came to know Karen and meet via poetry so many of our contributors from around the globe the more convinced I became that I had made the right decision. Like bread and wine you have nourished my love of poetry and deepened my appreciation for the gift of words. Any day that I can read your poems is a good day.

Karen and I are excited about the future of Whispers. We are only weeks away from logging 300,000 page views. Next January 15 will mark five years of publishing poets new to the craft as well as those at varying levels of experience. Along the way, we have become a family. We partake together building and nourishing Whispers.

May you continue enjoying the pleasures of poetry as the muse living in you gives voice and image to lines crying for habitation. Have fun with your poetry!

Blessings and best wishes my friends,

Michael Escoubas, Whispers’ Activity Editor

Blank Canvas--By Blanca Alicia Garza--United States

Blank Canvas

Take my skin as a blank 
canvas and write your
dreams and hidden desires, 
let your heart guide your hand.
Write where no one has
been tempted to write yet.
Run your fingers, touch my skin
and feel my wounds, my pain,
venture there once more.
Make your mark upon my soul;
and I will stay by you forever.

Blanca Alicia Garza is from Las Vegas, Nevada. She is a nature and animal lover, and enjoys spending time writing. Some of her poems are published in the Poetry Anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, now available at Amazon.com. Blanca's published work can be viewed at The Poet Community, Whispers, The Winamop Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, Tuck Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review as well as Birdsong Anthology 2016, Vol 1.

The Little White Flowers--By G. Louis Heath--United States

The Little White Flowers

Pine trees whisper to each other across a
meadow of tiny, white, star-shaped flowers,

gently bending in the breeze. Troops mass;
phalanxes face each other, their weapons

at the ready. They trounce the flowers into
turbid slush, to draw lines with young blood.

(There are more artistic ways to draw bright
lines, but we never taught them.)  A new

government has sprouted in the blood bled
by these men. We today set their tombstones

tall in eternal marble to honor their blood
sacrifice, decanted on this field of glory. We

shall never forget these brave men, whose names
begin from A to Z, and their ultimate sacrifice.

Let us not forget, on this grassy mall this glorious
bright, blue spring day, how much we owe them.

The green lives. The life force still reigns supreme.
And the blood in this soil is crying in the whispering

pines, bring back to us the little, white flowers. Bring
back those little, white flowers, swaying in the breeze.

G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. His books include Long Dark River Casino, and Redbird Prof: Poems Of A Normal U, 1969-1981. He has published poems in a wide array of journals.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

soul of the earth--By jani johe webster--(In Memory-May 2013)--United States

soul of the earth

words measured in time
but also time measured
by words
as the autumn leaf
becomes its first snowflake
the first bud of spring
is summer's flower

the new year of january first
is suddenly the old year
of the last day of december

something has come    has gone
for as we touch our first
blade of grass
we also touch our shining star
    of     eternity

My beloved Mother's poetry always carried a sense of timelessness and a longing for, and honoring of, eternity.  She was able to see the soul of all things, and will always be one of my great teachers.                                    ~~Nila J. Webster~~

Haibun; The Kill List--By Angelee Deodhar--India

Haibun; The Kill List

Giraffes are gentle giants of savanahs and are preyed upon by lions, leopards, hyenas, wild dogs and now even wilder human beings.

As they killed the eighteen month old giraffe, Marius, Copenhagen zoo officials said euthanizing the animal was the last solution because his genes were not needed for breeding and no other accredited zoo in Europe was willing to take him...could no other zoo in the entire world take him? Why did they let Marius live for eighteen months...why didn’t they kill it at birth?

Like they do the girl child in India...

                                              this silence-
                                        your touch so different 
                                          after betraying another

(Previously published in bottlerockets in 2014)

Angelee Deodhar, is an eye surgeon turned haiku poet, translator, and artist from India.  She has translated six books of haiku from English to Hindi. She has no personal website or blog. "Hot on the heels of her 2014 release of a collection of poetic prose containing haiku, Deodhar celebrates having edited Journeys 2015, an Anthology of International Haibun, highlighting authors in 15 different countries." - David McMurray, Editor, Asahi Haikuist Network, Japan

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

The Year of No Leaves--By Joan Leotta--United States

The Year of No Leaves

Mom called me. Frantic.
"My trees changed from green to
empty in just one day!"
"Mom," I argued, "perhaps the wind
blew away the leaves."
She insisted, "Not my trees."
I visited. Her sycamore was full of
splotchy yellows, green and brown leaves.
Her maple was a glorious torch of reds.
When Mom awoke she
refused to look out the window.
"The trees are bare."
Thinking her eyesight faulty,
I tried to take her outside
to see, even touch the colored leaves.
She refused, "I know those limbs are bare!"
It was then I realized that indeed
her trees were bereft of foliage,
her mind stripped of memory,
leaving all limbs bare.

(Previously Published, Righter Quarterly, Autumn Issue 2016)

Joan Leotta has been playing with words on page and stage since childhood. You can find her on the beach or online atwww.joanleotta.wordpress.com and Joan Leotta, Author and Story Performer on Facebook.  Her poetry and essays appear or are forthcoming in Gnarled OakRed WolfA Quiet Courage, A-3 Review, Hobart Literary ReviewSilver Birch, Postcard Poems and Prose among others Her first poetry chapbook, Languid Lusciousness with Lemon, will be out in March 2017 from Finishing Line. 

On Father’s 69th Birthday--By Sanjeev Sethi--India

On Father’s 69th Birthday
    (In his hospital room)

Everyone has a father  —
but only some fathers
sow the seed
for their sons
to break into song.

Historians chronicle
the cave-in of civilizations.
I can see your decline —
see it with precision and pain.

Father, you want to hold
the space you held.
But, is it my fault,
that your hands
now need me?

Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three well-received books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). His poems are in venues around the world including 3:AM Magazine, The Tower Journal, Peacock Journal, Red Fez, Soul-Lit, Poetry Pacific, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India. 

Not Just a Dress--By Caryl Calsyn--United States

Not Just a Dress

Mother and I walked by the window
of a store named Jack and Jill.

Never in all my six years
had I seen a prettier dress—
white eyelet, ruffles and lace.

I didn’t ask if I could have it,
because I knew times were hard.

A few days later, to my amazement,
my mother gave me that adored dress.

For some unknown reason she could
not say she loved me or give me a hug.

But my white eyelet dress had love,
in invisible letters, written all over it.

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.

Monday, January 23, 2017

My Hand of Dark Joy--By Ojo Taiye--Nigeria

My Hand of Dark Joy

i am the broken river
in a man’s body

on my nape is a stain
my father is the stain

i wear it loudly
and each time mama

bites her tongue for rain
i singe for salvation

from this fakir
whose grin desalts my soul

Ojo Taiye is a young Nigerian who uses poetry as a handy tool to hide his frustration with the society. He loves books and Anime in that order.

New Year--By Barbara Robinette--United States

New Year

Beloved November waves goodbye
as she drifts around the bend.

Deep December ponders many meanings
as a cedar is dug up, put into a pot filled with earth
and brought into the house.  Its branches
are decorated with lavender
and dark purple ribbons and bows.

Then January strides in as a queen arrayed in gold
atop her steed.  Bells ring.  Fireworks explode
as she descends from her horse
and bows to us watching the parade.

Her humility astounds. 
We wonder what the new year will bring.

Barbara Robinette is the author of two books of poems, Plain and Sea Leafs By Moon.  A third book is forthcoming. Several of her poems have appeared in print and on-line.  She has written poems, off and on, since President Kennedy’s assassination in 1963 when someone read “Oh Captain, My Captain” during the funeral procession.  She thinks poetry is for everyday, working people and keeps that audience in mind when writing her poems.

Dying--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi


One person dies
another is born
we keep on living
dying as we live
and life goes on gyrating
futility of life remains
chumps continue to be our heroes
sages stay as our foot soldiers
and what? Life goes on…

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 www.openroadreview.in. 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.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Nature’s Treasures--By John W. (Bill) Williams--United States

Nature’s Treasures

Nature and I are inseparable
We are constantly in conversation
with each other.
I have a respectful admiration for it;
I know its beauty quite well.
What’s so refreshing is
That it’s still a place
Wild at heart….
When I walk in the woods or climb mountains
There is always something different about Nature’s
Unspeakable grace;
The state of God’s unique brushwork…
I celebrate God’s world of nature:
I am humbled by its splendor and serenity,
so long a part of me.

(Part of John’s new chapbook called A Cup of Warm Words)

John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator.  He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry.  He has been published in a variety of venues.

Friday, January 20, 2017


Dear Whispers’ Family,

The January writing activity has been ENGAGING THE ETHEREE. Thank you to all who submitted poems. These wonderful poems showcase the form’s range and potential for poetic expression. Enjoy these Engaging Etherees.

Michael Escoubas, Whispers’ Activity Editor

An Apple a Day

has begun
in the big tree
in our back garden –
male blackbird keeps lookout
while female constructs the nest:
twigs, grass & beakfuls of compost.
By second day, task is accomplished.
Birds slip out of sight. I put out apples…

Mary Gunn, Ireland

Outside My Window

of flowers,
zinnias and
marigolds with weeds,
pleases my earth beyond
words though wilting pumpkin vines
hang from the fence.  Hope rises for
little pumpkins soon to grace our rooms
among vased zinnias and marigolds.

Barbara Robinette, United States

Snow Kittens

and white
balls of fur
frolic in snow
beneath ice-blue sky,
leave paw-prints around oak
before racing up brown bark
scattering snow from scraggly limbs
upon squirrel searching for acorns
amid frigid crystalline decked landscape.

Mary A. Couch, United States


efforts to fix and
finally finish the
great American novel
have fizzled and foundered but for
inspiration blazing, inflaming
joy! Love for the bloody art of writing.

Candace Armstrong, United States

The Nature of Things

on wave
of cedar
waxwings sweep in
with their chattering,  
strip the fruits and berries
from mistletoe and holly,
dogwood, ash, and serviceberry. 
Deer follow, gleaning the detritus,
storing up body fat for winter’s cold

Elizabeth Howard, United States

Sixes and Sevens

this New Year:
the world with its
'one-second wobble',
and the uncertainty......
until I hear the sound of
the old farrier's steely caps,
coupling with the steadying of the
colt's clattering feet, as he snorts the air.

Ralph Stott, United Kingdom

Reading Late at Night

in night light
feeling fearful
when knock on the door
disturbs my reverie
I do not know what to do
I open the door to see god
he is smiling and wants to come in
I fall in awe at this majestic sight

Isha Wagner, New Zealand

The Eddystone Lighthouse(s)

lighthouse is
on a large rock,
its home for many
years. I often wonder
if it thinks of retirement
as it sees its idle brother 
on the land.(Or if that retired light 
dreams of returning to active duty).

Jack Horne, England

Homespun Art

By Jack Frost
On window panes
Forms crystal feathers
That impregnate the glass
With stylistic curls and swirls
Turning a common frosty scene
Sculpted by winter's artistic hand
Into a masterpiece of homespun art.

Emile Pinet, Canada


fell last
night until
the Christmas lights
were covered, glowing
through a billion tiny
crystals. Imagine, each flake
unique and discrete, but piling
softly upon each other they’ve made
a new world, cool, refreshed, lit from within.

Kelley White, United States


with toast
Butter and
fresh marmalade
Start of a new day
My cat in her basket
is pleasantly purring, as
my coffeepot softly simmers
A homely and snug togetherness
celebrating the sun's awakening 

Inge Wesdijk (Daginne Aignend), Netherlands


light lifts
my eyes to
a raised glass dome.
Its glittering gift,
carefully wrapped in love:
a promise of hope and joy,
of a second-chance awaiting,
a belief for what is possible
to be gifted by family and friends.

Annie Jenkin, England

What I Wrote

with words so
I'm writing this
form, an etheree,
harder than people think
since the line that follows the
previous one is longer than
another syllable so forgive
this my first attempt at an etheree.

David Fox, United States


make me
so confused
with all your talk.
Millennials and
Generation Xers:
I feel so faint and dizzy
counting up so many numbers.
Do I need computer services
to have the pleasure of your acquaintance?

Joan McNerney, United States


white tissues
pieces of lint
silver gum wrapper
ten cents worth of nickels
some half chewed pieces of gum
card for a dentist appointment....
just before you put it on again
look in the pockets of your winter coat

Pat Geyer, United States


or no.
Either way,
a choice is made.
The first of many,
each one a domino
precariously perched in
front of the next, waiting to be
nudged, waiting to collapse from the weight
of the decisions leading up to it.

Robert P. Hansen, United States


Want to
Live each day
Each moment now
But how I struggle
To simply walk daily
Oh Lord, show me how to live
Teach me to let go of myself
Fall into your arms and sing loudly
Breathing deeply and fully in your love

Jim Teeters, United States


Sun rises
The birds chirping
Flowers spread petals
Warmth begins to chase dew
A horizon filled with light
Signals the coming of new days
Replacing the glow of evening's moon
The steady rotation of Mother Earth

Langley Shazor, United States

Winter Jester

over cars
like ocean waves
leaving foam in wake
until all is white bumps
silent beneath cold blanket.
Silent as snow deepens to flat
landscape quiet in hibernation;
sun plays April Fool’s in January.

Diane Webster, United States

The Lone Oak

of triplets
planted for shade,
a century old…
Boughs stretch to compensate
the loss.  And when the wind howls,
my friend’s branches rustle alone.
As the rain pours, I pray he will bear
the weight…so our lonely souls aren’t alone.

Karen O'Leary, United States

Peace at Whitefish River*

blue river
bordered by snow
banks and crusted pines,
seems to know the needs of
buck and doe sheltered in snow,
pensive of the hunter’s tramping
boot. The Whitefish whispers in soft tones,
danger nears, hold still, till they stop and go.

*The Whitefish River is located in northwest Montana.

Michael Escoubas, United States


starts small
a pleasant 
interest, but 
then, before you know 
it, she then becomes your
passion, and you would move the 
heavens and earth just to please her 
and think nothing of it, for she is 
the one for whom sun, moon and stars orbit.

David W. Palmer, United States