Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Editor's Thoughts--sand slips...--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

It is such a blessing to work with so many talented writers that are fostering fellowship.  As we reach out with understanding and kindness, our many voices share one song.  That song is about uplifting others, sharing different ideas, and believing in the whole of our Whispers’ journey.

Many writers in our poetry community are dealing challenges.  My writing family is a haven for me. Thank you for lifting others up with your encouragement and support.

sand slips
through my fingers…
a handshake
of a friend
lessens the loss

So today, I ask you to pray for all those that hurting in one way or another.  We may not be able to change the world, but we can help those in our corner of the world—our family and friends, those we meet in or day to day lives, and those we touch with our words.  It all starts with one candle. Sharing our light offers others the gift of hope.

Blessings always,

Karen O’Leary
Your Whispers’ Editor

Early--By Greg Gregory--United States


A strip of sun
spills onto the coffee table,
splitting it into two dark halves.
One half hold this morning’s paper
One half is empty, expectant,
and still hopeful.

Greg Gregory is retired, but worked in educational media for over 30 years.  His first love has always been language and the printed word.  He has been published in the US, Canada, and England in publications including California Quarterly, Windsor ReviewPoetry Nottingham, and The Aurorean

Lulled to Quietness--By Phyllis Babcock--Canada

Lulled to Quietness

Dawn peeks and kisses the morning sun
clouds hang suspended from heaven
the wind takes a breath and gently blows
sunlight dances creating silhouettes
as shadows slowly meander by
emerald leaves covered with cool mist
awaken to the amber rays
high tide with its foaming jealousy
swoops across the weeping shores
pounding waves roll in hypnotic beats
white sand calms and dries the tears
all lulled into serenity.

Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.

The Family Fog--By Barbara Tate--United States

The Family Fog

...I'm on the down side of midnight
with a statute of limitations looming,
too little, too late.

Living on the drama inside my head
knowing stars still shine at noon
and wondering why the breeze loses its way,
the day needs a pause, a break before
the curtains close.

Cuddling phantom pain
retreating to a fetal position
remembering what I try to forget,
a solitary vigil lives in the vortex
sucking reality gone
till gone is all I have.

In the corner of yesterday's memories
cherishing the quiet lonesome
with that statute of limitations looming,
I lose myself in the family fog
and ask "why" before I forget to remember.

Barbara Tate is a member of the Gulf Coast Writers Assoc., the Haiku Society of America and the United Haiku & Tanka Society.  She has been published in Santa Fe Literary Review, Storyteller Magazine, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Contemporary Haibun Online, Bear Creek Haiku, the Heron's Nest & Cattails, among others.  She has been included in several anthologies, most recently Robert Epstein's animal rights anthology Every Chicken, Cow, Fish and Frog.  She currently resides in Winchester, TN.

old maple...--By Robert P. Hansen--United States

old maple
leaning over
the river bank

in its shadow

lines dangling
from its branches

Robert P. Hansen thanks those of you who nominated his science fiction novel Please Don’t Eat the Penguins on Kindle Scout. Unfortunately, they decided not to publish it so he has done so himself. He has also published the first book of his new series, Aftermath, which is a sequel to his Angus the Mage fantasy series. For links to online retailers, visit his blog at: rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com   

Monday, February 27, 2017

A Blind Man--By Steve Tabb--United States

A Blind Man

A blind man walks each summer morning
down the sidewalk in front of his home;
one long block, then two, a mile he goes.

In cadence with his dog, one hand on the
worn leash and one on his long
white cane, each as close as grains of salt.

They walk with purpose, a goal in mind;
their steps memorized like words of
scripture, organized, in sequence.

In their quest, his cane marks their mission,
a coded message he and his dog know:
tap, tap, tap ... I am, I aim to be.

Steve Tabb is a retired CPA living in Boise, Idaho.  He tutors English as a second language for the Learning Lab, a nonprofit education center for low-income families from over 40 countries of origin.

No Song Unsung--By Valerie Macon--United States

No Song Unsung

We float in the backyard pool and sing,
my sister and I draped over neon blue
noodles, our mother, aged ninety three,
perched on a  shocking pink float
in snazzy tankini suit, glittered
ball cap, chunky shades;
a trendy trio with fresh blue manicures
stirring lazy ringlets in turquoise waters.

We pull up melodies from time’s creaky vault,
sing da, da, da where lyrics are lost.
When we were young, mom would
belt out a tune, tell us she missed
her chance on stage by fluke of fortune. 
Today she croons froggy vocals
with no less gusto, all those songs
we’ve sung through length of days.

Our notes float up, a cantata to bluebirds.

Valerie Macon lives in North Carolina, USA.  She enjoys growing food to feed the homeless and hungry, and started a garden for this purpose.  She shares her poetry in numerous venues. She has published three books of poetry, and donates profits from her book on homelessness,  sleeping Rough to the garden where all food is given away to the hungry. valeriemaconpoetry.com

Friday, February 24, 2017

Strength In the Night--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Strength In the Night

When in the gloominess of night,
all appears forever lost and gone,
He helps me find within, the light;
power to sing a brand new song.

"You're beloved, they will be fine!"
Ne'er from His words will I depart.
I'll harmonize with love divine;
what music to my heeding heart.

With His words, I clearly can see,
I will rise to heights that are new.
Believing His words, awakens me
to truly enjoy the heavenly view.

Now, better still my light to shine!
When others in the gloom of night
are discouraged, they too can find,
His words will help to win the fight.

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. 

naked memories--By Jeanette Nel le Roux--South Africa

naked memories

I need to see inside myself
to know whether hills can grow
where mountains have crumbled

I know death wipes out the sadness of life
but where does it all go?

Why does every prayer in my soul
still starts and ends with your name?

Day after day, my pain
wears the mask of a virgin

Was it because I loved you with a love
more intense than love itself?

What is the use to linger and dance to the rhythm
of life whilst inside, I am empty?

I strip naked in poetry -
I feel detached but still
yearn for your touch

Jeanette Nel le Roux lives in the tranquil town of Mossel Bay on the beautiful Garden Route in South Africa since 1990.  She is a real estate agent since 1976, divorced in 2007, has 3 daughters and a son.  Jeanette's home language is Afrikaans, but she writes in both English and Afrikaans.  She has a poetry group on Facebook called "Jeanette Nel le Roux Poetry".  Jeanette seriously started writing poetry when her soulmate died in 2009.  She is published in several poetry books, together with other poets, but she will publish one of her own in the near future.

I love you like…--By JD DeHart--United States

I love you like…

I should have loved you
ten years ago

Like I promised to
when I was too young
to know much about keeping
promises in the first place

When knowing you better
means loving you more,
it’s a nice combination

Maybe more than nice –
like, once in life, treasured,
like they said,

You will know it when
you find it.

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Yet Another Birthday--By Bibhu Padhi--India

Yet Another Birthday
Each tree looks behind, remembers
the seed, imagines its further growth.

I know, the great trees I see
will all outlive me.

Why then this waiting for the end?
Why the celebrations of eternity?

Perhaps the answer lies elsewhere—
in our hereditary beliefs, our faith.

Why are we here, why these
temporary extensions, day by day?

Even today we do not know so many
things—shadowy, night-like.

It seems an ancestral wish
is to be fulfilled through a line

uttered with love, just as it seems
there is someone yet who can answer,

but who is still to be born.
Faithfully I wait.

Bibhu Padhi has published ten collections of poems. His work has appeared in magazines and anthologies throughout the English-speaking world. He lives in Bhyubaneswar (India) with his family.

Gabe’s Ghost…--By Richard Sponaugle--United States

Gabe’s Ghost…

has haunted him so many decades,
it’s grown grey whiskers
Casper the unfriendly ghost,
creeps into Gabe’s heart
in the black of midnight,
and reflects off his soul
by the sunrays of noon.
Time’s made the ghosts’ boos,
echo louder and spookier...
Gabe tells himself it wasn’t his fault.
He had his wife and child to think of.
Despite his father’s tearful pleas,
dad couldn’t move in with him.
He ‘had’ to send dad to a nursing home.
Those youthful thoughts are haunting shadows,
now Gabe’s child’s grown up,
and told him to stop sobbing:
Gabe Junior’s career and love life come first:
Gabe Senior has to enter a nursing home.

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. 

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Sprinkles…--By Barbara Siekierski--United States


raindrops falling,
dancing on rooftops
and falling on the grass,
quenching its thirst

the thunder—
clapping loudly,
angels bowling
in heaven

the sky clears
and a rainbow—
the beauty signifying
God is with us

Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.

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

between the pages
of my book, the rose petals
scented evermore.

the wind brushes
the hair of the tree,
dry leaves fall.

April Mae M. Berza is the author of Confession ng isang Bob Ong Fan (Flipside, 2014) and Berso de Berza (Charging Ram, 2012.) Her poems and short stories appeared in numerous publications in the America, France, Canada, Romania, India, Japan, Great Britain and the Philippines. Her poems are translated in Crimean Tatar and Filipino. Some of her poems are published in Liwayway, Belleville Park Pages, Haiku Journal, The Siren, Poetica, Three Line Poetry, Calliope, Maganda, Metric Conversions, Ani, The Manila Times, Asahi Haikuist Network, Contemporary Verse 2, and elsewhere. Her poem "E-Martial Law" was broadcast on IndoPacific Radio on KPFA 94.1FM/kpfa.org. She is a member of Poetic Genius Society. She lives in Taguig, Philippines.

Why?--John Polselli--United States

(a villanelle)

I saw my lover’s face within the sky
Last night when evening swept the sun away.
I asked her silently one question: Why?

For was not youth so luminous and spry
Upon her countenance just yesterday?
I saw my lover’s face within the sky,

Through tears reflecting clouds that drifted by;
And while I gazed up toward the Milky Way,
I asked her silently once question: Why?

Yes, why did death’s dark doorway multiply
The grief the sad earth daily does display?
I saw my lover’s face within the sky,

And prior to my bidding her goodbye—
Her comeliness commencing its decay,
I asked her silently one question: Why?

But never was I granted a reply:
I only watched her fade with coming day.
I saw my lover’s face within the sky
I asked her silently one question: Why?

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.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Angel--By David Fox--United States


A beautiful fairy-like creature
Nicely landed at my door-step
Gently flying on gossamer wings
Ever so gracefully flew away
Leaving me breathless.

David Fox has been published in over 100 places, including journals, websites, newsletters, blogs, and posting boards.  He has been published in the U.S., U.K., Canada, India, Finland, and the U.A.E. but is also interested in learning about websites or journals that take e-mail submissions from other countries.  He edits the magazine, "The Poet's Art" (see the ad in the Whispers column).

Written on Valentine's Day--By Hifsa Ashraf--Pakistan

Written on Valentine's Day

let’s celebrate this moment..
that tightly interweaves our dreams..
of reunion with time, and..
enchant us with its longevity

let’s celebrate this moment..
that is still alive in the garden..
of our ecstatic heart, and..
allure us with its indelible fragrance

let’s celebrate this moment..
that reflects in the oceanic currents..
of our passionate eyes, and..
uplift our emotions as a tide

let’s celebrate this moment..
that genuinely unite us in the lap..
of the eternal abode, and..
make our relationship immortal

let’s celebrate this moment…
that wholeheartedly celebrates a scene..
of our romantic meeting, and
light a candle for our long lasting love…

Hifsa Ashraf is from Pakistan. She is a lecturer and HR consultant by profession. She writes short stories, columns, and poetry in different languages (Urdu, English, and Punjabi). Her short stories have been published in a UK based English magazine. She regularly shares her poetry on G+ with different poetry communities. 

They Stood Alone--By Tom Davis--United States

They Stood Alone


Their roots
pitoned into a crack
in the granite gray,
moss capped rock

A rock older than time
and worn by forces
greater than itself

Small yellow flowers
stand proud and tall
offering their unfurled faces
to a sun, fat and orange and warm


As the waters of the
Tuckasegee surround them
with a gnarling white froth.

Time has no meaning
to these works
fashioned by
Nature’s ancient hand

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. http://www.oldmp.com/davismemoirs

Monday, February 20, 2017


Dear Whispers Family,

The February writing activity has been, Using Simile and Metaphor in Poetry. Thank you to all who sent in submissions. This collection showcases your creative writing skills. Enjoy reading and using these tools of the poetic craft. Let poetry be fun!

Michael Escoubas, Whispers' Features Editor

Lost Within

In youth, her mind was an open field
sprouting musings as thought flowers
that mirrored her life.

Now, her mind is a dark stairwell
with memories like word shadows
melting into oblivion.

Mary A. Couch, United States

Stolen Time

The heat was oppressive
It was raining cats and dogs
It began in the early morning
time is a thief on the last day of holiday
Feeling blue they packed their bags
Looking longingly out the window.

Phyllis Babcock, Canada

Nocturnal Sightings

Walking home on a moonlit night,
head bowed against the bitter cold.
I notice the pretty silhouettes
under every bare-branched tree – 
the footpath an artist's sketchpad,
each tree like a filigree silver brooch.

Mary Gunn, Ireland.

Red roses in the garden

Somber thoughts clouded my mind,
As I sat calm on the garden bench.
While parting as a prickly thorn,
Pierced my tender gloomy heart.
Till the soul rested in tranquility,
And all the roses stained dark red.

Dr. Upma A. Sharma, India

Standing Tall

I am
New York skyline.
Buildings wink on and off
like patent leather
across a blinking sky.

Jean Colonomos, United States


Your heart pumps my blood
Your breath fills my lungs
Your voice is a song of immaculate beauty
I can feel your presence as though you are next to me 
I was lost in an abyss of emptiness
But you found me, filling that void with joy

Langley Shazor, United States


As a hummingbird, dazed by its crash,
begins to rise like a rickety kite,
the dog sees.  I would rescue the bird,
but my bedraggled shoes betray me. 
I twist about the post, fall headlong,
my back, a pretzel.

Elizabeth Howard, United States


Driving along as the day breaks
a neon sky paints the road peach,
sea gulls perform their sky-dance
fields and hedgerows sparkle
like frosting on a cake.

Annie Jenkin, England 


When I think of my unborn
I guess I will have a girl
Her eyes will be sparkling diamonds
And cheeks as red as apples
She will be the apple of my eye
Indeed, the light of my life!

(As per PNDT Act – the sex determination of foetus is illegal. A woman in India is not told till she delivers – whether it is a boy or a girl. In this poem – I am sharing the thoughts of a mother)

Archana Kapoor, India

Hurry Sundown

Clouds float and play like a litter of white Poodles
tumbling and twisting over the Gulf
until the wind, an errant shepherd,
herded them toward the horizon.

Barbara Tate, United States

Under The Lock And Key

I replaced my losses,
I fixed the broken door.
My emotions as waves,
Ebbed and waned:
Like the unfixed shadows
of my dreams.

Ralph Stott, England

Does An Orange Get Sweeter In The Bowl

The navel oranges like my love looked divine
I purchased some perfect orange fruit for mine
Easy peel like taking off clothes stirring sweet scents
The lusciousness to be desired of a tasty treat
Divided into segments, plop, tart touched my soul
Question haunts newlywed, does an orange get sweeter in the bowl?

Sara Kendrick, United States

And the Fun Goes On

When the sun looks and rises with its smiling rays
Positive people welcome it warmly like bridesmaids
Standing in support of the bride and the best man
Making sure the groom’s wedding day pans out well
The bride’s gown might be blown inside-out by wind
Or the groom’s suit wholly dirty but the party goes on.      

Ndaba Sibanda, Kuwait.

My Hero

August birthday...
my father is a Leo
always lion hearted

Pat Geyer, United States

Cold February Rain

No one welcomed the rain
like a biddy aunt in velvet
tapping with gnarly knuckles.
This sly rain of overlays
ripples news on a street gutter
that remembers blizzard.

Tricia Knoll, United States


when the clouds like swift horses
secure every corner in the sky,
I become the orange splashed twilight.

but in the shade
night stands in waiting,
to let my dreams pass through in silence..

Gopal Lahiri, India

Red roses in the garden

Somber thoughts clouded my mind,
As I sat calm on the garden bench.
While parting as a prickly thorn,
Pierced my tender gloomy heart.
Till the soul rested in tranquility,
And all the roses stained dark red.

Dr. Upma A. Sharma, India

A Medallion Moon

A medallion moon adorns ebony skies,
as its limpid light pools
like a gleaming gold doubloon,
dangling dreamlike, under a
chandelier of sparkling stars.

Emile Pinet, Canada

Let's Go to the Local, Darling.

He's standing at the long, curved bar
Flirting with the pretty, blond barmaid
His wife’s face like white ice
Looking around for revenge
She who was sweet and lovely
Now a prowling tigress.

Isha Wagner, New Zealand

The Live Oak

Sprawling sixty feet high
gnarly limbs a ladder to heaven
poking holes in flimsy clouds
branching habit a tree-climber's dream
draped magnificently with Spanish moss
like curly grey furs.

Candace Armstrong, United States


Sometimes reality
is like ice rain
on a hot summer night
A sudden disillusion,
life is a fairytale,
remains to be a wicked lie 

Inge Wesdijk (Daginne Aignend) the Netherlands

Love’s Metaphor 

As the sun shows her beauty each day
You are even more delightful to behold
Like a summers day your warmth embraces me
Keeping me held close in your loving arms
I will surrender to your love only
For there is no other who compares

Glenda B. Frazier, United States

Return of Spring

With songbirds' trills
a heavenly heraldry
spring returns...
and I am Gaia
dancing to birdsong
with a tiara of daisies!

Angelee Deodhar, India 

Be my Valentine (Double Triodyne)

Eyes, blue velvet fine
Skin smells of turpentine
Please be my Valentine

Your smile, like a chime
Babe come with me to dine
Will you be my valentine?

Yancy Dalton, United States

Heavenly Vista

Light as a feather it fell last night.
Snow is a blanket of angel white
Joy to the children who walk to school
Shouting with glee at this endless pool
That covers the sidewalks and coats the fields.
Winter returns as early Spring yields.

Pam H. Murray, Canada


Like a cold winter day,
My memories freeze away
My memories fade, a dream
Is an enigma, or so it would seem.

David Fox, United States

The Bent Bard

a broken umbrella,
the rain pours on…
a drifter & a dreamer
lost between two words

Karen O'Leary, United States

Girl at Eventide

In twilight stillness shadows spray
like fans through crimson clouds and tops
of trees. Standing there sipping lemon tea
you are Van Gogh’s Girl in White
complete with yellow bonnet--
Dutch delight destined for the Louvre.

Michael Escoubas, United States

Let Us Go…--By David Sermersheim--United States

Let Us Go…

you and I
to where 
water meets the sky
and be one again
before all is done
and winter’s dim dark chill
draws down hard and fast
and we cower
from each sullen blast
against what endures
through tentative hour
while waning dreams
fade faster than
feeble ambition can sustain
abiding the angular course
to quiet realm
of solemn darkness 
in silence and peace

David Sermersheim taught at The Hotchkiss School (Ct.) for 33 years.  His poems have been published in The Aurorean, Ancient Paths, Sacred Journeys, Iodine Review, Poetry Pacific, Miller’s Pond” and other journals and quarterlies. He was a MacDowell Fellow and has a book, Meditations, listed on Amazon.  He lives in Westbrook, Connecticut. 

The Baggage Shipment--By Sara Kendrick--United States

The Baggage Shipment

Crossing the mighty ocean wide
Flinty, determined soul was she
Longing to be Sugar Daddy's bride.
In her homeland, none could see
Any good qualities that be

Maybe if there was a dowry
A marriage could have been arranged
He did not know there was a bounty
Nor that his bride was quite deranged
And all his money to be exchanged

His bride was on the passenger ship
Her baggage aboard Lockheed C-5 Galaxy
That should have been a signal ~relationship snip
The wedding over, destruction casually
set in, his funds transferred rampantly

*This is about a woman who was poor and thought only of money and self.  A Lockheed C-5 Galaxy is a military cargo carrier which can transport 118 tons of equipment therefore a whole lot of emotional baggage.

Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college.  She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry. 

Friday, February 17, 2017

Partners in Poetry--Collaborative Feature--Submission Guidelines

Karen O’Leary, Editor                                    Michael Escoubas, Features Editor

Partners in Poetry--Collaborative Feature
Submission Guidelines

In an effort to increase opportunities for contributors and other writers, Whispers is offering an opportunity for collaborative poetry. The name for this opportunity is, Partners in Poetry. This new feature bears a resemblance to our popular collaborative feature that Whispers discontinued a few months back. However, we have made a few changes we think you will like.  Please read on to learn about our revised collaborative feature and its submissions guidelines.

  1. Two or more writers may collaborate to submit poems for consideration to be featured at the site. At least one writer must be a current contributor.  Each writer is eligible for one Partners in Poetry opportunity per month.
  2. If you are interested in partnering with another writer, please contact your Features editor at his email address; you will be given a theme. This new guideline creates a stronger bond of interaction between the editors and writers and verifies that the contributing authors want to write together.
  3. Preferred method of submission is to send your poems as a works document or in the body of an email with your name and country. Please email your partnered submission to Michael Escoubas at farside747@hotmail.com. If you would rather submit by snail mail, please email me for my home address. You may email me with any questions you may have.
  4. Submissions to Partners in Poetry will be NEW WORK since a topic will be assigned for both poets to work on together. 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 authors to obtain permission if needed for reprints. By submitting to Whispers, the writers are assuring that the work is their own. Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from other writers without credit or authorization.
  5. The total line-count of partnered poems should not exceed 40 lines. Writers should use the same form.
  6. No submissions deadline will be imposed. Take your time and enjoy the collaborative experience.
  7. Contributing to Partners in Poetry will be in addition to the regular submission opportunities. Any writer submitting for a feature retains their eligibility to submit a single author poem every other month. All authors of the poems submitted must provide consent for publication.
  8. No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.
  9. Whispers’ reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.
  10.  Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers. Humor is appreciated.
  11.  Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency. Please keep that in mind when submitting.
  12.  I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing.
It is my belief that the gift of words brings people together. What better way to celebrate that which unifies us than by partnering in poetry?  Enjoy this fresh opportunity to connect, support, encourage, and inspire others.

Michael Escoubas, Features Editor

Seeing far…--By Richard Carl Subber--United States

Seeing far…

I hope Aunt Pam knew we were there today.

It's a delicate hope,
   less desperate than it is urgent,
      less spiritual than it is personal,
         private, protective….

It is my fragile awareness that I imagine
   the searing loneliness of dying without
      the careful press of fingers touching me,
         the caressing hands of my loved ones
           who want to be sure the touch is special, warm….

I want to know they will surround me
   when my time comes,
      I want to believe I will know they are near,
         I want to know for sure I will hear them
            even if I cannot wake….

I realize I am saying,
   with great love and with profound selfishness,
      I hope Aunt Pam knew we were there today.

Richard Carl Subber is a freelance editor, a writing coach, and a historian. He lives with his family in Natick, Massachusetts, USA. He’s a former newspaper reporter/editor who now indulges his love of the right words.  Rick is a proud grandpa who is teaching his granddaughter to read and write, because surely there is poetry in her future.  His poetry also has been accepted for publication in The Aurorean, The Australia Times Poetry, miller’s pond, The RavensPerch, Northern Stars, Creative Inspirations, and elsewhere.  His website is: http://richardsubber.com/